DONOVAN

THE SALESLADY

The UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS

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THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO SOCIOLOGICAL SERIES

Editorial Committee

Ellsworth Faris Robert E. Park

Ernest W. Burgess

THE University of Chicago Sociological Series, established by the Trustees of the University, is devoted primarily to the publication of the results of the newer develop- ments in sociological study in America. It is ex- pected that a complete series of texts for under- graduate instruction will ultimately be included, but the emphasis will be placed on research, the pubhcations covering both the results of investi- gation and the perfecting of new methods of discovery. The editors are convinced that the textbooks used in teaching should be based on the results of the efforts of specialists whose studies of concrete problems are building up a new body of funded knowledge. While the series is called soci- ological, the conception of sociology is broad enough to include many borderline interests, and studies will appear which place the emphasis on political, economic, or educational problems dealt with from the point of view of a general conception of human nature.

THE SALESLADY

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

THE BAKER AND TAYLOR COMPANY NEW YORK

THE CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON

THE MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA TOKYO, OSAKA, KYOTO, FUKUOKA, SENDAI

THE COMMERCIAL PRESS, LIMITED SHANGHAI

THE

SALESLADY

By FRANCES R. DONOVAN

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS CHICAGO • ILLINOIS

Second Impression December IQJO

COMPOSED AND PRINTED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, U.S.A.

INTRODUCTION

In view of the movement and change so eminently char- acteristic of our modern world, students of contemporary- life are increasingly sensible of a need for a more intimate knowledge of the occupations. The old tribal and local or- ganization of life is everywhere in process of dissolution, but a new and different social and moral order based upon oc- cupational association and interest is coming into existence. The new occupations mean a new division of labor, and every extension of the division of labor implies a wider range of human co-operation. It is in this way that social life expands and civilization grows.

The occupations have been studied heretofore mainly as an economic phenomenon, as one of the incidents to the production and distribution of goods and services. But the economic organization inevitably becomes the basis for a social order, and changes in the occupations inevitably bring with them social consequences. Adam Smith was one of the first to point out the fact that the differences in character and personality which are ordinarily conceived as biologi- cally conditioned and innate are very largely a product of differences in occupation, and since personaUty, as we have come to conceive it, is merely the subjective individual as- pect of a tradition and culture, it transpires that every occu- pation becomes, or tends to become, the basis for a new so- ciety. This statement may seem a little too elaborate, con- sidering the character of the book that it seeks to introduce, but it at least indicates the field in which the subject of the volume lies.

viii INTRODUCTION

The Saleslady is, at any rate, a contribution to our knowl- edge of changes that are taking place in the life and charac- ter of women as a result of their entrance into the broader fields of economic Hfe. It is in manner impressionistic and descriptive rather than systematic and formal. Frances Donovan, the author, is rather more interested in the his- tory than in the sociology of contemporary Ufe. The book she has written, because of its exploratory character, has more the character of a personal narrative and a report of observations than of a systematic treatise. It is written, one may perhaps say, from the point of view of what Lindeman aptly calls the participant observer. The author has been able to enter sympathetically and understandingly into the experiences of the persons whose lives she depicts, but at the same time she is keenly alive to the larger implications of her own experiences and those of the women with whom she is associated.

What one has here, therefore, is largely a personal docu- ment, or a series of documents, in which the intimate life of a group, several groups, in fact, of women is recorded.

Out of this record one gains a very real insight into the conditions under which a new type of woman is evolving, a woman sophisticated, self-reHant, competent — a woman of the world, in short, having her own philosophy and outlook on life and her own conception of values. In this conception it is interesting to note that marriage plays a considerably less important part than it has played in the past and still plays in the lives of most women who have not achieved economic independence. It is interesting to note, also, that **the adventurous character of women," to which Dr. W. I. Thomas referred so interestingly in a paper some years ago, seems to be undergoing change, even if it has not yet com-

INTRODUCTION ix

pletely disappeared. Incidentally, it appears that the little shopgirl whose fortunes have been touchingly described by 0. Henry, has been very largely superseded; the saleslady is likely to be a mature woman. Many of them are married or widowed, and in any case they hold their jobs by their competence rather than by their charm. It is difficult, since we have no intimate and realistic accounts of the shopgirl of the mauve decade, to estimate the full extent of the changes that have taken place in the character and condi- tions of one of the early occupations into which women ventured. These changes may, however, be indicated by the fact that department stores — the more radical and pro- gressive of them, at least — no longer hire their help with the casual approval of the department manager. No, indeed! Girls now get their jobs and hold their positions on the basis of a psychological examination and an intelligence test.

This volume, I might add, may be regarded as a sequel to an earlier volume by the same author. The Woman Who Waits, describing in the same intimate way the life of the waitress in Chicago.

Robert E. Park

University of Chicago

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. Why This Inquiry Was Made i

n. Getting a Job 4

III. Training In 19

IV. The Girls 29

V. Customers 46

VI. Red Rubber Bands 60

VII. Inventory 71

VIII. Quitting the Job 80

IX. Hand Bags 85

X. A Girl Friend _. . . . loi

XI. Agnes Tells Her Story 112

XII. New York Again 122

XIII. Shop Talk and Personalities 128

XIV. A Week-End with Klara 139

XV. Recreation 149

XVI. Romance and Marriage 162

XVII. A Life-History: Twenty-one Years in a Depart- ment Store 172

XVIII. The Saleslady at Home 176

XIX. The Store and the Girl 188

XX. What Becomes of the Saleslady? 216

XXI. Dinner with the Elite 227

Songs of the Saleslady 243

Index 263

2d

CHAPTER I WHY THIS INQUIRY WAS MADE

Every year I become acquainted with some two hundred girls who are confronted with the problem of earning a liv- ing. They talk this over with me, ask my advice about what they shall do after graduation. Those who are obliged to leave school before graduation, because their famiHes need the money which they can earn, ask me the same question. I am a teacher in a large public high school in Chicago.

"But what have yon thought of doing?" I ask, though I know the answer, which is, nine times out of ten, ''I would like to be a stenographer."

"Why?" I wait for the always unsatisfactory answer. The only exception was Marguerite, a clever, charming little thing with an intelligence far above the average, who replied, "Oh, I'm going to be an executive secretary and marry the boss." She laughed but she meant it.

I laughed with her. "I think you'll be successful if you are careful in selecting your boss."

"Well, you see," continued Marguerite with unembar- rassed frankness, "I want to get married sometime. If I'm a teacher I'll never meet any men and so what is there for me to do except be a stenographer? Besides I can't go to college; the family needs my wages to help pay off the dear old mortgage. Last year father built a two-flat building."

"Why not work in a department store?" I suggested. "You might get to be a buyer and that would be a good posi- tion with a fine salary."

2 THE SALESLADY

"What's a buyer? I never heard of one," replied Mar- guerite naively.

I explained as best I could and dwelt at some length on the advantages, as I saw them, of working in a department store. But, in reaUty, I knew very little about department stores myself and it is not surprising that I failed to con- vince Marguerite. None of her friends worked in depart- ment stores; they were all stenographers who hoped to be- come executive secretaries and marry the boss or, failing in this, some of the lesser male members of the office force. Marguerite knew girls who had made such marriages and, in the face of such reahsm, my chatter about department stores sounded altogether mythical.

"But you don't get any money in a department store," protested Marguerite, "and you won't have a chance to meet any men. I don't want to marry a ribbon-counter clerk." Marguerite became a stenographer.

In the hotel where I lived was a woman, a widow who had been happily married, who was a buyer in a large depart- ment store down town. I told her what Marguerite had said.

"The girl doesn't know," said Mrs. Carter, "wages in stores average higher than they do in offices and the work is more interesting. The girls do get married, too, lots of them, and they marry well."

This buyer lived in a high-class family hotel in a rather luxurious room ffiled with the books, pictures, and photo- graphs of a woman of refinement. "I started in Waterloo, Iowa, my home town, selling red flannel underwear," she went on. "I was sixteen then. My wages were one dollar and fifty cents a week." Now she earns something less than ten thousand dollars a year. She had married when she was very young a man who worked in the store.

Both this interview and the one I had had with Margue-

WHY THIS INQUIRY WAS MADE 3

rite lingered in my mind. I determined to find out what there was to know about department stores. I went to the Chicago Public Library and looked up all the references on such stores that I could find. There were many excellent books on the business of running a store and many pam- phlets on the subject that showed exhaustive research, and also a few rather sentimental magazine stories about the persecution of the poor shopgirl that probably had some point when they w^re written but which I later learned were out of date. There was, however, nothing that would inter- est Marguerite, nothing to make the department store in- telligible to her, in fact nothing that she would take the trouble to read.

I decided to devote my long summer vacation to getting first-hand knowledge about the life of girls who worked in department stores. It seemed to me that the facts would be more definitely estabhshed if I placed myself upon the same basis as that of thousands of girls who start working in de- partment stores every year, even to Uving on the wages I earned. I determined to go to New York and become, as nearly as I could, a department-store worker.

I knew few people in New York and these I ignored with the exception of one young woman who had written me that she Hved in a model tenement where she had three rooms and a bath for which she paid $7.50 a week. She said that she could get one of these apartments for me from a friend who was going away for the summer but that I would have to pay a little more for the use of the furniture.

I arrived in New York on Sunday with $25.00 in cash, determined, if possible, to make no draft upon my reserves beyond this sum. On Monday, armed with the advertising page of the Sunday newspaper, I went forth to look for a job. On Tuesday I went to work.

CHAPTER n

GETTING A JOB

It is a warm summer morning; the employment depart- ment of the store I shall call McElroy's, woman's section, is crowded with "girls" — for in a department store every wom- an is a girl — girls of every type and of every age : girls who are under seventeen, with and without working certificates; girls who are graduates of the high schools or grammar schools of Manhattan and its environs; girls who have worked many seasons in department stores; girls who have never held any kind of job; girls who have tried out every occupation offered in the want-ad columns of the city news- papers; girls who are brides seeking employment so that their wages may help out until husbands are given promo- tions or to provide a reserve fund for the time when the first baby will arrive; girls who are mothers with children whom they wish to keep in school well dressed and with money in their pockets to pay for school entertainments, to buy the school annual, or to meet the expenses of the graduation outfit; girls who are grandmothers left without means of support; girls who are widows by grass or by sod whose husbands have died without leaving insurance or from whom alimony cannot be collected; but girls, all girls who if they are successful appUcants will become Miss Moore, Miss Smith, Miss Kuntz, Miss Levinsky, Miss Du Costa, or Miss O'Brien in the departments to which they will be assigned.

In appearance these girls suggest a movie audience wait- ing for the show to begin. They are, for the most part, well

4

GETTING A JOB 5

dressed, even stylish, with the similarity of costume, regard- less of age, characteristic of the crowds one sees on the streets of any city. The general impression is one of youth and attractiveness though the older women are not quite so ''snappy" as the younger. Like the movie audience they chatter with the friend they have accompanied or with the casual person who happens to sit or stand next.

The room in which the girls are waiting is rectangular in shape, the rear square of it partitioned off by a railing in front. Beyond the railing is a passage about as wide as a church aisle from which open the tiny, glass-inclosed oflSces of the employment managers. A little daylight enters through glazed windows above the office partitions and is supple- mented by electric Hght, which adds its quota to the un- comfortable warmth. The girls fan themselves with the appKcation blanks which, upon entering, they have filled out at the tall desks that line the walls of the Uttle room. Here and there a girl has removed her hat and smoothed back the hair that clings damply to her forehead and ears. The chatter continues.

"Stand up, goiles, all of you," orders the mistress of cere- monies, a small, bobbed-haired blond in a green smock who stands in front just behind the raihng. "Now sit down again on the benches in the order of your applications. Number one? Where is number one? Right up here in this foist place, please. That's right. Now number two next — num- ber three next to her — number four, number five — "and the blond smiles kindly, sympathetically, as she completes the seating arrangements. Two hundred or more are pres- ent; they have come to answer an advertisement which had appeared the day before in the Sunday newspaper. There are seats for fifty.

6 THE SALESLADY

"Now the rest of you stand in the back of the room until there is a place for you on the benches," continues the little blond. She speaks with authority; her father is a police- man, her uncle a fireman. She beckons now to the first four applicants to rise and pass through the gate in the railing. Number one enters the tiny sanctum of Mrs. Cheney, the employment manager whose office is at the left, and seats herself in front of the latter' s desk in a chair placed there for the convenience of applicants. Number two stands in readiness just outside the door, the application blank droop- ing Hstlessly from her ungloved fingers. She watches, with eyes that appear to be uninterested, the interview that is taking place inside the office.

Mrs. Cheney is a bobbed-haired, vivacious woman of probably thirty-five who radiates efficiency. She shoots quick questions at the young applicant and jots notations on the pad under her right hand, always smiling at the girl in front of her. Her manner is warm, kindly, sympathetic. The occupant of the chair begins to lose her reserve, reply- ing freely to the questions and smiling with a cordiality that equals that of Mrs. Cheney. The girl feels that she has found a friend, that she will be at home in the great store.

While this is going on in Mrs. Cheney's office, number three is being interviewed by Mrs. Coonley, a stout, middle- aged woman in the adjoining office whose manner has con- siderable of the maternal in its composition. Number four, just outside the door, looks on, tense, anxious, self-con- scious. She hasn't the nonchalance of the others; this is the first time that she has applied for a job.

''Now move up, goiles" sings out the Uttle blond in the

GETTING A JOB 7

outer oflSce; "Number five foist — number six next — and so on." She passes down the aisle between the benches — pauses. ''What's your number?" she asks.

"Seventy-five," murmurs a girl who is plainly a widow of fifty.

"Then how did you get in here next to number twenty- eight?" challenges the tiny lieutenant gaily. "Come now, goiles, no cheating — take your right places. Let me see the numbers on your blanks — that's right — now there at the end of the line, numbers fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty- three, fifty-four."

Back goes the lieutenant to the head of the fine. It is now time for numbers five, six, seven, and eight to be inter- viewed. They step through the gate, the shifting begins again and continues for an hour and a half. By that time the first fifty have been interviewed. Of these only six are sent back crestfallen through the gate, out the center aisle between the benches of waiting, expectant girls, through the door of the reception room.

Upon what does the employment manager base her de- cisions? It cannot be upon the clothes the girl wears be- cause just now she has sent away that pretty flapper in a smart blue frock and chic little hat and has hired a drab, stoop-shouldered child in a dingy cloth dress and dusty straw head-covering and a stout old woman in an old-fash- ioned tricolette costume. Experience has enabled her to make quick judgments of human nature; she has seen that the flapper will not be happy in the hard grind behind the counter ; she has discovered that the shabby child has a sister who has worked for the firm six years, a faithful and valued employee, and the stout old woman has been disciplined by

8 THE SALESLADY

life to the point that has made her expect little and to be grateful for the security offered by employment in a store of high standards.

The employment manager leaves her office now and, standing behind the railing, begins calling the applicants to her. She glances at each application blank, dismisses the girls with a nod and a smile, then calls the next. A dozen or more girls are passed on in quick succession and rejected.

''She's hired all she wants this morning," whispers the girl next to me on the bench. ''She'll get rid of the rest of us quick now; it's lunch time."

"Number sixty-eight!" calls the employment manager.

That is my number. I rise, approach the railing, and hand her my blank. One glance and she has absorbed all the information shown upon it. "Come back at four o'clock," she says amiably and writes 4 p.m. in one comer. Then, handing it back to me, she adds, "Present this at the desk when you return and you will be sent at once to my office."

"Yes, thank you," I murmur and turn away. I go out a little triumphantly — though I try to conceal the pride I feel at my success — through the crowd of girls seated on the benches or standing in the back of the room. They stare enviously as I pass.

Promptly at four that afternoon I am seated at Mrs. Cheney's desk.

"I thought I'd have something good for you by this time. Miss Donovan," she says, "but the right place for you hasn't come in yet. I can offer you a part-time position in the negligees but I'd like something better for you." She pauses, seems to be thinking, continues, "I tell you what you do, come back tomorrow morning ready for work and if there is nothing better I'll put you in the neghgees. Be here

GETTING A JOB 9

at ten and come right through the private door; no one will stop you."

With a bright smile she dismisses me and I go home to wonder whether or not she is trying to find exactly the place where I shall be most useful to the store or is merely '^string- ing" me along. I report, however, the following morning at ten.

"I have a good place for you this morning, Miss Dono- van," says Mrs. Cheney briskly as soon as I enter her ofl&ce, "in the dress department selHng Mabelle frocks. With your appearance and your education you ought to be able to sell dresses even though you have had no experience. At any rate we'll try you out."

She fills out a small blank and hands it to me with a business-like nod of dismissal. "Take this to the girl at the desk in the outer office and come in to see me once in a while to talk things over. If there is ever anything you want to know, don't hesitate to come and ask me, I am always here."

At the desk outside an efficient, bobbed-haired young woman gives me another blank. "Step into Dr. Johnson's office," she commands and nods in the direction of another inclosed cubicle with Dr. Johnson's name printed in large letters on the opaque glass windows.

Dr. Johnson turns out to be another short-haired girl, a blond in spectacles. She hands me a legal-size, printed form. "Fill this out," she directs, "you may have ten minutes."

I glance at the form. There are fifty incomplete sen- tences upon it. My job is to complete these by putting into blank spaces w^ords that will make intelligent statements.

"The first one is easy enough," I say to myself and write in a suitable word. The second is a bit more difficult but still mere child's play. The third is a shade harder but pre-

lo THE SALESLADY

sents no real difficulties. I go on quickly finding each suc- ceeding sentence a little more perplexing until I reach the fortieth. Here it is necessary to pause, pencil in hand, to do a little thinking. The forty-first requires a longer pause, the forty-second still longer. When I reach the fiftieth I find it

necessary to frown deeply they .... us ... .

not .... nature's .... are unchangeable.

"One word in each space, not so easy!" I muse and nibble my pencil. Perhaps I can't do this one. I think hard; Ah! now I have it! With a flourish I write, "Thus they ad- monished us 'Rebel not, for nature's laws are unchange- able.' "

My ten minutes are not yet up. I glance over the blank to see that it is just as I wish it and then I hand it to Dr. Johnson. With her pencil she quickly scores the answers and writes "50" in the upper right hand corner.

"Is that all my intelligence quotient is?" I ask, disap- pointed.

"That's not your I.Q." replies Dr. Johnson, smiling; "there are fifty questions and you got fifty right."

I am much relieved at this vindication. Dr. Johnson hands me another blank. "Take this to the desk," she in- structs, and I obey. The young woman at the desk gives me a handful of forms this time and an abundance of further instruction. "Take these to the doctor's office on the elev- enth floor and wait until he can examine you. When you have passed your physical, report to Mrs. Wrenn's office on the sixteenth."

In the doctor's office two more bobbed-haired girls re- ceive me, make out more forms from the information fur- nished on those I have brought, and bid me sit down on a

GETTING A JOB ii

bench. I obey and find myself beside the drab young thing whom I had seen hired the morning before.

"Why did it take you so long to get here?" I whisper to her; "You were third yesterday morning."

"I spent all afternoon taking intelligence tests," she whispers back; "they gave me six; how many did you take?"

"Only one," I answer but, seeing an opportunity to se- cure information, add, "Were they very hard?"

"You bet they were! I couldn't do the last six sentences on that first one at all."

For a long time we sit in silence. The two girls at the desk busily answer telephone calls, run record cards hastily through their fingers, and receive new applicants who, from time to time, file in through the office door. After what seems to me an interminable time, one of them turns to me and says, "Dr. Smith will see you now."

I walk across the room expecting to see another bobbed- haired scientist but Dr. Smith is a tall, slender, rather pretty, youngish man with a neat Httle mustache and weary gray eyes.

"Stand up against the wall," he orders.

Obediently I stand for a moment under the measuring- rod. "Five feet nine," I hear him murmur into his bored little mustache as he jots the figures down upon the blank spread out on the desk before him.

"Read the last line on the card opposite," is his next command. Again I obey; again he writes on the record card. "Sit down now," is his third mandate and then he asks a series of quick questions. Age? .... Date of birth? . . . . Father living? .... Mother? .... How many brothers and sisters? .... Living? .... Ever been ill?

12 THE SALESLADY

.... Open your mouth Let's see your throat.

.... Say Ah-a-a."

"Ah-a-a," I gurgle obediently.

^'Take off your shoe." I kick off my right pump.

'Teet O.K." The time was not far away when I was to realize the importance of this foot test. My feet were not O.K. at all. He finishes the record and says wearily, "Take this to Mrs. Wrenn's office."'

At the desk in Mrs. Wrenn's department a bobbed young miss accepts my card. I sit down beside two other girls, one a child and the other a woman of forty-five or fifty. The miss at the desk picks up the telephone. "Depawt- ment sixteen," she commands into the mouthpiece and waits a minute or two. Then, with a courteous inflection, ''Depawtment sixteen? .... I have a new girl for you Please send up a membah of the reception committee. .... Yes, thank you."

She hangs up the receiver, does a little work at the desk, then picks up the telephone again. She calls two other de- partments and repeats her request for a member of the re- ception committee. Later I was to learn that every depart- ment has a receptionist, appointed by the secretary in charge of this receiving of new employees, and that this receptionist is paid one dollar in addition to her salary for every new girl she receives. The receptionist is expected to look after this new girl for a few days and help her to learn the stock and the routine of the department.

The first receptionist arrives promptly, is introduced, and departs with the child. Another takes away the girl of fifty, and now it is my turn. ''Miss Bird, this is Miss Dono- van, a new girl for your department," says the youg miss.

''How do you do," responds Miss Bird professionally,

GETTING A JOB 13

and we shake hands. Miss Bird is an attractive woman of thirty with long hair neatly knotted at the back of her head. She seems to feel her responsibility and as we go down in the elevator she chats pleasantly with me so that I may feel at home. The third floor reached, we leave the elevator and walk through a maize of frocks — thousands of them it seems to me — until we reach a blazing electric sign which announces, ''Mabelle Frocks — $23.75." This is my depart- ment.

Miss Bird introduces me right and left, first to Miss Nel- son, the section-manager, a stout woman with gray hair, dim- ples, and a capable manner: then to the other saleswomen, twenty-two in number, all ages and sizes, some tall and thin, some short and stout, others tall and stout or short and thin, some modish, some dowdy, but all with pleasant, stereotyped smiles with which they greet me as they murmur in a bored, professional manner, ''How d'ye do."

I follow Miss Bird to a desk in the comer. "This is our buyer. Miss Metz," she says and presents me to a chic, Jewish girl, whose hair is gray and bobbed but whose face is singularly youthful.

"I'm glad to meet you," says Miss Metz with warmth; "What experience have you had?"

"None," I answer simply.

"Then you can't sell dresses," she begins.

"I think I can," I interrupt, and add, "I'd like to try."

Miss Metz hesitates, looks me over. "All right," she concludes; "you look like a girl of good judgment."

"Thank you," I say politely and, turning to Miss Bird, add, "Give me a book and let me see what I can do." I knew you had to have a sales book because every saleswom- an in a department store has one.

14 THE SALESLADY

"That's the way to talk!" exclaims Miss Metz approv- ingly if a Httle patronizingly; "You'll get along all right if that's your spirit. Take her along, Miss Bird, and let her start."

Miss Bird leads me back through the maze of dangling frocks explaining each rack in passing, telling me about sizes, colors, materials, and then dismisses me with, "Walk around and find out all you can; we don't expect you to sell anything the first three days, but if you do, let some other girl make out the sales check. You won't get your book un- til the third day."

I wander about in the forest of frocks, locating sizes, ma- terials, colors, styles, and wondering how I can remember where all the different dresses are. But not for long am I left undisturbed; a tall, spectacled gentlewoman accosts me. In one hand she is holding a brown silk Mabelle frock. "May I try this on, please?" she asks courteously.

"Certainly," I reply, all a-flutter. I grab the frock and, accosting the nearest saleswoman, demand in an excited whisper, "Where are the fitting-rooms?"

"Over there," replies the girl, airily indifferent, as she indicates the direction with a nonchalant finger.

I hold the brown silk frock high in my right hand, un- consciously imitating Miss Morrison who sells me frocks in a smart shop back home, and plow ahead, the spectacled gentlewoman following closely. I have no difficulty in find- ing the fitting-rooms ; there they are near the windows, shut off from the rest of the store by their nice little partitions of opaque glass. I open a door; some one is in this room, a tall stout someone in a pink teddy and flesh-colored stockings. She glares at me.

GETTING A JOB 15

"Sorry!" I murmur and close the door. I walk to another fitting-room only to find it occupied by a flapper in georgette undies. ''Oh, for an empty fitting-room!" I pray ardently.

My prayer is answered — the third room is unoccupied. I usher in my patient customer, close the door, and stand at attention. She begins to pull her dress over her head; I stand stupidly by for a second, then suddenly realizing the duties of my new position, I hang up the jNIabelle frock and murmur in imitation of Miss Morrison, "Let me help you."

I unfasten the snaps at her wrists, I pull the dress up- wards over her head, turn it right side out and hang it care- fully upon a hook. Then I hold the new dress so that she can slip her arms into it, I pull it slowly over her head so that no snap or hook will catch in her hair-net, then, with a Httle jerk, adjust the skirt. Nothing to do now except snap the snaps snappily at her wrists, and there she stands before the long mirror in the IMabelle model.

"It fits you perfectly," I say softly with what I beheve to be a charming smile, and I add a Httle pat here and there. I am repeating the words, the intonations, the gestures of Miss IMorrison. I stand a Httle way ofi and gaze in admiring approval. "An extremely pretty model," I add and then I wait in silence.

The woman gazes long and seriously at the reflection in the mirror, turns this way and that, runs her fingers around the coUar and wristbands, notices critically the length of the skirt. The inspection finished, she says briefly, "Yes, I think it mil do nicely; 111 take it."

In a moment the frock is over her head, is nicely adjusted again on its hanger, and I am helping the customer to put on her old dress. She resumes her hat and we walk back to

i6 THE SALESLADY

the Mabelle department, I triumphantly ahead, she behind. We reach the section-manager's desk, she completes the transaction, and I have made my first sale.

Once more I stroll nonchalantly among the frocks but again not for long. A young girl demands my attention this time, a raw, crude, young thing with a florid complexion and large hands and feet. Accompanying her is an elderly gen- tleman who carries a brief-case.

"Will you wait on me, please?" she asks politely.

"Certainly," I reply, "what kind of a dress do you wish?"

"That's just the trouble, I don't know. You see I didn't expect to buy a dress, but it's my birthday and my uncle wants to give me one for a present."

"Something serviceable, I think, don't you, Mary?" in- terpolates the old gentleman, "something you could wear to school next winter or on the train when you come to town."

We walk from rack to rack, selecting several models of the more conservative sort, until we come to the racks where the flowered georgettes hang. "I would like one of these," says Mary and she hesitates before a gorgeous one covered with blue cornflowers each, apparently, ten inches in diam- eter.

"Take one along and try it on," says uncle kindly. "I think a dark dress would be more serviceable, but girls like pretty things."

Uncle and I exchange a look of understanding; I find him a chair so that he may be comfortable while we are in the fitting-room, and I start out with Mary in search of a cubicle. She tries on the two more serviceable frocks first; they are becoming and fit well. Then we slip the cornflower georgette over her head and pull it into place.

GETTING A JOB 17

A delighted smile warms Mary's face; she turns right and left as she gazes at herself in the mirror; she pats the skirt affectionately. *'This is the one I want," she says, ''but I know uncle would Uke me to take one of the others." She is torn between the desire to please herself and the desire to please her uncle.

The georgette dress fits perfectly but it is cheap and showy; it will not wear well and it is not becoming. From its sleazy, dangling sleeves Mary's hands emerge like small picnic hams; beneath the flaring skirt with its coquettish little frills, her stout legs and sturdy feet look grotesque. Ought I to tell her so? No, the look in her eyes decides me; they are a-fire with the feminine love of the dainty garment. The frock is to Mary the acme of elegance; in it she sees her- self as an exquisite creature whom her boy friend will be proud to take to the Trianon to dance or to the picture palace to see Gloria Swanson. I can say nothing derogatory; Mary must have this dress.

*Tf your uncle is giving you a present I am sure he will want you to have something that you will enjoy," is what I do say.

"He'll let me have it if I want it," says Mary, "but I know he'd rather I'd take one of the others. They are very pretty but — I'll take this one."

I lead Mary back to the section-manager's desk, the sales slip is made out, uncle draws a roll of bills from his pocket, and the frock is sent to the wrapping-desk. Mary waits for the package lost in dehcious, speculative thought. Uncle walks a way with me, stops beside a rack, fingers a dark blue silk and remarks, "Now, that's value, I wish she had bought this but — girls will be girls. It's her birthday you know," and a tender fight shines from his old eyes.

i8 THE SALESLADY

As I am bidding Mary and her uncle good-bye, Miss Nelson, the section-manager approaches me. ''It's time for your class, Miss Donovan," she says kindly. I glance at the clock. Four thirty! Impossible! Where has the afternoon gone?

I go up to the sixteenth floor where an efficient, capable teacher tells a group of twenty or more girls how necessary it is to be on time at the store, the nature of store policy, and many, many other details that refuse to register in my tired brain. At the end of half an hour we are dismissed with orders to report for our second class at eleven the next morning.

Suddenly I realize how tired I am. My body aches and throbs from my chin to my heels; my feet feel like huge, swollen lumps of feverish flesh; my eyes burn; my head swims. I open my locker and there on the floor is my new hat, crown downward. I pick it up, I smooth out a great dent made by its fall, and I place it on my head, utterly in- different as to whether or not it is set at the smart angle over my left ear that had seemed so important a detail in the morning. I Hmp painfully down the aisle between the lock- ers. My spirit is jubilant but, oh, my feet !

Daily Obseevation: Nowadays there are mental tests for shopgirls.

CHAPTER III TRAINING IN

I am a P.T. — part-time worker — so I report for work on the second day at 10:45 a.m. Acting upon the advice given me the day before by Miss Bird, I bring with me a pair of old shoes for use ''on the floor" and I wear a small round hat that cannot be injured by a fall to the locker floor. My locker is number 9527. It is in a room which contains nar- row aisle upon narrow aisle of tall metal lockers, so many of them that I could never expect to see them all.

When I arrive I see hundreds of girls standing before these lockers in the various stages of disrobing. Some are changing their dresses, some their underwear, practically all, their shoes. With a murmured apology I crowd by the girls on my way to my locker, which is the last one in the row. Each girl is obliged to stop her undressing or dressing to let me pass.

Before my locker stands a tall girl who weighs about two hundred pounds, with gray hair cut short and combed back like a man's. As I approach I hear her say in a loud, bellig- erent tone, "I've always had a locker to myself before and I don't like this doubling-up, I can tell you that. I'm going to take it to the manager's offlce."

I stop and say meekly, "I don't think I'll be in your way. I'll just leave my shoes on the floor and put this hat on top of them; the floor can't hurt it."

"You can have a hook," says the big girl, grudgingly.

"Thank you, I don't need it; the floor will be quite all right."

19

20 THE SALESLADY

The big girl is puzzled; she hesitates, opens her mouth, and looks at me. But I am bending down, changing my shoes. Nonplussed, she walks silently away. We continue to share the locker and our relations are always amicable.

I lock up, walk down the aisle toward the door at the end of the room, pause a moment before the mirror to powder my nose as the other girls do, find an elevator, and let it carry me to the third floor where I belong. I sign in on a yellow sheet that is presented to me by Miss Nelson, and Miss Bird shows me a little cabinet where I can leave my purse. ''But don't leave any money in it," she cautions: "take that out and put in in your stocking or in your bloomer leg. If the elastic is tight that is the best place for it."

My class meets at eleven so I go immediately to the six- teenth floor. The same girls are gathered there waiting for the teacher, all busy chattering about their jobs, asking each other questions, and exchanging experiences. "How many premiums did you make today? Aren't those sales checks hard to make out? I'll never be able to remember all that. I'm in the gloves; where are you? Yes, I like it fine, it's awfully interesting." Strangers yesterday but today old friends, the work has made them members of the same fraternal order.

There are two girls who hold themselves aloof. They do not chatter but they take pains to tell us that they belong to the Training-Squad, which is composed of college gradu- ates who are given an intensive training in department- store procedure for a period of two years. One of the girls says, "And when we get through, we are going to be store superintendents."

A blond of sixty comes in and takes the chair next to mine, the teacher, a wholesome young person, arrives, and

TRAINING IN 21

the class begins. Over and over again she tells us clearly, distinctly, how to make sales checks, how to fill in ''Cash takens" and "Cash sents," ''Charge takens" and "Charge sents," "C.O.D.'s," "Tallies," and what not. Her voice sounds as though she is worn to a frazzle and that if she has to teach many more classes on this hot June day, she will surely scream and throw something.

After each explanation we make out, under her instruc- tion, the prescribed check. She scores us, calls our attention to errors, has us make out more checks, tells us in detail how to handle "C.O.D.'s," when it is necessary to have the sec- tion-manager sign slips, when to send the m^oney to the cashier in a gray carrier, when in a red or a blue one, which form to put into the carrier, which with the merchandise, which to keep and how. She explains the intricacies of the transfer shopping-card, of the shipping-label, of the hold label, the routine of exchanges, detail after detail until we are exhausted and dizzy. We look at each other helplessly and our glances say, "We can never learn all this!"

At twelve thirty we are dismissed to our respective de- partments. My neighbor of sixty rides dowTi in the elevator with me. "Is this work new to you, too?" she asks. "I don't know how I shall make out but I want to work. My younger sister supports me — she is married to a rich man — but I want to be independent. Where are you from?"

"Chicago."

"I stayed there once fifteen years ago at the Blackstone Hotel. I was singing in Grand Opera then ; that's what I was trained for."

I look at her sympathetically. She has been a great beauty, and her voice and appearance indicate that she is a gentlewoman. We reach my floor and part.

22 THE SALESLADY

I return to my department and immediately secure a customer, a woman from Florida who tells me how flat everything is there while she chooses a dark blue dress with a touch of pink on the edge of the frill which decorates the front. The frill makes her hesitate. 'T suppose I ought to take a plain dress; that frill will be hard to keep clean." She looks at herself in the mirror, is pleased with the frill, and adds recklessly, ''I'll take it anyway. I don't care; it's pretty and becoming — I should worry about the frill — I'll get a bottle of cleanser. I can wear it while I'm in New York and feel decently dressed."

Miss Nelson now approaches me and says kindly, "You did not get any lunch at all yesterday, did you, Miss Donovan?"

''No, I forgot all about it."

"But that is not right," Miss Nelson speaks reprovingly; "You must go to lunch every day between one thirty and two." She shows me how to sign out and in on the lunch sheet and then, turning to a girl who is about to sign out, adds, "Miss McDonald will take you to lunch today and show you the way."

Miss McDonald and I go up five floors in the elevator to the employees' cafeteria and file in the usual style. Hun- dreds are eating there, and the din of voices, combined with the clatter of dishes, is maddening. We fill our trays from the food racks, but when we look for a table we see that it will be difficult to find space enough on one to place them. Finally, however, we spy a table that offers possibilities. There is room on it for one tray and an ancient, hard-faced blond is occupying an extra space with her piece of pie. Nonchalantly Miss McDonald gives the pie a shove ; fiercely the blond shoves it back to its former position. Again Miss McDonald shoves ; the pie skids off the plate. The two glare

TRAINING IN 23

at each other; they exchange a vocal barrage. I stand, an interested observer. Finally the blond sHdes the pie onto her tray, muttering something about ''reporting to the manager's office"; Miss McDonald glares even more fiercely and says, "/ wouldnH if I were you^^ — pauses, and finishes dramatically, ''It isn't necessary." Then, turning to me she remarks placidly, "Sit down, kid, and enjoy yourself."

Lunch is finished without further comedy and we return to our department. My first customer is a middle-aged woman who has come in with her mother-in-law to buy the latter a dress. She selects several models and we go to the fitting-room. The mother-in-law is old, heavy, and slow. With difficulty we remove her dress and her petticoats. The poor old lady stands embarrassed in her summer under- vest with its Kttle caplike sleeves, her corset, her tightly buttoned corset-cover, and her black silk bloomers, her one concession to modernism. We try on the dresses, daughter- in-law all the while giving orders, commenting volubly, and making herself disagreeable as only a managing middle-aged woman can, until both the old lady and myself are worn out with her din.

At last we select a suitable dress but it needs to be al- tered. This presents a new problem to me. I dash out, how- ever, and miraculously pick up a fitter just outside the door, an old war-horse of a fitter, frumpy, bedraggled, with weary wisps of gray hair hanging down her wrinkled cheeks, and weary fines making deep grooves on each side of her weary old mouth. Dispiritedly she follows me into the hot little fitting-room and begins her duties, hindered and harassed continually by daughter-in-law. Leaving her to handle the situation, I go in search of a saleswoman to complete the transaction.

24 THE SALESLADY

I find Miss Lester free and, returning with her, say to daughter-in-law in my new professional manner, "This young woman will take care of you ; I must ask you to excuse me.

*^0h, you're the manager!" exclaims daughter-in-law brightly.

Miss Lester soberly nods, her eyes twinkling. We do not enlighten daughter-in-law, who is obviously flattered at the idea of having had such expert attention. When my hand is on the door, she calls out, ''Have you a dress like the one you are wearing? I'd Uke one for myself."

''No, I'm sorry, we haven't," I answer poHtely and flee.

Later in the day Miss Lester whispered to me, "That woman was a devil; you should have heard how she talked to me and that poor fitter after you left. She didn't want the old lady to know that she was buying her a cheap dress. When I mentioned the price, you should have seen the look she gave me — 'nd she has money, too, the stingy thing! Did you notice the diamonds she was wearing?"

This sale had taken so long that it is now four o'clock and time for my afternoon class. I hurry upstairs, where again the young teacher painstakingly repeats the lesson of the morning, again the class makes sales checks, but this time with more success.

The third day I receive my book and then my troubles begin. My first sale completed, I make out the check, tear off the triplicate as I have been instructed, and, as it is a "Cash taken," send it merrily up the compressed air shute in a gray carrier, at the same time handing over the mer- chandise to Flossie, the bundle-wrapper, my customer stand- ing the while beside the desk waiting for her package and her change.

TRAINING IN 25

With incredible rapidity Flossie stuffs the frock with tissue paper, flips the sleeves into position, folds the skirt, grabs a box, bends it into shape, inserts the flaps that hold it together, binds it with a string, japs the string with a knife, makes, with a blue pencil, a few hieroglyphics upon the cover, crams the triplicate check in at the edge, snatches my gray carrier which has just catapulted down upon the desk, and starts to hand me my change, but — around the carrier is a red rubber band.

''That's a premium!" snaps Flossie; "Call the S.M. (section-manager)."

I stare stupidly.

Something wrong!" barks Flossie and repeats, "Call the S.M."

I call and Miss Nelson comes. I have forgotten to write my number in the little square at the top of the check where it belongs. Five minutes are consumed in straightening out this detail at the end of which time, much chagrined, I hand my customer her package. "It shall not happen again," I hiss at myself through closed teeth. "I'll watch my step."

In the middle of the afternoon I hand Flossie a dress to wrap. "Haven't marked your ticket!" she snarls and flings the dress back at me.

With my pencil I quickly correct the error and hand the dress again to Flossie. She slams it down upon her counter, tosses her bobbed hair out of her eyes, and, looking past me, leaves the wrapping-desk, calling back as she does to the assist- ant who comes in at the rush hours, "I'm off the floor, Susie."

Susie's desk is already piled high with merchandise wait- ing to be wrapped. There is nothing for me to do except to chafe on the outside until it shall please Flossie to return. New saleswomen are nothing in her young life. In her way,

26 THE SALESLADY

also, she is supplementing the work of the training-depart- ment upstairs. She returns in five or ten minutes, wraps my package with her customary speed, and hands it to me with scornful arrogance.

My next customer is an old lady who comes in to buy a mourning dress. I open the case at one end of the depart- ment which contains them — at the opposite end is one which holds the wedding gowns — and, selecting three, precede the old lady into the fitting-room. She is not a difficult cus- tomer, but the dress she chooses is too long in the skirt.

"We can alter it for you," I say politely.

"Yes, and charge me five dollars."

"Perhaps you can do it yourself."

"No, I can't," tartly, "but I have a French maid; per- haps she can do it."

Pretty good ! think I, a French maid and she buys a dress for $23.75 in which to mourn her dear departed husband. She has told me that it was her husband who had died. What is the old lady trying to do — upstage me? And I laugh up my sleeve.

"Send it C.O.D.," she says, interrupting my cogitations. "I've been dealing with McElroy's for fifty years and not a week goes by that their wagon does not stop at my door. I don't have an account — I couldn't be bothered with one — but they'll take my check."

I open my book to a C.O.D. form. "Address, please," I demand.

She gives me her name and an address in Forest Hills, Long Island. I am startled. Even I, who live in Chicago, am famihar with the name of her husband who had made financial history in New York for half a century. Dead he was worth only twenty-three dollars and seventy -five cents worth of mourning!

TRAINING IN 27

The week goes on — customer follows customer — a hus- band and his young wife to buy a sports dress, an old lady with white hair, carrying a Uttle white dog, who wants a white dress, and who says she must hurry because the chauf- feur might be fined if she keeps the car waiting too long; a middle-aged girl from Montclair who talks to the friend who is with her about the divorce she is getting and about the lawyer who is getting it for her and whom she means to charm with the new dress; business women who need new apparel for the Fourth of July vacation; wives from the suburbs; tourists; in short, the permanent and transient in- habitants of New York, some who buy and some who can't be suited, but all are given service.

I continue to get into trouble with Flossie. One day when my ticket goes through the chopping-machine I am careless and chop ofl the price. Flossie discovers the error at once. She tosses the dress back at me with the same com- mand I have so learned to dread, ''Call the S.M."

This time Miss Nelson shows that she is annoyed but she merely says, "Take it to the marking-room and get a new ticket," and adds, with a nod, ''Over there."

I follow the direction indicated and find myself in a jungle of bargain hunters madly buying blouses at $1.95. Ruthlessly I crash through, find the marking-room, secure a new ticket, wait while a girl copies the necessary nota- tions upon it, return to the wrapping-desk, carefully adjust the ticket in the machine, and chop with nice precision so that exactly one half of the Kttle ticket remains dangling from the string with which it is attached to the garment. When I dehver the package to my customer, I have kept her waiting fifteen minutes.

. My exciting week drew to its close. I welcomed the double holiday, for Monday was the Fourth of July. Never

28 THE SALESLADY

in my life had I been so profoundly conscious of my feet though I had been accused of being vain about them. Dur- ing that first week I would have been willing to increase their size fourfold if it could have lessened the dull, feverish throb with its agonizing persistency.

Next to the feet, was the pain in the small of my back. I thought of what Atlas must have suffered when he had the weight of the world on his back. This backache and footache are the bane of the department-store girl. I was told that at the end of three months you are hardened to it. Maybe some are but I never was, and I noted occasions when the veterans complained bitterly. There is no doubt that there is both a physical and a mental strain in depart- ment-store work.

Each day I had attended classes in sales procedure for an hour: each day I had sold three or four dresses and wrestled with those exasperating sales checks. I had given service to many customers who did not buy, yet I had had time to get acquainted with the girls in the department, to Usten to their conversations, to gossip with them, and to exchange the laconic remarks with them about business and the customers that make up the jargon of the trade.

At first the girls had shown me polite aloofness, but as the week drew to its close there was a gradual melting away of coldness and a cordial camaraderie took its place. "I am no longer a new girl," I say to myself as I drag my tired body down to my locker; "it is hard work but it is fascinat- ing; no wonder girls like business."

Daily Observation: There seems to be no age limit for ''girls" in a department store.

CHAPTER IV THE GIRLS

A long dull week in July provided the opportunity for me to know more intimately the girls in my department. A thermometer registering close to ninety degrees, morn- ings of hot rain, muggy afternoons vainly attempting to produce spasms of sunshine are not conducive to shopping. The dress department was deserted except for a few intrepid "lookers" who arouse a scornful antagonism in the girls, who say, "We'll ruin more merchandise trying on dresses in such weather than we can sell in a good week. Why can't they stay at home? You wouldn't catch me in a store on a day like this if I didn't have to collect a pay envelope!"

Dejected frocks hang from the racks; not even the flowered chiffons can wave with any spirit in the suffocating breezes made by the electric fans; the dark georgettes and the flat crepes look like those middle aged women who have drab, crushed faces. A man from the planning department walks through our section, giving the racks a whirl, scru- tinizing each garment, making little notes in a big book, shrugging his shoulders and saying, "Your stock's all shot," and ordering the most bedraggled frocks to be carried upstairs from whence they will appear in a day or two to be hung on the "marked down" trees.

The girls walk about aimlessly in their little forest pre- serve. "Have you opened yet?" (made your first sale of the day) they ask each other. "Haven't sold a thing ....

I've got one Such a day! Nobody wants to buy."

29

30 THE SALESLADY

Women wearing old clothes and carrying damp umbrel- las walk through, handling the frocks with listless fingers. They have come in out of the rain to kill time. One of them accosts Miss Beebee, a slender, dark girl who has the reputa- tion of being an excellent saleswoman, and we hear her say, "No, madame, we haven't that dress in a thirty-eight; the thirty-six is the only size we have left in that model."

"Sorry, but we have it only in blue. We did have it in other colors, but it is between seasons now and we have only what is displayed on the racks. No, there is no reserve stock. We are closing these out at prices much reduced, as you can see. They are real bargains; let me see if I can help you find something that will appeal to you." These are the remarks current in the department. We are kept busy in the middle of the day trying to sell to bargain-hunters. We take dresses to the fitting-rooms to be tried on. This one has a button missing, that a soiled collar, another no belt, the slip belonging to a fourth cannot be found. Madame does not want any of these; she is disgusted.

When I want information I always go to Miss Lovelace, who is the most intelligent woman in the department. She is a widow of forty-five whose son is attending Columbia University. She is considered one of the two "aces" when it comes to selling dresses, an ace being an expert sales- woman.

"How much longer must we work with this stock?" I ask her.

"Two or three weeks," she replies, "Every day some will be marked down until the few that are left unsold will be disposed of in a cheaper department."

Miss Metz, the buyer, brings a dress to us, hangs it up on the outside of the merchandise desk, and says, "Work

THE GIRLS 31

hard, all of you, to sell this dress today so we won't have to take a mark down on it."

We gather around her in a little group. She seizes the opportunity to say, ^' Girls, remember your success, my suc- cess, the success of the department depends on you. Work hard to sell this merchandise. Concentrate on the mark- downs. Remember you get twenty-five cents extra for everyone you sell. I know this is a hard season but it won't be long now. Soon you will have nice fresh merchandise to work with. You are a hand-picked group; I depend on you."

No matter how hard we try, we cannot make enough sales to keep us busy. We stand around in httle groups and gossip. We hsten to Miss Huges, a tall, slender, young ma- tron of the show-girl type, whose tightly coiffed hair gives her an air of distinction, who is saying, "I sat on the porch last night while Jim cut the grass. It was nice and cool and the fresh grass smelled so good. He brought a friend home to supper unexpected and I can tell you I just set out some cold meat and applesauce I had in the house and I says, 'Such as it is you're more than welcome but don't expect me to cook in this weather.' Jim loves company and if I don't let him bring his men friends home like that unexpected, I'U lose my husband, so there you are."

"My son doesn't like company," remarks Miss Lovelace. "He's studying for his Ph.B., you know, and he's very busy. 'Now mother, you know this place is so small I can't get away from anybody who comes here and if you invite those girls from the store home with you, I'll leave.' And so, girls, you can't come to see me or I'll lose my son."

Miss Holmes, the Httle cockney, joins the group. Her small nose tip-tilted, her arms akimbo, she looks for all the

32 THE SALESLADY

world like a saucy little English sparrow about to pick a fight. "No, I didn't work when I lived in England," she sways back and forth on her shabby little toes. "Papa's pockets were well lined then but now — " with a significant shrug, "they are not so well lined."

"And the children?" I venture to ask.

"We drowned them; we considered that the best way to dispose of them."

Apropos of nothing except her own thoughts, Klara now contributes something to the conversation. Klara is a Rou- manian Jewess of thirty who has been eight years in this country. Whenever a customer speaks a language other than English she was turned over to Klara, and I never knew her to fail. This ability to talk in many languages contributed to her success as a saleswoman. She was the other ace of the department. Her attitude toward the customers was like that of a character actor on the stage and among his friends. With a customer she was obsequious, flattering. She ad- dressed them as "madame" with the inflection and the sig- nificance possible only to a foreigner. Among the girls she was the leader in the fun-making, with a gift of imitation and satire and a quick wit. Klara was sure of herself in any group in which she might be placed, confident of her capacity to meet any circumstance that might arise. She ridiculed her own attitude.

"Alice tried to steal my boy friend last night," says Klara. Never by any chance do the girls in the department ever mention the names of their boy friends. Only if you happen to meet the boys themselves do you learn their names. Klara and and Alice are the only girls in the de- partment who are called by their first names.

THE GIRLS 33

Alice smiles with the expectancy of one who hopes to hear a good joke. Alice is our modeP and the beauty of the department. One of Klara's artist boy friends is painting her portrait, so Klara says. With her long hair coiled like a halo about her head, her deep, mysterious, yellow eyes, her beautiful, ironical, red mouth, she looks like a painting by one of the old Italian masters. She comes from the tene- ments; her German father is a plasterer, and her Irish moth- er stays home to care for the brood of small children that Alice's earnings help to support.

"Alice is a natural born snuggler," says Klara. "Let me show you how she flirted with my boy friend," and sitting down upon Miss Vanderplow's lap, she blows kisses up the latter's cheeks and through her eyelashes. We all laugh. "Nice girl she is to ask to a party. I'll ask her again — maybe."

I move away from this group to another where Miss McDonald has the floor. She is short and stout, her sweetly pretty face is embedded in a row of double chins, but her appealing brown eyes win one's affection and she is a great favorite among the girls. We dehght in her Scotch burr.

"My husband was cheating one night," she is saying as I approach, "and what do you think happened. He was having a blond to dinner in a restaurant and who should walk in and sit down at the next table but my best friend. Maybe he wasn't embarrassed! He tried to patch it up; he went over to Florence's table and he says, Tuss's cook has left and I didna want to make her cook dinner for me.'

' Of great importance is the model who now displays in the stalls the ordinary garment that the ordinary woman will buy. Formerly, the model was unheard of; now she is in every dress department.

34 THE SALESLADY

Florence laughed in his face and she says, 'Puss didna ever hae a cook; don't he think I know better than that?' And she came and told me the next day and didna I hae it on him!"

On these slow days even busy Miss Nelson can take time for a httle visiting. The girls say that she is the best sec- tion-manager on the third floor, that no other is so kind and S3Tnpathetic. "There's no other department where the girls get along as well as we do," said Miss Lovelace, ''and it's all on account of Miss Nelson. It's a disgrace the way those girls in 178 quarrel all the time and right before the customers, too. I wouldn't work in 155 either under that little Jew. He thinks he's some sheik but I'll work under a woman every time and especially a woman Hke Miss Nelson."

I was curious about Miss Nelson and one day she satis- fied my curiosity. 'T came over from Norway when I was fifteen," she explained, "and my uncle came to meet my mother and me. I had on my best dress, long, down to my ankles, and on my legs red knitted yarn stockings. I thought I was dressed up to kill. When my uncle saw those red stockings, he grabbed his head and he said, 'My God! no one in New York wears red stockings except bad women. You stay here until I buy you some black stockings. I'll take no woman ashore with me in red stockings.' "

"My first job," continued Miss Nelson after she had taken care of a customer who had come to exchange a dress, "was as a nursemaid in a nice family, then I was second girl for a while, and finally a cook where I made fine wages. Then I was married. I have three sons, and when they were grown I wanted something to do. My housework didn't take all my time so I came down here to the store. That

THE GIRLS 35

was ten years ago. I tried being a saleswoman but I didn't like it. There's more money in selling but I just can't cater to these women who come here. I like being a section -man- ager and I'd like being a buyer but they won't let me try on account of my age. I guess I'll always stay a section- manager."

I looked at this mother of Vikings in admiration. She had told her little story with simple dignity; she had the character to admit having been a servant and the character not to be ashamed of it. She knows that she is one of the best section-managers in the store and feels a gentle pride in her success.

I was also curious about Miss Bird who had received me the first day and who had continued to be helpful. 'T was educated for welfare work," she said, ''but I couldn't stand it; it was too confining; so I changed to department store work five years ago. Since then I've worked in stores from the Atlantic to the Pacific, learning everything I could about the business. I am only head of stock now but I expect to be a buyer in another year and I hope to be transferred abroad. Working in a store is hard work, but when I get through here I go home to my Httle apartment over there on Thirty-fourth Street and I five my own life. I have time to call my own; in welfare work your work is never done and you have no time to yourself."

Hilda is eighteen, the youngest saleswoman in the de- partment. She is the old-fashioned type of young girl and is always successful in selling dresses to men from the Middle West to take back to their wives and daughters. She is a student at Hunter College, where she is preparing to become a teacher. In the winter she works at the store only on Saturdays but in the summer she is a regular full-time work-

36 THE SALESLADY

er. She has had experience in all departments of the store but is especially successful in the Mabelle department.

Miss Vanderplow and I go to lunch together; she tells me about herself. ''I've just come here from Denver; my daughter is a dancer and she makes big money when she has an engagement. Just now she is modeling and posing for ads. She hopes to get a steady position this fall. I've had two husbands — both are dead. We have an apartment on Riverside Drive; we get it cheap for the summer. I don't know where we'll live this winter; New York is a very ex- pensive place. What I earn here helps a lot."

''You bet you can do a lot with twenty-two fifty a week," Miss Lester, who has joined us, interposes here. "In the good season you can make as high as thirty a week and it's only five hours a day. My mother takes care of my boy — he's four now — and I can get away."

It is customary for the girls of the department to eat together. Miss Smith brings her tray to our table. "My boy is eleven and my sister looks after him. My husband has had a run of hard luck; we bought a house in Queens and the payments have to be made every month — sixty- five dollars — that's why I'm working — and to get some clothes."

The two young mothers, both gentle, well-bred girls, look at each other with sympathetic understanding.

In the afternoon Miss Diamond, the style adviser, in- troduces herself to me. "When you have customers that just can't make up their minds, you say, 'Let me call the style adviser,' and then you come and get me. I have studied costume design and I know how to talk to them about line, cut, style, and color. I can tell them what is best suited to their figures, what shade is most becoming to their complex-

THE GIRLS 37

ion, and," with a little laugh, "all the rest of it. They are flattered by this personal attention and they buy. I save thousands of dollars every year for the store." It was quite true, she did.

There is a rumor afloat that Alice is going to be trans- ferred to another department. This disturbs the Mabelle girls very considerably and they stand around talking it over.

"Miss Metz has a spell of transferring, I guess," says Miss Beebee.

"Yes, I guess that's it," says Miss McDonald. "She trans- ferred Miss Jacobs last month and Miss Jacobs was a good saleswoman."

"I wonder who she thinks is going to sell her goods for her," adds someone else. "In addition to being a model Alice runs a thousand-dollar book every week, and in the busy season it's a lot more than that."

"What's wrong, then?"

"She says Alice comes in late and goes home early and that she's tired of talking to her about it."

"She says that Alice is getting uppish with the custom- ers, too. Yesterday a man came in with his daughter to buy a dress; Alice showed him one and she said, 'This is a swell little model.' The man got mad and he said, T don't like the way you talk and I don't want you to wait on me.' He called Miss Metz and asked for another clerk and he told her what Alice had said. I guess that's why she's get- ting a transfer."

"She and Miss Metz haven't been getting along well for sometime. Alice is uppish but she's young and she's a good saleswoman. Where are we going to get another model like her? She's got a beautiful figure and a lot of style and

38

THE SALESLADY

dash. Miss Metz will have to look a long while before she'll get another girl as handsome as Alice to show off her goods."

Frocks for Feeble Females

By Haenigsen

■teACtJlhKr -WAT A NEW eoWN oR

-m: fiELAPSt

.^V/..

'Mf^/r

f^

"Alice should worry about being transferred," from Miss McDonald. "I was in the miUinery before I came here but I

THE GIRLS 39

couldn't get along with the S.M., so one day I just walked down to the superintendent's office and asked for a transfer. I told him why, too. It's no disgrace to be transferred."

''I know it isn't but, just the same, a girl hates to be transferred. Alice is just sick about it. I told her to talk to Miss Metz and ask for one more trial."

"Come now, girls, scatter!" calls Miss Nelson. ''It's all right for you to talk when you're not busy but don't get together in lumps. Two or three of you go up to the front, a couple of you over there — this isn't an afternoon tea."

But unless they are busy the girls do not remain long apart. An irresistible attraction draws them together again. At every opportunity they play the game of "customer," a game which they have invented and of which they never seem to tire— a game which, for caricature and comedy I never have seen surpassed on any stage. One girl takes the part of the saleswoman, another that of the customer in search of a dress, and together they put on an act that would delight the heart of a vaudeville audience. If J. P. McEvoy could ever see it as I have, I am sure he would incorporate it, in his inimitable fashion, into a comedy skit for use in the Follies.

"The Stylish Stouf is a favorite variation. Just now Miss Hohnes, the Httle cockney, is the saleswoman and Miss McDonald the customer.

"But, madame," says Miss Hohnes, "you cannot wear that dress; it is a misses' size and," looking the customer over, her head cocked like the impertinent httle sparrow she is, "I should say that you take at least a forty-two."

"But I like this dress, I like the color, and the little vest is so cute! Don't you suppose I could wear it?" and Miss McDonald gazes beseechingly at the tiny saleswoman.

40 THE SALESLADY

"No, madame, you could not," replies Miss Holmes with great firmness; "it is useless for you to even attempt to try it on but here is one that might fit you." She turns to the rack holding the largest sizes and picks off a conservative frock of dark blue.

"But I don't like it," protests the customer, and her voice suggests the nearness of tears; "it is too dark and old looking; it hasn't a bit of style. I want a dress that is stylish and youthful."

"Just slip it over your head so I can get the size," coaxes the saleswoman as she throws the frock over the customer's head.

Miss McDonald makes a great pretense of trying to get into the dress. She waves her arms about wildly, puffs and pants for breath, then, giving up the struggle, admits weakly that the dress is too small.

"But it is a forty-four," says the saleswoman loftily, "the largest size that we carry in this department. I am sorry, madame, but I really believe we can do nothing for you here. You will have to try the stylish stout depart- ment."

In great indignation, the customer flounces out in the direction of the stylish stouts, reads the sign, turns round, and begins a torrent of unintelligible protest while the girls howl with laughter.

Time to go home. The girls gather about the merchan- dise desk to close out their salesbooks for the day. They exchange a rapid fire of comment. "Rotten day! . . . .

How many'd you get? .... Eight! pretty good

I got only three Marie has five None of

the girls have many Can't sell dresses this weather.

.... You have to pull off their ears to get them in and out

THE GIRLS 41

of a dress Let's pray for rain and cooler weather

next week You take the Sixth Avenue L, don't

you? .... I'll go along with you. I just have to make up my report; it won't take five minutes. Two 'Cash takens' —

one 'Charge sent' — two 'C.O.D.'s' — rotten record

There you are. Pin them together for me, that's a girl, and toss 'em on the S.M.'s desk while I get my purse. . . . ♦ Oh Lord, how my feet hurt! .... My back feels like it

would break Funny how tired you get on the low

days I'm never tired on a busy day, I don't know

where the time goes I hate July and August

The fall's the time to work in a department store; it's fun then So long! see you Monday."

We go our separate ways. In those early weeks our friendship begins in the store, and, so far as any contacts are concerned, ends there. During the business week we are like a family with the close bond of a common interest. We know each other's outside Ufe only through what we tell each other. We are not interested in the husbands, chil- dren, friends, except as they affect the attitudes of the girls in the store. Later I was to learn that there were outside contacts, carefully safeguarded, not at all general.

I never knew of a girl asking for help except in the rou- tine of the store's activities, yet if the request had been made I am sure each of us would have responded. In the store the girls unconsciously displayed a sturdy independence that was as impressive as their warm-hearted responsiveness to ^ each other.

Daily Observation: This department store existence is a Ufe by itself. The girls have begun to dramatize it and thus to make their comment upon it.

42 THE SALESLADY

PRICE MARKDOWNS WORRY RETAILERS^

THEY SUPPLY ONE OF THE MOST PUZZLING PROBLEMS IN MAINTAINING PROFITS

Discussion of retail markdowns at the convention of the Merchan- dise Managers' Group of the National Retail Dry Goods Association in this city last week is again centring attention on the problem they present. It is said to be one of the most serious which present-day retailers have to face. Practically no other item in the cost of doing business cuts so sharply into the profits of a store.

The extent to which markdowns reduce profits, as well as a way in which they can be controlled, at least partly, was indicated by one of the group's members. This man told the convention how his store, which is located in one of the largest cities of Texas, had reduced losses through markdowns and shortages about $100,000 in a single year through the employment of a man solely to watch for "soft spots" in the store's stocks. "Soft spots" is the term given to merchandise that is rapidly losing value, for one reason or another, and which should be cleaned out as quickly as possible. The quicker it is got rid of, the smaller the loss incurred through the markdown necessary to move it is apt to be.

As in the case of all other ills, whether commercial or human, an ounce of prevention is usually worth a pound of cure. This is true of retail markdowns, but in order to prevent or reduce them it is neces- sary to know the various sources from which they come. One of the most proHfic of these is the special sale, and one way to reduce losses from this source is to reduce the number of sales. If, however, it is considered advisable to run "specials" frequently in order to obtain the necessary or desired volume of business in a given period of time, merchandising experts say that every effort should be made to confine such sales to goods purchased particularly for the purpose.

Special offerings of desirable merchandise from stock, it is con- tended, should be put out only when absolutely necessary. There should be no hesitation, however, in staging sales with a view to the prompt movement of "stickers," for this is the only way to prevent bad guesses of the buyers from getting worse.

Closely related to the special sale as a serious factor in producing markdowns is the buying of wholesale "clean-ups" with a view to

^New York Times, Sunday, August 15, 1926.

THE GIRLS 43

staging such events. Frequently the merchandise that the jobber or manufacturer is letting out at a sacrifice because it has been found dif&cult to move will be just as hard to sell over the counter, if not harder. Like the little girl with the famous curl, when merchandise of this type is bad it is "horrid." In other words, if it does not move at once it becomes practically unsalable and entails a nasty loss.

In considering the purchase of this type of merchandise, it is said by those who ought to know, the buyer should try to figure out just £LS much why the manufacturer or jobber wants to sell it as why he (the buyer) should want to buy it. It is further said almost to be an axiom that to buy "jobs" of certain types of goods is to get "stuck," and that buyers are learning this, to their sorrow, almost every day.

Although budgeting and other systems leading to the so-called hand-to-mouth method of buying by retail stores have done much to overcome it, another serious source of loss through markdowns lies in purchasing too much. WTiere this happens nowadays it is usually in a case in which a buyer has argued his merchandise man into letting him make a "big buy" in order to obtain a substantial price concession. That the loss incurred through marking prices down to a point where consumers will buy the goods frequently equals or exceeds the saving on the purchase price, usually is not reahzed until a buyer has seen red figures staring up at him from his own records.

In cases where a store is too small to have merchandise men, or where the owner does his own buying, purchasing too much is usually the result of inabihty or inexperience. In either case there is almost certain to be a financial headache.

Rapid style changes also contribute their quota of losses through markdowns. Departments handling "style" merchandise are watched nowadays by executives of big stores like the proverbial hawk. Mis- takes in buying goods of this type, whether they be fur coats or shoes, and whether the errors be made through ignorance of style trends or sheer carelessness, are especially serious. Just as there are women who will spend large sums of money to keep up with the latest vogue, there are others — and very many more of them — who would rather not save money and be behind it. In other words, relatively few women are willing to buy passe style merchandise at any price, and many a buyer has found this out to his or her discomfort.

Not so very long ago, according to a certain merchandising expert.

44 THE SALESLADY

an executive of a well-known store was going through an aisle of the silk department one afternoon and, in attempting to avoid a collision with a woman who had suddenly bobbed up in his path, bumped into a counter and knocked one of the displays to the floor. In it was a bolt of high-priced material that did not benefit any from its fall.

The incident set the executive thinking about the whole question of damage to merchandise and the ensuing losses. A study of the loss through markdowns arising from this source astonished him consider- ably. In this loss the item of soilage of ready-to-wear garments bulked large. AU employes are now under orders to handle merchandise as carefully as possible and, so far as it can be done, to prevent its abuse by prospective customers.

Special discounts to ministers, school teachers and others that are still given by some stores also swell the loss from markdowns, although this fact, apparently, is not taken into consideration by all the stores which grant these concessions. The loss from such discounts naturally increases with the size of the store that gives them and the extent to which it is patronized by the favored classes.

Employes' discoimts also play an important part in the markdown situation. So far as known, every store of any size uses this system of getting the patronage of its workers, and many of them are said to extend the discount concession to families of their employes as well. The discounts vary with the store that grants them, but some of them are quite large. In some instances they vary in the same store vvdth the kinds of merchandise to which they apply. Losses incurred through employe discount markdowns are doubtless more legitimate than those arising from other types of price lowering, and in no small degree necessary, yet they are just as actual as those incurred through the other sources that have been outlined.

NEW POLICY HELPS TRADE'

DISPLAYING PRACTICAL MODELS AT FASHION SHOW SWELLS SALES

The impetus given to the "trade up movement" by the recent Fall fashion show of the National Garment Retailers' Association will un- doubtedly be felt far into the Autumn apparel season, John W. Hahn,

^ New York Times, August 26, 1926.

THE GIRLS 45

Executive Secretary of the organization, said yesterday. The practical character of the garments exhibited will greatly assist in this, in his opinion.

"We followed a somewhat different policy at the show last week from that in past exhibits," Mr. Hahn said. "We did not encourage manufacturers to prepare merchandise especially for the event. We made it clear that we wanted them to display salable garments that the average woman would not regard as too bizarre for her wardrobe. A common criticism of fashion shows in the past has been the fact that only 'show pieces' were exhibited, and that the buyers, although given a helpful conception of the prevailing fashion features, did not see 'numbers' that could be bought by them without certain modifying alterations.

"The activity in the showrooms of the exhibitors on the morning after the show proved conclusively that our new poHcy was the more judicious. I venture to say that a larger volume of business was done on the fashion show models this season than at any previous time in the long period that we have been staging these exhibitions. The de- mand for fashion show labels, to be affixed to all style show 'numbers' bought by retailers, is surprisingly large.

"Of the four new colors introduced, Neptime, the Hght watergreen, appears to be the most promising. Much favorable comment has been made regarding the shade called romance, while gypsy and Autumn have also come in for a genuine share of interest. More than 200 re- tailers have asked us for swatches in these colors during the past three days. Through our bulletins we have acquainted more than 5,000 merchandise managers and buyers with the new shades."

CHAPTER V CUSTOMERS

For endless study of feminine personality I recommend the dress department of a large department store. The cus- tomers offer infinite variety; they come from the wealthiest homes, from middle-class apartments, and from the tene- ments. They are from Maine, Florida, Massachusetts, Cali- fornia, Iowa, Illinois, Nebraska, Texas, and Arkansas. They are Americans, Europeans, Orientals, Ethiopians. Many can scarcely speak English but, when they buy dresses, they are astonishingly alike.

With one exception I never escaped the ready-to-wear departments. The employment managers were unanimous in saying that I was the ready-to-wear type and that that was the department in which I must work. Of course, the fact that my first experience was in dresses affected the sit- uation, but apparently the first consideration is a matter of height, tall girls being preferred; then comes education and manners. It is quite evident that the employment man- agers hope and expect that the saleswoman in the dress de- partment will wait on Mrs. Astorbilt some day.

Our buyers always told us to try to educate customers, to improve their taste in dress. I found out, through experi- ence, that I could sell only the dress that the customer her- self wanted. This, in many cases, was not the one which in my judgment suited her best. If, however, I persisted in trying to sell her what I considered most suitable, I lost the sale. I learned, therefore, to stress the good points of the

46

CUSTOMERS 47

garment which I saw she had set her heart upon, to put myself into her place, to try to realize her education, her ex- perience, the social milieu in which she moved, and, by tak- ing these things into account, I was successful more often than not. I was never successful when I tried to superim- pose my taste upon her. Occasionally a woman would ask me to pick out a dress for her or express an admiration for the one I was wearing, and then that was another matter and one to be handled in quite another way.

In a comparatively short space of time, the saleswoman learns, according to a system which prevails in all social re- lationships, to arrange customers into two distinct groups, those whom she likes and those whom she tries to avoid. In the first belongs the business woman who is always wel- come in the dress department because one is sure, in nine times out of ten, of making a sale to her. She does not ''shop," she has no time to waste, she comes to buy what she needs, and she has decided, more or less definitely, what that is before she enters the store. The saleswoman either makes a quick sale to her or, if she cannot be suited, she goes on promptly about her business.

The young girl, the ''flapper," is another desirable cus- tomer and for the same reason that the business woman is. The flapper is, moreover, easy to fit and she is so numerous that the store carries a good stock especially suited to her needs. The busy wife and mother, provided she has the modern point of view, is another customer who can always command service given cheerfully by the saleswoman. She, too, has no time to waste.

In the second group belongs the old woman. If there is one comment more often heard in the dress department than any other it is, "I hate to wait on an old woman." It is not

48 THE SALESLADY

a matter of years at all but a mental attitude to which the saleswoman objects. There are some old bodies, even if they are fussy, who laugh at their own attitude and are alto- gether charming. Before the end of the first week I under- stood the reason for this and was making the same com- ment myself. The old woman is fussy; she wants her skirt down to her heels and her collar buttoned up under her chin; she complains that the style is ''too gay" or that the sleeves "don't set"; she can see a dozen things to find fault with that any other woman would never discover. Some who are merely middle-aged and some who are young in years have the "old" woman's point of view, and are fussy just as she is.

I didn't wait on any old woman if I could help myself. I found out that the familiar way to avoid her was to act as though I were suddenly stricken blind when she loomed up. I was interested in anything but such a customer and, short of having one grab me by the arm and demand service, the apparent attack of blindness was successful. I think I can safely say that I escaped two out of three.

If the "old" woman is a sufficiently clever angler to hook her, the saleswoman learns to make a quick escape, the usual device being to assure this unwelcome customer that there is nothing left in stock that would suit her taste, and it de- pended upon circumstances whether the inflection given to the word taste was appreciative or ironical. The sales- woman then melts away without waiting for a reply.

This behavior was in accord with the poUcy of the store. The merchant must sell his goods; he cannot afford to have the time of his sales force wasted, for such time includes not only salary but the overhead of the entire store. In a talk given by one buyer, she said, "If a woman picks out three dresses that are the right size and color and that she says

CUSTOMERS 49

she likes, you take them to the fitting-room and let her try them on and none suit her, don't spend any more time on her; she don't intend to buy a dress and she won't if you show her eight. Three dresses at a time are all you should show any customer. You may return to the racks for a larger size or occasionally for another dress but usually you are wasting your time."

Sometimes the saleswoman has to trick the customer in order to serve her properly. For example, when a customer has tried on a dress that is suitable and fits well, one that she says she likes, but she insists upon a size larger or small- er, the saleswoman will leave the fitting-room with the gar- ment, change the size on the ticket, return, and sell the cus- tomer the same dress, which is the one she should have. If the saleswoman's patience is exhausted by the fussy cus- tomer, she may leave the fitting-room, ostensibly to find other models, and fail to return. Or sometimes she dismisses the customer with a polite stock phrase, 'T am sorry, madame, we have nothing in this department suitable for you; try department 178."

There is another class of customer which is a total loss as far as sales are concerned. To this belong the women who announce with airy superiority, "Price is no object." Sales- women are fairly unanimously agreed that this statement is true because these women haven't the price and there- fore it can play no part in their negotiations. They expect the sales clerk to follow them around from rack to rack and from case to case, explaining and displaying merchandise, to carry armfuls of dresses into fitting-rooms, and to stand patiently attentive while "madame" tries them all on. In the end she will say with a nice little note of patronage in her voice, "None of these suit me."

50 THE SALESLADY

This foolish Uttle comedy which gives madame such satisfaction, takes anywhere from one hour to two of the saleswoman's time, makes her scornful on a dull day and furious on a busy one. The woman who wants "something better" is frequently in this class but sometimes she really does want something better.

Many colored people come to the store. Trying to sell a dress to a colored woman is full of comedy but as a busi- ness transaction it is more often than not a complete failure. Lucinda is courteous and affable but she can't make up her mind; the dress is not the right color, or the trimming is not satisfactory, or she says "it pinches" her arms. She can find a dozen ingenious reasons why she does not want the dress, though the truth probably is that she has no money for the purchase. She loves, however, to prolong the trying on process, to pirouette before the mirror, to demand the saleswoman's attention. She is acting out a little drama of mistress and maid — she usually shops on Thursday — with the usual positions reversed in her mind for the time being.

The bitter struggle with flesh is fought every day in the selHng of dresses. It is the expected thing for a woman who is a perfect forty-six to ask if you think she can wear a thirty-eight and to be willing to compromise only to the ex- tent of a forty. Sometimes the size is changed before the dress is tried on but more often, just to prove how solid human flesh may be, an attempt is made to encase a forty- six woman in a forty frock, but it never gets farther than the shoulder3. If the skirt is not too narrow, it can be worked down to the waistline, the upper part of the frock remaining piled up on the shoulders like a ruff, so that the effect is rather that of a gaily bedecked platform supported by two substantial pink pedestals.

CUSTOMERS 51

Fat women like bright colors and youthful styles. One day a woman wept tears of exasperation because I could not find a pink flowered chiffon larger than a thirty-eight. Once out of pure kindness I grossly insulted a customer by sug- gesting that she try the stylish stout department. "Stylish stout!" she cried in hysterical rage, ''Stylish stout! .... Bah! There isn't a dress in the whole department for any woman under seventy-five and every one of them is just like every other, the same lines, the same styles we've seen for years and all either dark blue, brown, or black." I never again had the heart to suggest to any woman that she try the stylish stouts.

Certainly they want youthful styles and bright colors, but the manufacturers seem to have taken it for granted that when a woman is more than forty-two, chest measure, she doesn't care what she wears. This is a base libel. It would seem that these gentlemen have entered into a con- spiracy against large women which prompts speculation as to what their wives may be like.

The short woman with wide hips who wants knee skirts is another problem because dresses designed for her have skirts of a conservative length. Of course her wishes can be met by having the skirt shortened, but the effect obtained is very much like that of a kilt and kilts were never designed for the stout. The capacious, full-bosomed woman who finds in the misses' department ''just what I want" can expect no solution of her problem; it is a hopeless one. Incidentally I would like to remark here that the popular belief that fat persons are good-natured is likely to be combated by sales- women in a dress department.

Ladies of the mid-Victorian state of mind invariably go shopping with their daughters who are six months ahead of

52 THE SALESLADY

the procession. Friction is inevitable. Arguments take place that would be comic if they were not tragic. Mother and daughter cannot get together over a dress any better than they can, in all probabiHty, over other matters. There is no middle ground upon which they can meet; neither is capable of compromise. I witnessed in silent embarrassment sordid scenes between mother and daughter that revealed a sex hatred and antagonism appalling in its intensity. It was a matter of inflection and of facial expression rather than of words which in themselves were commonplace enough.

A dowdy old woman of the working classes showed me the pictures of her daughter and her son-in-law who were, it was plain to see, rich, smart, and fashionable. ''They are society people," explained the old woman, "and they say if I don't dress better I can get out; that they won't have me in their house. But I just can't wear these new style dresses and I can't bear to spend so much money for clothes; it is wicked. It isn't that I haven't the money, see," and she opened her purse which was crammed with bills.

I tried to find this woman a dress but what suited her- "wouldn't suit the children" and she couldn't make up her mind. Finally I was obliged to leave her but all afternoon I saw the poor old soul wandering disconsolately among the racks, fingering wistfully the cheap all-black silks that she longed to buy had she dared. At the end of the day she came to say good-bye to me but she had not bought a dress.

At another time a nervous old lady said to me appre- hensively after she had concluded her purchase, 'Tt suits me but I wonder if my daughter-in-law will like it." Far more disheartening even than this were the daughters who had married prosperously and were ashamed of their mothers,

CUSTOMERS S3

and the pathetic efforts of the mothers to conceal their daughters' heartlessness.

Contrasted with the ''old" mother of yesterday, the new mother of today provides a hopeful antithesis; she comes to the store with her little daughters; together they look over the stock and select three frocks that they think will be suitable, and together they accompany the saleswoman to the fitting-room. Mother puts on the dresses, Marie and Edith assisting, giving little pulls and tugs to each garment as she dons it. Then, while she turns about before the mir- ror to get the effect, the little girls stand off in critical ap- praisal. ''Do you Hke it, Marie? What do you think of it, Edith?" the mother will ask in a tone that shows plainly that Marie and Edith are contemporaries whose opinion she values. Marie pronounces her judgment, Edith agrees or disagrees, they hold a conference, a decision is reached, and a dress that is satisfactory to all three is selected in a sur- prisingly short time. They accept the change and their parcel, exchange a few words of courteous farewell with the saleswoman, and go contentedly on their way, leaving the latter with a warm sense of well-being and accomplishment.

"How I hate the woman who brings her girl friend along!" was a remark I often heard made by the sales- women in the dress department. In this, as in most matters, I found their statement correct. The woman who brings another with her when she buys a dress has a vacillating temperament and she is invariably dominated by her friend. The saleswoman finds that if she makes a sale, it must be not to the woman who will wear the dress but to Mollie, who accompanies her. Mollie is always loud in her expres- sion of approval or disapproval and she always overrides the

54 THE SALESLADY

weak, subconscious desires of the purchaser. A sale may be effected but the saleswoman is left with a feeling of dissatis- faction and impermanence. She knows that if some other friend fails to like the dress when it reaches its destination, the chances are that it will be returned, she will receive no commission on the sale, and her precious time will have been wasted.

Husbands are not likely to deter sales. Men who ac- company wives in search of dresses are either the affection- ate, kindly sort who want her to have whatever she wishes or the dominating kind who make the selection for her. In any case the transaction will be short and to the point, for men are either impatient during the process or, sheepish and uncomfortable, they long to escape at the earliest possible moment. They make few demands other than that the dress be pretty or "have a bit of red on it somewhere." If they are old-fashioned, like a Lutheran minister who accom- panied his wife on such an errand, they insist that it be "plenty long, plenty large, and buttoned up decently at the neck."

On several occasions I had a prospective bride among the day's customers. Invariably she brought two or three bridesmaids with her because they wished to choose frocks that would harmonize. One girl from a small town in Maine, plainly an American of refinement, stands out especially in my memory because of the charming naivete of her manner. I sold her a simple bridal gown of white georgette — she in- sisted upon simplicity — and her bridesmaid one of palest pink. The two girls fairly radiated happiness, and this made them delightful, appreciative customers to whom it was a pleasure to give service.

Another bride was a young PoUsh girl with dirty, stubby

CUSTOMERS 55

finger nails and large, serviceable hands. For a long time she hesitated between a frock decorated with fine lace and dainty pearl trimming which cost $38 and one of heavy, cheap satin trimmed only with knots and bows of the ma- terial, a Mabelle model at $23.75. Finally she chose the latter "because it suits me better," as indeed it did. The decision once made, she handed me a $50 bill, closed the transaction, and gave her attention to the selection of suit- able dresses for the two bridesmaids she had brought with her. Here a little conflict arose because one of the girls, a stocky little thing, insisted upon a blue tafTeta heavily over- trimmed with moline flounces. This dress did not please the bride, but after some discussion, the bridesmaid had her way. The bride submitted silently if not gracefully. The second bridesmaid, a slender, fairy-like child, though plainly a working-girl, chose a pale green chiffon which made her look like a tiny wood nymph. This choice seemed to com- pensate the bride for the misgivings she had about the tafieta.

The most trying customer is the "looker." There were so many of these that I wondered who they were and why they spent so much time in the dress department. A fellow saleswoman enlightened me. "These women are the wives of men who earn small salaries but who are ashamed to have their wives work; they live in two-room kitchenette apart- ments and their housework takes about two hours a day. The rest of the time they don't know what to do with them- selves; they can't afford to go to movies or theater or to give card parties, so they hang around department stores trying on dresses that they can't afford to buy or sitting on the mezzanine floors in the hotels trying to pick up men who will entertain them. I know some of them and I don't waste

56 THE SALESLADY

my time, but you can't always tell. Sometimes one catches me and I lose an hour waiting on her."

Later I recounted this conversation to a famous woman manager of the woman's floor in a large New York hotel who corroborated the saleswoman's statements and added, 'We have to keep a matron on the mezzanine all the time to watch them and even with this precaution, we can't put a stop to the nuisance."

In the game of selHng, the other girls — remember we were all girls in the department store — helped me a great deal. They are always ready to help if they accept you. One gave me this tip, ''Never offer to wait on a woman when the store is full of people. Let her come to you; in this way you save your time and energy for the one who wishes to buy. On slow days you can afford to spend some time on a looker, but don't do it on a busy day."

One day a brisk old lady — one of the white-haired wom- en who are not "old" women — came to me and asked for "a dress for the bridegroom's mother to wear at his wed- ding." I looked into her happy face, her sparkling black eyes that danced out from the wrinkles that made a frame around them, and I commented inwardly, "You sweet old darling, you bet I'll find you a dress." I walked to the case which held the evening gowns and quickly selected a lovely model of a deHcate orchid shade.

"This is the dress you want," I said, and she knew I meant it just as she was sure of my interest and sympathy. She accepted my verdict and together we started to the fit- ting-room, picking up her son on the way, a frank, manly fellow, for whom I found a chair outside the fitting-room. Mother and I retired to the trying-on sanctuary. The dress

CUSTOMERS 57

was lovely on her and she was delighted. I'll take it," she said, "but what shoes and stockings shall I wear with it?"

She stepped outside to show her son. He looked at her critically and said, "It's just the dress for you, mother." Then he looked tenderly down into her eyes and added, "You couldn't do better if you looked all day." He put his arm around her and, drawing her close, added, "I'll be proud of you; you'll be as beautiful as the bride."

"That settles it!" cried the dear old lady happily. Then she turned to me wistfully and said, "I wish you could go with me to select a hat, but, of course, I know you cannot." She received her package and walked away on the arm of her boy. Their coming left a sweet taste in my mouth for the remainder of the day.

From my own experience and observation I know that in dealing with customers that are intolerable, the depart- ment-store girl is not as helpless as she seems. She can con- tribute much toward making these customers utterly miser- able without laying herself open to a possible reprimand. On the other hand, for the helpless, uncertain customer, who is the most irritating of all, the saleswoman has much con- sideration. She resents arrogance, but I never came across a single instance of a saleswoman imposing upon weakness or ignorance no matter how keen she may be to make sales. If the customer tries to outwit the saleswoman, the customer is likely to be the sufferer. On the other hand, if the cus- tomer throws herself on the saleswoman's mercy, she will fare exceedingly well.

Measuring myself as a customer, from the viewpoint of a saleswoman, I can say that I was satisfactory, but I think hereafter I shall be even more considerate as a customer than

58 THE SALESLADY

I used to be. I may be regretful over the delay in having a package wrapped, but I will no longer be angry or resent- ful, because the girl who waited on me may be new to the store and struggling with those awful sales checks. If a saleswoman shows irritation or nerves, I am not going to accuse her of being impertinent or discourteous, because I know that every day on the floor the girl goes through experi- ences that explain, if they do not justify, her conduct. But on the other hand, I am free to admit that now, as before, whenever a saleswoman addresses me as "modam" I am perfectly capable of standing by and cheering if somebody will break an umbrella over her head.

As a saleswoman, I never could bring myself to address a customer as '^madame" even with the proper pronuncia- tion, and so I must admit that I did not fully qualify as a high-class saleswoman in the ready to wear. It must be confessed, however, that women who came to America by way of Ellis Island and found the prosperity they expected, and the cooks and the maids of the rich purr when they are addressed as ''madame," and they buy as well.

MOTHERS WEAR SAME STYLES AS DAUGHTERS, 'N' SAME SIZES, TOO^

In creating styles, dress designers no longer consider the age of women. It is their proportions that are catered to in the ready-to- wear industry, according to a report by one of the big New York coat manufacturers.

Ten years ago women still had ages. The stylist had to prepare dififerent models for different years. Today mother and daughter may be found any time in the junior department supplementing their ward- robes from the same racks.

The miss, like her parent, wants clothes of an age that in another day would have been considered not hers at all. The 13, 15 and 17

* By Antoinette Donnelly; reprinted from the Chicago Tribune.

CUSTOMERS 59

styles, which formerly resembled a slightly advanced conception of the modes for still younger girls, now have to present an air of sophisti- cated maturity. The production of junior garments, as such, is virtual- ly at an end. In their place you find the product described as appropri- ate for the small woman and the junior. All women of less than average height and of slender build come under the small women classification.

With the abbreviated skirts, however, taller women are able to meet on this popular camping ground, the misses' department.

Numbers, of course, are designed for those of ample figure, and still other creations are turned out for the regular sizes — but the designer of every size in woman's clothes has to go on the assumption that all American women are young. They refuse to look anything but as young as possible; they refuse to surrender the carriage and aspect of youth, regardless of their years.

The conservative, colorless, matronly garment of accentuated years has no demand whatever. The sprightly charm of youth has to appear in coat or frock, or women will not favor them.

"Judicious merchandizers know that to provide a middle-aged patron with a garment that gives her something akin to girHsh grace is to earn that customer's everlasting good will for the store," a merchant says.

To which last comment we append a devout "amen."

/

CHAPTER VI RED RUBBER BANDS

I had been told that this store was famous for its system. I had been rather a stickler for system myself and I did not believe that there was any intelligent working system that could bother me much. When I entered the department of training, I received, in addition to detailed instruction as to procedure, a little booklet entitled Necessary Information for Salesclerks. As I expected to go to the floor to sell within twenty-four hours, I assumed that the fundamentals of the ^'necessary information" could be mastered by an evening's study. I attacked it with a vigor equaled only by my con- fidence. I did not master that information in one evening nor in a week of evenings.

I read over carefully directions on how to keep a sales- book, how to record the amount of a sale on each separate tally in the column designed for each particular sale — and every sale seemed to have its own particular and peculiar place — the difference in procedure between "Cash takens," ''Cash sents," ''Cash and sent" charges, and "C.O.D.'s." There were exact directions, with diagrams in picture form, about inclosing packages, sending customer's own goods, call shps, void checks, removal of price, packed for shipping, charged to one address and sent to another, what checks must be signed by the section-manager and what could go through without his signature, how to hold goods for cus- tomers, how to make out transfers for those who buy in many departments but wish to pay at the close of the shop- ping expedition, a hopeless multiplicity of details.

60

RED RUBBER BANDS 6i

All this information I read over with extreme care and I attempted to memorize it, but when I came to put it into practice, that was another story. For two weeks I consist- ently made mistakes. On one sales check I omitted the date in one of the three places where it had to be written, on another the amount received was absent from its proper rectangle, on another my number as salesclerk, on others I forgot to check the delivery, or, in my haste, I once let the carbon slip and one figure of the price was not recorded on the triplicate check.

Not one omission on my part was ever overlooked. Just so surely as I made the slightest error, either Flossie would catch it, if it came within her province, or back would come the carrier that I had sent down and around it would be a red rubber band. "Don't open it; take it to your section- manager," Flossie would call out gleefully.

Indignant, irritated, confused, I would obey. The sec- tion-manager would open the carrier, discover the error, point it out to me, have me rectify it, then hand me a Httle blank with these words, ''Sign this premium, please." Thereupon I would write my name on the dotted line which she indicated and the ''premium" would be sent back to be credited to the one who discovered the error and then to be carefully filed against me on my rating-card. Over and over again I went through this form of humiliation until the pop of a returned carrier, as it hit Flossie's desk, sent me into a shiver of apprehension.

As a customer I had considered the making of a sales check mere child's play. What was it? Why, nothing but writing a date, a number, an item of sale — dress — $22.75. I had wondered how any clerk could ever make a mistake. After twenty-four hours of experience, I wondered how any

62 THE SALESLADY

clerk could ever get one right. Given a quiet atmosphere, good light, a reasonable period of time — say ten minutes — I might have done this, provided there had been no dis- tractions. But I had to make out my sales checks with my book resting on an edge of the merchandise desk, with half a dozen girls knocking my elbow, shoving dresses at Flossie, chopping tickets, and grabbing carriers, while my right el- bow was seized by a lady with a distressed face who de- manded in a distressed voice that I sell her a frock to wear to her husband's funeral, a second lady was nudging into my left elbow the information that she must attend a wed- ding at four, a third was dangling over my shoulder three or four frocks, suspended from hangers, and all this while I was trying to remember whether the amount of the sale or the number of the customer's account belonged in a cer- tain little rectangle that yawned at me with a bland and empty smile. I made mistakes. Earnestly I strove to avoid errors but Flossie's triumphant ''It's a premium!" and red rubber bands continued to increase the first week in direct ratio to my sales.

"Why are those damnable rubber bands called 'premi- ums'? " I asked in exasperation. "I can't see the significance of the word as applied to mistakes."

A fellow-clerk enlightened me. "They are 'premiums' for Flossie or the cashier down stairs but not for you. For every mistake Flossie discovers, she is paid ten cents, or, if one of the girls down stairs discovers it, she gets the ten cents."

Flossie's concern is only with merchandise, the triplicate check, and the price ticket, which is divided into two parts, one of which falls into the chopping-machine while the other is left on the dress. Both parts, however, must be marked

RED RUBBER BANDS 63

on the back by the clerk every time she sells a dress, with her number and the dates of the sales. It is the province of the girls in the cashier's office to scrutinize the sales check and, in case of an error, snap on the rubber band. In either case, whether Flossie discovers it or it is a red rubber band premium, she has the final say. Until the offending clerk signs the premium slip, Flossie will not deliver the package to her.

Until I worked in a department store I had looked upon girls who tie up packages as mere automatons, yet I had had a certain respect for any human being who could tie up a package neatly and quickly. And because these girls were efficient in bundle-wrapping, I had concluded that it was a mere matter of practice and required no intelligence what- ever. But since my acquaintance with Flossie, I feel like making a salaam every time I see a gum-chewing bundle girl in a department store even though it does not seem pos- sible that an idea ever penetrated her bobbed head. If a mistake ever escaped Flossie, I never heard of it. She seemed to sense mistakes even before she looked at a sales check and always pounced upon them gleefully. This was perfectly justified because of the ten-cent profit to her while it did no real injury to the salesclerk.

Flossie appeared to be about seventeen. One day when I was waiting for her to wrap up my package, I saw on the third finger of her left hand a gold band conventionally guarded by a ring containing a small diamond solitaire. ''You married, Flossie?" was my amazed and skeptical question.

''Uh — huh!" answered Flossie, as she nonchalantly tossed her bobbed hair out of her eyes while she continued her amazing activity over my package.

64 THE SALESLADY

"How long?" was my next query.

"Two years," she answered with a look of mingled pride and resignation.

Subsequently I learned that Flossie was "furnishing a flat." She must have found me a material asset to the proc- ess for it seemed to me that in the first three hours that I used my salesbook I must have furnished her with enough premiums to buy a kitchen cabinet. At the end of a week I feared that she would have to move into a larger flat to acconmiodate the furniture she could buy with the premi- ums she earned from my mistakes.

As one who has had sufficient experience to offer an opinion, I should say that the information given salesclerks in a few brief lessons at McElroy's, if presented in a high school or beginning college course, would require from two weeks to a month to insure mastery. I was expected to get enough of it to function in twenty-four hours.

If anyone working under me had made as many mistakes as I did, I should have discharged her on the spot. It hap- pens that I hold a college degree but girls with one-fourth of my intelHgence and one-tenth of my education, who had graduated from the eighth grade and whose language showed little, if any, acquaintance with grammar, made one mistake to my ten. The making of a sales check made a geometric theorem or an irregular Latin conjugation seem a mere casual diversion in comparison. So irritated was I by my own stupidity, that I was tempted to stay on indefinitely at this store in the hope that I might catch Flossie in just one mistake.

Premiums do not result in fines or punishments of any sort, and yet clerks feel that to get one is a disgrace. One day Hilda, who had worked a year at McElroy's, leaned

RED RUBBER BANDS 65

disconsolately over the merchandise desk, and, when I asked her the cause of her depression, she replied disgustedly, "I got a band today — the first one in three months — and every- thing has gone wrong ever since because of it." On another occasion I saw a girl throw the carrier, rubber band and all, vehemently down upon the desk, and, in a torrent of sob- bing, rush to the washroom, leaving the section-manager to straighten the tangle without her.

Every day I heard indignant arguments with Flossie over premiums but I never saw her flinch or back down. ''It's a premium and you will have to sign it before your sale can go through," she would say obdurately, and you did have to sign it with your customer at your elbow protesting either in indignant silence or vociferous disapproval. Flossie had the whip hand and she used the lash.

On Mondays, when the advertisements in the Sunday newspapers bring droves of people into the store, Flossie reaps a harvest. On that day the girls describe the store as a madhouse. Yet Monday is the best day in the week for them because it is then that they often earn a full half of the week's commissions. On Monday sales are easy to make; women, stimulated and excited by the presence of so vast a herd of their kind, all bent upon the acquisition of property, try to outrival each other in the securing of a saleswoman and in the purchasing of frocks. It is then that the salesclerk is a haughty queen ruling her httle domain like an absolute despot. "Yes, modam, I hear you, I'll wait on you when I've finished this sale," she will remark loftily. Or with well- bred arrogance, "The next department, modam ....

sorry .... I'm busy now The sports department

in the rear of the store, modam."

Rubber bands threatened to be my undoing as a clerk

66 THE SALESLADY

at McElroy's. But there was one thing that saved me; I developed an unexpected capacity to sell dresses. The first week I was in the store I sold three dresses a day, the second week five (I attended school an hour a day the first week and half an hour the second), the third and following weeks between seven and nine dresses, depending upon the weath- er. The average of the best saleswomen in the best depart- ment stores is from six to ten dresses a day by a full-time clerk, and I was on the floor only five hours a day. On the days that business was dull and I sold from three to five dresses, the other girls, who were experienced saleswomen, did little, if any, better. To my astonishment in three weeks I seemed able to hold my own in one of the most aristocratic departments in the store in a position usually attained only after years of experience.

Alice, the model, volunteered an explanation one day when we were chatting; she said to me, "You can get a job anywhere — the best stores will be glad to hire you. You're high grade. We've all spoken of it, but I'm the only one that'll tell you so — I'm outspoken. You can talk to people. When I was sixteen, I got uppish and left school. Now I see how foolish I was. I got a job here — that was five years ago — and I've worked up from one department to another. I was in the coats before I came into the dresses but I had a row with the S.M. and got transferred. I ought to hustle a better job now, but I don't like to go to a new place and get acquainted all over again. Everybody knows me here and I like it. Besides I can't talk to people — I can't use good grammar — but an educated girl like you can work in the best places, especially if you tell them you've had this train- ing at McElroy's — it's famous all over New York."

Alice Uked me as much as I liked her. She showed her

RED RUBBER BANDS 67

liking in little ways peculiarly her own. One day she affec- tionately retied my tie in a manner which she said gave me ''a, better line" and she remarked as she did so, "You know how to dress, don't you, kid?" On another occasion she paid me the ace of compliments by remarking, "I'm going to be like you when I get big." Her limited vocabulary prevented a more exact statement of^her meaning, but the girls understood and smiled at the joke, for Alice is as tall as I.

During the first three weeks I made a mistake which al- most ended my career in the dress department. In my anxiety to make sales, I sold any dress that a customer brought to me or any that caught my fancy, regardless of whether or not it was a Mabelle frock. The result was that when I handed in my report at the end of the day, I was short in Mabelles though my sales would appear on the records in the other departments where I had sold dresses and I would ultimately receive commissions on them. Miss Bird discovered what I was doing. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, "you mustn't do that ! It's all right for you to sell a department 178 dress or a department 150 dress now and then if you can't satisfy a customer with one of ours but you must stay in our department all you possibly can and push our goods. If you don't, when Miss Metz looks over your report at night she'll think you aren't doing anything and you'll be in dutch."

Miss Bird told me this in the morning and I promised to reform. In the afternoon of that very day, when I was busy selling a wedding dress, I received a peremptory summons to the office of the floor superintendent. Leaving my cus- tomer in the fitting-room, I hastened across the floor to the office and introduced myself.

68 THE SALESLADY

The superintendent was seated at his desk. He looked up and said briefly, though kindly, "Miss Metz recommends that you be transferred." He was a nice young man with dimples and he looked thoroughly sorry to impart this un- welcome information.

Visions of red rubber bands for a moment blurred my eyes, and I felt crestfallen and ashamed. I knew what my record in 'T.M.'s." had been, so I said, ''Well, all right, I don't mind being transferred."

''Miss Metz says you are a good clerk. Miss Donovan," continued the young superintendent, "but that you are not the ready-to-wear type. I just want you to know, that's all. We will find another good place for you." He was such a dear that I felt terribly embarrassed because I was thinking that I'd like to be transferred so that I could see how an- other department functioned. All I said was, "Thank you, I must hurry now; I'm selling a bride her wedding dress," and cut short the interview, much to the relief, I am sure, of this kindly, young official.

But that phrase "not the ready-to-wear t3^e" stuck in my craw. I thought about it all the way home and all the evening after I got there. If it had been rubber bands, I would have had no defense but "not the ready-to-wear type" — that was too much for me to accept with any degree of meekness. I was tall — I was well-dressed — I could talk to people — and I could sell dresses. Ah! that was it — Miss Metz didn't know I could sell dresses. Well, I'd see her in the morning.

In my eagerness, I arrived in the Mabelle department the next day thirty minutes early. The regular girls greeted me jocularly with, "What's your hurry? Can't you sell

RED RUBBER BANDS 69

enough dresses after 10:45 o^ do you love us so you can't stay away?" Miss Metz was at her desk, and when I took a vacant chair beside it she looked up courteously.

I stated my case briefly and I showed her just what my sales amounted to in dollars and cents, for I had armed my- self with full data before seeking the interview. I could do this because every clerk at McElroy's is advised to keep for herself a record of her sales from day to day and is provided with a form upon which to make this record. She is told that if at any time she feels that an injustice has been done her or that she has been underpaid she can refer to these records and the matter will be given careful attention.

''So that's what you've been doing," said Miss Metz when I had finished talking. "I just couldn't understand it. You seemed an ideal person for the dress department but when I saw that you were selling only two or three Mabelles a day, I thought perhaps you would do better somewhere else. Then last night when your report jumped up to nine all in one day, I was more puzzled than ever. I see now that you can sell dresses and, of course, I want you to stay. At this rate you'll soon top the part-timers."

"But you see how it is," she went on, "your salary is charged to the Mabelle department and the report of your sales goes in from this department. They'd say up in the office, 'Miss Metz has got a girl down there named Donovan who doesn't make sales. I wonder why she keeps her.' You see how it is, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I see now," I answered, "but I didn't until Miss Bird pointed it out to me. I thought I was seUing dresses for McElroy's and it did not make any difference where they came from. Now I understand that I am selling

70 THE SALESLADY

them for the Mabelle department." We parted on the best of terms.

Daily Observation: A department store is a big machine — a psychophysical mechanism. The individual is a cog, and if the individual gets out of place the machine will not work.

CHAPTER VII INVENTORY

For two weeks life went on smoothly for me. Miss Metz complimented me from time to time upon my success as a saleswoman, the girls gave my ability kindly recognition, rubber bands and "P.M.'s" were no longer a nightmare and — then came inventory.

Inventory was scheduled for Thursday, July the twenty- ninth. For a week posters at the employees' entrance had announced the semiannual event reminding every employee that she must be present and that no "passes" — excuses to go home early — would be allowed on that important day. The girls in my department talked about the inventory every day — their anticipations were not pleasant — and there was a general understanding that absence on that day would mean a loss of position. I began to suspect that seeking to escape inventory would be the one thing that would justify instant dimissal provided, of course, that the guilty sales- clerk would be unable to furnish a halfway good excuse. I have no means of knowing, however, whether or not my suspicions were correct, for, as far as I was able to dis- cover, not a single clerk, physically able to work, failed to be on the job on one of the hottest nights known in New York for years. There is a conviction in the department store that, through a conspiracy with the weather man, the hottest night in summer and the coldest and stormiest night in winter are always selected for inventory work.

Even I felt the obligation to contribute my share to the

71

72 THE SALESLADY

hated inventory- taking. My personal schedule called for the ending of my time at McElroy's the week the inventory was posted, but I decided to stay on and see it through.

That inventory was a frightful ordeal, but it was worth it as a human experience. Thursday was one of the hottest days of the summer, but for some reason or other it was also a busy one in the dress department. I went to work at a quarter of eleven; a customer detained me until two o'clock when I went up to the cafeteria, swallowed a ham sandwich and a glass of buttermilk, and dashed back to a busy after- noon. That ham sandwich never reached its destination. It hesitated about halfway and reminded me of its presence all afternoon.

Supper was furnished free to all employees. The regular girls began going to it in relays at half past four, the part- timers taking their places until the store closed at half past five. Then we went up to the cafeteria where an abundance of food was set out on the racks from which we could fill our trays as generously as our stomachs dictated. I was ter- ribly tired, and though I should have known better, I forced myself to eat a substantial meal in the hope that the food would provide the energy to keep me going all evening.

When I returned to the department after supper I found the stage all set for our labors. In our absence the regular girls had been busy arranging dresses on the racks accord- ing to style and price, and, with a few brief instructions from the buyer, we were detailed in pairs to go over these racks and make the necessary notations on long inventory sheets. It did not sound difficult but the terrific heat was a factor that had to be taken into account. The electric fans were whirring busily but the windows had been closed tightly — night store porters follow their routine despite inventories —

INVENTORY 73

and all the fans were able to do was to stir up a cloud of fine, gray dust through which the chandeliers, high in the ceihng, could produce only a pale, shadowy Ught.

The partner assigned to me was Leah, the only unpopu- lar girl in the department, disliked not because she was a Jewess but because of her ungenerous nature. For example, a rule of the department required us to put another dress on a figure in the place of the one we took off no matter how busy we were. The girls always helped each other out, that is, everyone except Leah, who couldn't find it in her to do another a favor. She would not even model a gown for us when Alice was busy. Leah was the one girl I should not have chosen to work with, but there was nothing for it but to accept her.

Each pair of girls was ordered to go over two racks and as soon as they had finished each one to pin the inventory sheet on it with their names signed to it. Another couple then followed and checked the work. Leah preferred to sit down and make the notations on the inventory sheet and I agreed, being still in awe of the red rubber bands. I stood up and called the numbers and prices.

We finished our first task rather promptly and went on to our second rack, which had fewer dresses and was easy to do. We completed our two before any of the other girls had finished theirs so we agreed to take a third, choosing one that did not look formidable. This one finished, we decided to quit for the evening, found a couple of chairs, and sat down. I am sure neither of us had ever been so hot or so tired in our lives. My throat was choked with dust; my spectacles steamed with perspiration so that I had to wipe them every few minutes in order to see at all ; my waistline, from fatigue, felt like a belt of fire. It was, therefore, with

74 THE SALESLADY

the greatest relief that I let my tired body sag into even a small, straight, uncomfortable chair. We part-timers had been on our feet constantly since ten forty-five that morn- ing, but the full-timers had been working since eight forty- five.

Presently some of the other couples had a little rest time. I would have supposed that, Uke myself, they felt that the hated inventory and even institutions like department stores should be eUminated from a well-ordered world, but it was now brought home to me that, for all the generosity of these girls in accepting me as one of them, I was an alien, the game of selling was not in my blood, for these girls, who must have been as tired, or even more tired, than I, who certainly suffered as much from the heat, turned, like chil- dren, to make-beUeve to forget their weariness and discom- fort. The game they played was the one they always play whenever the opportunity is presented — the game of "Playing Customer."

At first it seemed to me that this make-beheve was merely play, but when I saw it repeated day after day and sometimes two or three times a day, I w^as impressed by the truth that it had a more practical significance. The girls — both customer and saleswoman — were always in character; there was a certain exaggeration but never burlesque. In- deed the exaggeration was chiefly in the by-play, the ges- tures and expression, introduced for greater emphasis and to give piquancy to the scene. The exaggerations were no greater than those on the stage where the whole success of the scene depends upon its essential truthfulness.

Gradually it dawned upon me that ''Playing Customer" was really an object-lesson in selling. The girls were amused by the fidehty with which the characteristics of the custom-

INVENTORY 75

er were portrayed but their interest — and it was an alert, critical interest — was in the saleswoman's behavior and arguments. It is significant, however, that the play always ends in a sale except in those cases, like the stylish stout, where a sale is impossible and the object is to eliminate the customer as gracefully and completely as possible.

It was Klara and Miss Beebee this time who were the actresses in the little comedy, Klara as a saleswoman im- personating Alice and Miss Beebee as the customer.

"What can I do for you, madame?" asks Klara with an exaggeration of AKce's most professional voice and manner.

"I want a simple little dress," answers the customer, "you know — something I can get a lot of wear out of — something simple — you know — just a simple Httle dress without any trimming — at least not much trimming — just trimming of the goods, you know. Nothing gaudy — just something simple — that I can wear a lot — and inexpensive. I don't want to pay much for it — just a simple little dress.

Miss Beebee's voice, expression, her whole behavior are a deHcious reproduction of those of a certain kind of customer who is especially exasperating to the saleswoman.

"How do you like this one?" Klara takes a blue crepe off the racks and with a grand sweep displays it against the dark background of her own dress, one of her legs extended to its full length before her until her toe, which is pointed dramatically, can barely touch the floor, the professional smirk of the saleslady upon her rouged lips.

"No, that won't do," says the customer plaintively, "it is too elaborate. I want something simple, you know — and

inexpensive — just a simple little frock " Her brow

is puckered into childish displeasure as she gazes at Klara.

Klara returns the crepe to the rack, takes down another

76 THE SALESLADY

dress, and repeats her performance, this time, however, ex- patiating upon the merits of the frock she is trying to sell. "This one, modam, is one of our Httle French dresses, an exact copy of a swell Paris model we have in the French shop. This is the new Violette shade, which will be all the rage this winter."

"Well, yes, that one mighty do," admits the customer slowly, in the manner of the one who is deciding the fate of an empire, "I'll try that one on but let me see some others. I want a simple httle dress, you know — something inexpen- sive that I can get a lot of wear out of."

"Very well, madame," repHes Klara, "we will keep this one out." Then she gives the racks a whirl. "How does this appeal to you?" she asks next, selecting a two-piece strictly tailored model and displaying it with exaggerated zeal. '

"Oh, that won't do at all," cries the customer, "I can't wear a collar like that and I don't care for the buttons — they look like brass — and I can't stand that belt — why, my dog's collar is just hke that belt. No, that one won't do at all. I want something simple, you know, just a simple httle dress — and inexpensive — I don't want to pay much for it."

The comedy goes on, Klara displaying, the customer :ommenting, until three dresses are selected. These Klara lifts, on their hangers, as high above her head as her right arm will reach, then with her left making an acute angle at her hip, she starts out with an enormous stride and a pronounced swaying of the hips, in the direction of the fitting-rooms, calhng back over her shoulder as she goes, "Right this way, madame."

The girls reacted to this little game as they always did; they looked on, interested and amused. In fact, I was al-

INVENTORY 77

ways amazed at the seriousness with which they invariably regarded it. They applauded, not with their hands, but with the attitude of their bodies, the expression in their eyes. This bit of make-believe drama enabled them to see themselves, not as saleswomen, tired with a daily routine of monotonous drudgery, but as actresses in the play of Hfe — their part not small to them but of the utmost significance.

When KLlara and Miss Beebee had finished, the latter sat down in a chair and turning to Miss Lester said, "Now you be the customer and I'll show you how Miss Donovan sells dresses."

At the mention of my name I pricked up my weary ears. I had never been caricatured : I was flattered. Now I really did belong.

"Stand in front of the mirror. Miss Lester," directed Miss Beebee, "you are the customer and you are trying on the dress in front of the mirror in the fitting-room. I am Miss Donovan selling it to you. Turn around now and look at yourself."

Then, still seated in the chair. Miss Beebee pulled her short skirt up so that her garters and her knees were Hberally displayed. She held a salesbook in her lap and a pencil in her hand with which she tapped her teeth as she said, "Yes, that dress suits you perfectly; it is an excellent model and just the right lines for your figure. The color is especially becoming. You really could not find any other dress that would be more suitable; in fact it is quite perfect."

Miss Beebee's manner was an exact imitation of mine: she had even caught the little tricks of tone and voice which I recognized as my own. Miss Lester turned, smirked, hesi- tated, and agreed just as a customer does. When they had finished with this act. Miss Beebee turned to her little

78 THE SALESLADY

audience and said, "That's exactly how she does it, girls, and she always sits down — can you beat it? She sits down while the customer stands up. And she always has a pencil in her hand and she always taps her teeth, but — she sells dresses. I've got to hand it to her — she sells dresses."

"Here is another rack for you, girls," calls out the young man who had appeared from somewhere to assist Miss Metz in the supervision of the inventory.

"But we've done three," Leah began in protest. We were the couple selected because we happened to be stand- ing on the outskirts of the circle.

"What of it?" he interrupts, "come on, be sports and finish this one." He pointed with one hand to a heavily loaded rack of dark silk dresses while he mopped his brow with the other.

Wearily we complied. I remember beginning with a little, black misses' frock that had red embroidery on the collar. Valiantly I called off the information — the style number, the season number, the material, and price — until I completed the circle to the Httle frock with the red em- broidery on the collar. Then Leah and I counted them again. Fifty-seven was correct. She checked her sheet, "Yes, that's right," she said and we signed our names. We pinned the sheet on the rack.

"Not for St. Peter himself will I do another rack to- night," I vowed and dashed off to the washroom on our floor to get a drink and to wash the dirt from my hot face. On my way back I met Miss McDonald who intercepted me with, "They sent me after you; Miss Metz is raising hell. You missed twenty-six dresses on that last rack."

I followed Miss McDonald back to the department. As soon as she caught sight of me. Miss Metz — in the

INVENTORY 79

language of my fellow-clerks — "jumped on me." Her fluent, idiomatic vocabulary poured forth in exasperated eloquence. Any fair-minded person would agree that I was "bawled out" for fair.

"How could you have made such a mistake, Miss Dono- van?" she demanded in the interludes. "I could understand your overlooking one dress, but how you could miss twenty- six is beyond my comprehension."

I was chagrined, ashamed, hurt. The girls flocked to me in sympathy. Miss Beebee put her arm around me and said, "Don't take it so seriously — it's nothing — things like that happen every inventory. This is mild compared to what has happened other years. You mustn't mind Miss Metz — she is tired too. By tomorrow she will have forgotten all about it. She won't hold it against you."

"Don't you care, kid," Alice whispered to me affection- ately.

"We ought not to work such long hours even if it is only twice a year," said Miss Lovelace. "My son says it won't be long now before women will not be allowed to work more than five hours a day. There has been a law passed to that effect in some states already and there'll be one, too, in New York one of these days. I believe the stores are get- ting ready for it now; that's why they are hiring so many part-timers. We'll all be on five-hour shifts in a few more years."

Daily Observation: It is in such ways and under such conditions that the "salesladies" become class-conscious and tend to cast in their lot with the rest of the world that labors.

CHAPTER VIII QUITTING THE JOB

Finally, at nine thirty, inventory was over for the next six months at least and we went wearily home. Meanwhile I discovered why I had been unable to count above fifty- seven. One of the employees had found, in the cupboard at the back of the room where we kept the ''hold" dresses, a number of frocks which had been overlooked. These she had brought forth to be inventoried and, it is fair to as- sume, had put them on the "fifty-seven" rack thinking it had not yet been gone over. This solution soothed my van- ity but there was no use in telHng Miss Metz about it be- cause punishment had already been inflicted and it might mean getting someone else in trouble. Furthermore, the next day was to be my last at McElroy's. When I awakened the next morning I was almost as tired as I had been when I went to bed. I couldn't eat any breakfast though I did manage to drink a cup of coffee. My first thought, however, was not about my ills but one of regret that today I must quit my job. It was Friday, the end of the business week, Saturday being a holiday in midsummer. It seemed to me that I ought to be grateful to escape the hot, exhausting dog days, particularly in view of my rebellious stomach, whose behavior was the result of my own foolishness and not an ill that could be laid to the store. But I wasn't grateful. Frankly I did not want to quit.

Apart from my own personal feelings I found it many times harder to quit a job at McElroy's than it was to get

80

QUITTING THE JOB 8i

one. Before reporting for work, I went to the employment office and made known my intention of quitting.

"Why are you leaving?" asked the young woman in charge, and her tone indicated that I was inflicting a deep, personal injury. There was in it also a suggestion that I was a hard-hearted ingrate. By nature I labor under the handi- cap of being truthful but I had to have an excuse. I said, "Because I am tired; that inventory nearly finished me."

"But it comes only twice a year. Are you sure that you want to leave?" She looked me straight in the eye.

Now I was sure that I did not want to leave but I was also certain that I must. "Yes, I am sure," I answered.

She filled out a form with my name and under "Cause of leaving" she wrote, "To take a rest." "Very well," she said with the air of one who is resigned, "call here at four thirty and your salary will be ready for you."

When I got back to the Mabelle department it came home to me with greater force that I did not want to leave. I was interested in the work. In fact I found it fascinating, and I was very fond of the girls. Not to have Tillie, the little stock girl, greet me with shining eyes and the sweetest smile I can remember, of no longer having passages-at- arms — "kidding" she called it — with the intrepid Flossie, whose wit is Hke a rapier, of no longer gossiping with Alice or Klara, of leaving that splendid Viking woman whom I al- ways think of as wearing "red stockings," of not being pres- ent when Miss Holmes, the little cockney sparrow, was re- counting, in inimitable fashion, the dialogues that she had with her husband, of breaking the ties that I had formed with Miss Lovelace, from whom I had learned so much about the selling of dresses and whose sturdy common sense and intelligent analysis of store problems had won my un-

l<^5'^'\

82 THE SALESLADY

qualified admiration, of having Miss McDonald and the others go to lunch without me, these things brought a lump into my throat that did not belong there. At noon, after lunch, I went to the restroom, as was my custom, for a few minutes in a lounging chair. The blond at the piano with the imitation pearls around her neck who daily pounded "A Certain Party" to pulp when she wasn't playing some other popular ditty, while here and there around her a girl in a big chair joined in the chorus, the sight of the girls, most of them strangers to me, it is true, but fellow-workers, did not lessen my regret to an appreciable extent. I felt that I should miss them.

In the afternoon, summoning all my courage, I went over to Miss Metz's desk. I told her I was leaving and I gave my reason.

*'But you will get rested up over the week-end," she protested, ''and we won't have another inventory for six months." Her desk telephone rang and when she had an- swered it, she added, ''You mustn't let what I said to you last night bother you. The girls will tell you that I don't mean anything when I fly off Uke that. It's just that it is a great responsibility and we have to be very accurate. You under- stand that, don't you? You aren't leaving because of last night, are you?"

"No, honestly, I'm not," I answered. "We were all tired and I know how annoying it must have been."

"You take time to think it over," Miss Metz smiled en- couragingly; "I don't want you to leave. You are doing splendidly and I'm counting on you for the fall drive. When you get to selling the fall goods you will be crazy about it here. This is one of the best departments in the store."

Out of courtesy to Miss Metz, I promised "to think it

QUITTING THE JOB 83

over," but my schedule would not permit me to remain longer. I quit my job that evening.

A few days later I went back to collect my wages. I had been paid a weekly salary of $10. The first week my com- missions were 76 cents, but that was the week I attended school twice each day. The second week I earned in com- missions 81 cents. That week, because of the Fourth of July, which fell on Monday, and the midsummer Saturday hohday, had been only four days in length. The third week the subway strike and very hot weather interfered sadly with business, and my commissions were only $3.75. The fourth week they rose to $5.75, and the fifth week to $12.50. It is fair to assume that had I kept the job my commissions would have remained around the last-mentioned figure dur- ing the summer and risen considerably during the fall and winter months.

During this fifth week I had worked five hours a day for five days and had received in payment for my service 90 cents an hour. It struck me with considerable force that I had achieved this wage after an apprenticeship of four weeks. At this rate, if I had worked the regular forty-four hour week, I should have earned $39.60. I concluded that, from the standpoint of compensation, a job at McElroy's was a very good job.

I shall always look back with pleasure upon the five valuable weeks I spent in this store, and I shall never for- get the girls. There were twenty-two of them in the de- partment; six were unmarried, two were widows — one wid- ow was divorced — and the rest were married and Uving with their husbands. All that I was able to discover about the latter was that they had ''ofl&ce positions." Three of the girls had automobiles and all had friends whose cars were

84 THE SALESLADY

at their disposal for evening rides or week-ends at Asbury Park — their favorite vacation objective — where they stayed, not at the big hotels, but ''in little places on the side streets." They returned from these trips proudly dis- playing thick coats of tan and recounting at great length the pleasures they had enjoyed and the delights of sea- bathing.

All of these girls were my friends — all except Leah — and poor little Leah was nobody's friend. She had no doubt in- herited a faulty nervous system which, according to the modern psychologists, accounts for most meanness now- adays. They were a splendid group of women and they did me great honor in accepting me as one of them.

Daily Observation: I learned, as I came to leave, that the store no longer "fires" its workers; on the other hand it makes every effort to retain them.

CHAPTER IX HAND BAGS

Tramp-tramp-tramp slowly, rhythmically, with a soft- ness of cadence not usual to a marching body, the girls em- ployed at Harold's, Fifth Avenue, file in at the employees' door, pause while their identification tickets are punched with a a soft pop hke that of a child's torpedo, then tramp- tramp-tramp, they march down the wide cement stairway to their locker-room. There is nothing of haste in the pro- cession nor in the appearance of those who compose it. Each is well groomed, with the suggestion of a morning bath about her, each is stylish in her short skirts and her modishly bobbed hair.

One by one the members of this leisurely procession drop out as they approach their lockers, stop a moment, insert their keys in the Yale locks, and open wide the doors of roomy receptacles above designed to receive hats, of roomy receptacles below furnished with two coat-hangers and half a dozen hooks upon which to hang outer garments or the frocks of those fastidious ones who prefer to wear gayer street clothes when coming to work and to change into the darker, more uniform apparel prescribed by the store's dress regulations.

The aisles in this locker-room are wide. There is no need to step aside that another may pass, to throw garments inside in frantic haste to be out of the way when others come, or to escape the discomfort attendant upon lingering. There is plenty of time and plenty of room.

85

86 THE SALESLADY

In the washroom at the foot of the stairs there is also plenty of space. Its three sides are lined with spotlessly clean porcelain basins with hot and cold water faucets of brightly polished nickel and round, fat, tip-tilted bottles of liquid soap. Above these are wide mirrors before which hair may be combed, noses powdered, and lips rouged in the deliberate manner which will insure a smart appearance. Under the mirrors are ledges, also of white, where purses, powder puffs, and handkerchiefs may be laid while Miss pulls up her silk stockings held in place by gay, coquettish garters. On the walls are cases holding towels which, at the touch of a lever, roll down in generous rectangles of snow white huck. Not even madame herself, when she shops on Fifth Avenue, will find better provisions for her comfort. Truly a washroom to delight the heart of the most fastidi- ous, and the girls who make use of it are delighted with it and they are a credit to all its appointments.

Tramp-tramp-tramp softly, daintily, with a Hit that suggests the musical-comedy chorus, the little army of work- ing-girls proceeds up another wide stairway onto the first floor of the great store and there divides. One battalion finds its way to places behind the first floor counters and others, many of them, are carried in elevators to some ten or twelve upper floors.

In this store I sell handbags, so I remain on the main floor. The great room is filled with a shadowy light, the counters are covered with great pieces of white sheeting like altar cloths. A cathedral-like coolness and hush prevails. We greet each other in subdued voices, we walk with muffled steps in the manner of high-priestesses entering the temple in the quiet, early hours of the morning. We pass down the broad aisles until we reach our destinations; we open the

HAND BAGS 87

tiny pewlike doors and pass inside the railed-off compart- ments. Keys are taken from the Httle corner where, Hke the house key left under the mat, they have been hidden the night before. There is a soft sound of locks being turned, of drawers being opened and shut, of panels of plate glass slid- ing back and forth, of bits of velvet being laid on counters, of deHcate merchandise being arranged for display. The clock strikes nine and the lights come on in a blaze of soft radiance. Harold's, Fifth Avenue, is ready to receive ma- dame.

It would seem that the caves of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves had been rifled to supply this store with merchan- dise, so rich and colorful are the displays which meet the eye. For madame's neck there are scarfs of delicate chiffon, of sheer georgette, of feathers, of silk in all the colors of the rainbow. There are handkerchiefs of finest linen, some trimmed with embroidery of marvelous workmanship, others with edgings of dainty lace; there are stockings of sheerest silk in every shade and tone to match her frocks; there are gloves of finest kid for wear when madame attends a tea, a reception, or perhaps the opera, and those of heaviest and softest leather when her hands need protection from the cold or when she wishes to add a final touch of modishness to her smart tailleur; there are necklaces of yellow crystal that glow hke alternating drops of sunlight and dew as they hang suspended on a rack in the electric radiance; there are strings of heavy pearls — gray, white, and rose; there are vanity-cases, boxes for rouge and for powder, cases of thin- nest silver to hold madame's cigarettes, tiny bottles of per- fume for her purse, and larger ones for her dressing table; a myriad of elegancies.

But my concern is with the purses and the handbags, for

88 THE SALESLADY

now I am a saleswoman in what I am told is — and I can well believe to be — the largest and finest handbag department in America. I feel the dignity of my position and handle with reverence the bags intrusted to my care. I may sell in any part of the department but two show-cases, six large drawers, and nine small ones contain my "stock" for the care of which I am responsible. This responsibility is not a Ught one, for no customer will buy a bag that shows the slightest soil or suggestion of shop wear. Madame must have fresh and spotless merchandise or she grumbles and will not buy.

The bags themselves resemble ladies and like ladies their appearance suggests their personaUty. The substantial leather ones designed for wear and service are the business women and the busy home bodies ; the ones made of tapestry are the old-fashioned gentlewomen, thosQ who used to trip through the figures of the stately minuet on high-heeled slippers, waving huge feather fans; those of gold, silver, and brocade are the elegant ladies of fashionable society who must be protected and sheltered lest they tarnish with much use; and those of white satin, deUcately embroidered in tinsel and gay silk, are the debutantes, slim and exquisite, the most fascinating of all.

I am quickly on intimate terms with my family of bags. I apologized to the Colonial dames and the debutantes be- cause I had to display them on racks or toss them unprotect- ed into drawers with not so much as a piece of clean sheet- ing to pull over their delicate frames. They looked at me with sorrowful faces and seemed to say, "We have not been purchased while we were fresh and soon we shall have to be 'marked down' and sold in that hideous scramble over there at the bargain table. Every newspaper in the city will an-

HAND BAGS 89

nounce our degradation to the world and that we are for sale at perhaps less than we cost. Horrible!" I fancied that I could detect shudders that convulsed their fragile bodies at the thought of so ignominious an end. But I could offer no consolation. Nothing had been provided for their com- fort except the hard, unlined, wooden drawers. I could only promise that I would take the matter up with the manage- ment but with little hope that anyone would listen.

Once upon a time when I lived in a httle western city, the wife of the leading drygoods merchant came to pay a call at my home. She had just returned from New York. In that little western city New York was a name to conjure with. Spellbound I listened while she told of the glories of Fifth Avenue, of the splendors of its great department stores, and particularly of the women who shopped in them. "They are like no others in America," she said sol- emnly; "why, if a New York woman puts on even so much as a pin, she does it with a style that no other can achieve. Every woman in New York is smart, well dressed, even the poorest."

I Ustened and beUeved every word she said. It isn't true. There are more strikingly dressed women in New York than anywhere else but some of them are badly dressed. I am persuaded, however, that if the statements of the western woman had been confined to the saleswomen in stores, they would have been more nearly true. Saleswomen can do marvels with a pin. When one takes into consideration their resources they are probably the most marvelously dressed women in the world.

One of the earliest things that impressed me was the difficulty in determining the wealth and social standing of the customers that came into this store. I remember partic-

go THE SALESLADY

ularly a tall, slender, young girl who wished to buy a purse for her mother's birthday. She wore a simple, well-made tailored suit and a smart hat but the frill of her white blouse was decidedly soiled. Careless, languid, nonchalant, she picked over my stock with gloves that were only reasonably clean, selected after much deliberation a blue purse of soft, pliable leather, and walked away to look at other merchan- dise, tossing back over her shoulder as she went the request that I hold the purse for her. After perhaps thirty minutes, she returned with a small blue handerchief to enclose in the purse and began the business of selection all over again. The transaction consumed nearly an hour of my time, and in the end she bought the handbag she had first selected. Later I was told by one of the other clerks that this girl's family spends twenty-five thousand dollars a year in this one store. Her appearance and her manner, however, failed to suggest the power and initiative that had enabled her ances- tors to accumulate a fortune that would justify such ex- penditure.

I did not find that the customers at Harold's differed particularly from other customers who I had known nor from other human beings. They were just as fussy about bags as others had been, for example, about dresses. They found it as difficult to make up their minds and as difficult, or perhaps more difficult — for Harold's had a very large number of exchanges — to keep them made up after a deci- sion had been reached. If you showed them a green bag, they asked if you had it in red; if they found a small bag that suited their fancy, they wanted it in a larger size, or, if it had a leather handle, they thought it would be prettier suspended by a cord.

HAND BAGS 91

One day I followed a young woman all around the de- partment trying to find her a bag. She told me that she wanted a colored one but refused to be more explicit. I showed her a green bag, but no, she didn't want a green one. I displayed a red one; she didn't want a red one but she repeated that she did want a colored one. I tried every color we had but no color was the one she wanted. But she persisted that she did want a colored bag but it must not have green edges, tan or red trimmings. Finally I was obliged to tell her that I feared we did not have the color she wanted in our department but if she would tell me the color she had in mind I was sure I could find it in some other. She could not tell me because she didn't know.

I had no trouble with sales checks in this store. The system was comparatively simple and there was never any rush. During the first three days of my employment I at- tended school one hour each day under a competent, mature woman who knew her business and who presented her ma- terial in an extremely interesting manner. She had a quick, nervous temperament, however, and was not endowed with that divine quality of patience so essential to successful teach- ing. When I was making out the practice checks, she stood over me with an almost malignant eagerness, and, if my pencil made even the slightest move toward the wrong rectangle, she impatiently stopped me in midair and reprimanded me for my stupidity in no gentle terms. I overcame this difficulty by explaining to her that if she would give me time to think, to work the thing out for myself, and to ask questions when I was "stuck," I would get along all right. She saw my point and after that was helpful. A timid or inexperienced person would not have fared so well. This teacher was so

92 THE SALESLADY

conversant with the procedure herself that she failed to realize how necessary it was for the pupil to have time and also to practice the making several checks of one kind.

I was particularly impressed with the employees' cafe- teria at Harold's. It was a large, cool room with wide spaces between the white porcelain tables, and it had windows on two sides that opened upon a red-tiled roof porch where the salesclerks, both men and women, could sit after lunch either chatting, smoking, or reading. There were little trees and plants along the railing which gave one the feeling that one was in a garden. The roof scape that was spread out before the eye was beautiful as well as restful and it satisfied one's aesthetic sense. To have a place like this in which to eat after a busy morning was a great boon.

There were no part-time workers employed at Harold's. All came at eight forty-five in the morning and all stayed until five o'clock in the afternoon, the summer closing-hour, the winter closing being half an hour later. The fatigue of standing was terrible. All the girls complained of their feet and of their backs, especially on the rainy days when there was Httle selling and there was nothing to do except pace back and forth Uke animals in a zoo within the narrow, railed-off inclosure where they must remain. There were, it is true, a few small, uncomfortable seats, but it seems to be understood that these are not to be used very often. A part of the girls might have been given passes to go home on these rainy days and thus would have escaped not only the fatigue of useless standing in the store but also that of standing, cUng- ing to a strap, in a street car or bus for anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. It never seemed to have occurred to the management that such early dismissal would be no detri- ment to business but, on the contrary, a promoter of efl&-

HAND BAGS 93

ciency. Clerks do not mind busy days because then the work is interesting and the frequent change of position necessary in seUing provides physical rest but slow days are slow torture. On such days, the dull, heavy, drawn-out faces of the clerks reflect plainly the ordeal through which they are passing.

My greatest occupational difficulty in this job concerned pencils. It seemed impossible to keep one; it disappeared most mysteriously and when I bought another for a penny over at the service desk, the only means I had of sharpening it was with the knife our package- wrapper used to cut string. I never had a well-pointed pencil and consequently my sales checks were always untidy in appearance and, I am sure, difficult to read. The pencils were of inferior quahty and had a habit of snapping off short just when I was in the middle of an address. I wonder how much money it costs the store each year to correct the blunders that must inevi- tably result from the badly written sales check. Certainly the girls would be glad to pay two pennies for a better pen- cil if the store would furnish a pencil-sharpener. It is Kkely that when it comes to pencil-sharpening a man is infinitely superior to a woman, but possibly this is not so much due to superior skill as to the fact that he has a pocket in which to carry a sharp knife. But on the whole I am willing to concede that given a sharp knife and a good pencil most women are likely to botch the job in the sharpening.

Another one of my difficulties was the care of the stock. There was an over supply of it, at least for that time of year, and it offended my housekeeping instinct to be obHged to cram beautiful purses into overflowing drawers and then force the drawers to close in reckless disregard of the damage inflicted. It seemed to me that this oversupply entailed a great unnecessary waste.

94 THE SALESLADY

There were nine clerks in my department, four between the ages of twenty-four and and thirty, four competent, middle-aged women, and Nora, the Irish bundle-wrapper. Miss Parsons, one of the older women, assisted me with kindly, if officious, zeal to understand the duties of a hand- bag saleswoman and she chatted with me in a cheerful way so that I might feel at home, though never when such chatter might interfere with business. She told me that she was married and that she had tw^o children, one a grown man ''in business" and the other a daughter still in high school "who has dinner waiting for me every night when I get home."

"She is going to be a private secretary," added Miss Parsons; "I don't want her to work in a store. She thinks it would be fascinating but she sees only the people and all the pretty things; she doesn't reaKze what hard work it is."

I did not suggest to Miss Parsons that her daughter might find the work of a secretary — if she ever became one — hard also, for I saw that, like most mothers, she was imagin- ing that her daughter's lot in life would be easier than hers and that being a "secretary" was a decided step up in the world.

Miss Parsons apologized for the fact that she was work- ing after marriage by saying, "When I was a bride a girl was ashamed to say after she was married that she had to work — marriage meant an end to work — but now no one is ashamed because everybody works again after marriage. A man alone can't support a family now a days."

Nora, the bundle-wrapper, was a warm hearted, kindly, intelligent girl who fulfilled her duties punctiliously but who found time to assist me in all the details of the new system. She was not as swift as Flossie — top speed was not a require-

HAND BAGS 95

ment at Harold's — but she was more sympathetic and she had a better education. She read the latest novels and at- tended the Stadium concerts and there was nothing in her attitude that indicated that she was dissatisfied with the station in Ufe to which ''it had pleased God to call her."

Three of the younger girls in the department put me through my paces when I arrived new in their domain. They showed all the hostility to the newcomer which has been characteristic of primitive peoples the world over and since all time. They made monosyllabic repKes to my ques- tions, they flung the keys of the show-cases and drawers at me with airy arrogance, and if they deigned to give me a bit of information, it was imparted grudgingly. Gradually, however, this attitude wore off. They became more kind, they ceased to move away when I approached, and even permitted me to listen in when they were discussing their "boy friends" and the good times they had had the night before. Finally they accepted me.

Events of real importance welded the group into almost family solidarity. For example, if a girl was "bawled out" by either the section-manager or the buyer the others took it as a personal matter. When Mabel Normand bought a bag in the department and ordered another, they were all sisters with a common interest for the time being at least.

Miss Whitney, haughtiest member of the little family, was the fortunate one who secured Miss Normand as a cus- tomer. During the intervals of selling she managed to pass the word around as to the identity of her patroness. The girls were all a-flutter with interest and curiosity. They gazed at this screen celebrity with envious eyes and they commented to each other about her appearance, her clothes, her manner. When the sale was finished Miss Whitney told

96 THE SALESLADY

us all about it. The girls listened spellbound, making com- ments, little appreciative gestures. Miss Whitney wound up her narrative by say, "And she sez, 'When that bag comes in, you gimme a buzz and I'll come in and see if it's all right before you send it out.' Can you beat it— 'gimme a buzz' — wasn't that cute?"

Gertrude Ederle's triumphal march up Fifth Avenue caused a similar flutter of interest and excitement and so did the death and funeral of Rudolph Valentino. "Did you see Trudie?" asked Nora when I was giving her a package to wrap. "My, it must be wonderful to be her!" In speaking of Valentino the girls referred to him as "my boy chum" and seemed to feel his loss as a personal one.

While I was in the employ of Harold's I was allowed time off one morning to look at hats. I did not buy one. The haughty girl in the hat section gave me to understand in voice and manner that she couldn't waste any time on an employee and that Harold's was not the place for a poor working-girl to buy a hat. Perhaps her attitude was justi- fiable, for that very week a notice was circulated throughout the store that henceforth no employee could have a house charge account larger than her weekly salary. The girls had been tempted by the beautiful merchandise into expendi- tures which they could not afford, and the management had decided to curb their extravagance.

Every day I spent at Harold's furnished new problems and new interests. One day a good-looking, well-dressed business man of about forty-five approached my counter and told me that he wished to buy a handbag for a lady. "I don't know what I want," he added helplessly. He was one of those nice, quiet chaps that one instantly associates with a wife, children, a reading-lamp, and long evenings at

HAND BAGS 97

home. I beamed upon him sympathetically. "Perhaps you can give me some idea of the person who will use the bag," I ventured by way of helpful suggestion.

"Oh, yes, I can do that," he replied. "She's a business woman and I want something nice that she can use a great deal."

"Ah!" thought I, "he wants to take a present home to his secretary," and the picture of a substantial woman in spectacles loomed up. I showed him our best leather bags but they did not meet with his approval. The highest- priced bag in my department was $12.50. When he dis- covered this he said that he wanted one that cost more, so I led him across the aisle where the more expensive bags were sold. I continued, however, to show him bags that were conservative.

"No, these will not do," he said, "I want something smarter, gayer; she is a snappy dresser." The color rose under the tan on his smoothly shaven cheeks and he began to look uncomfortable. I banished the respectable, be- spectacled secretary and put in her place a more colorful lady. He pointed out bags that he liked one after another but they were priced at somewhere between twenty and fifty dollars.

"I don't want to pay as much as that," he explained. "I had no idea that they were so expensive." I continued the search until I found two bags that he liked, one pale gray trimmed in a darker shade and the other a Hght tan with edges of dark brown. Both were handsome and smart. He liked the tan better, but its price was $22.50. He bought the gray at $16.50.

"I want you to send it for me to the Waldorf Astoria and it must be there by four thirty for she is leaving the

98 THE SALESLADY

city then," he explained. I assured him that there would be no trouble about this and asked the address.

*'Miss Kitty Klover, Room 409," he said and blushed scarlet. He could not look me in the eye. I now began to get a clearer picture of Kitty, who resembled in my mind the ladies whom Richard Harding Davis used to describe as those ''who carried silk mesh purses."

He said Kitty's purse must be sent as a gift and demand- ed a card to inclose. He wrote his name on the card and probably a tender message of some sort, for he sealed it in- side the little envelope I gave him. He then paid his bill and walked away.

I made out directions in due form for the wrapping of a gift package, Nora packed it according to my specifications, and we pasted on the outside a large label upon which in huge green capitals, was the word HASTE. Then we sent it downstairs by special messenger.

The transaction had taken an hour, and now that it was completed I felt that I w^as entitled to a drink of water. I walked down the hall, satisfied my thirst, and started back. When I was passing the street door on my return trip, I saw Kitty's friend coming up the steps in frantic haste, his straw hat in one hand and his handkerchief, with which he was wiping his perspiring countenance, in the other. He grabbed me by the elbow and blurted out, "Miss, that gray bag won't do, she won't like it. Send her the tan one," and he thrust six one dollar bills into my hand. 'T can't wait, I have a business engagment," he added, and before I had recovered my breath, he was dashing out the street door.

I took my problem to Nora because she was the most intelligent girl in the department as well as the most help- ful. "You call the section-manager and make out a new

HAND BAGS 99

check," said she, ''and I'll go downstairs and get the pack- age."

The section-manager told me to make out an additional- payment check. When I was in the midst of it I was called to the department telephone and a man's voice which sound- ed as though it came from the basement said indignantly, ''Send that girl back with that package; she didn't sign for it."

I met Nora in the aisle, sent her back, and returned to my sales check. By the time it was completed, Nora had returned with the package. I made out another envelope with the directions on it about the wrapping of a gift pack- age— a particular form of procedure in every store — Nora rewrapped it and again sent it down to the delivery-room. Almost immediately back came a carrier containing my additional-payment check and the six dollars I had sent down with it. Across the face of the check was written, "Additional-payment form not used when transaction is over ten dollars."

Again I called the section-manager who, as it happened, was new to the department on that very day. He saw his mistake and said apologetically, "I am very sorry." Then he voided the check, made out a credit for $16.50, and or- dered me to treat the sale of the tan bag at $22.50 as an en- tirely new one paid for by the credit of $16.50 and the addi- tional six dollars.

We sent for the package. For the third time I wrote out directions for the wrapping of a gift package and, for the third time, Nora rewrapped the package, putting on it the new address slip and a new green label bearing the word HASTE in large capitals, and for the third time the package was dispatched by messenger to the delivery room.

100 THE SALESLADY

'That was the most compHcated sale I've ever handled since I worked here," said Nora as she wiped her hot face. I left the floor to take a rest.

This transaction took exactly two hours. I have often wished that some efficiency expert would tell me how much the sale of that bag at $22.50 cost Harold's. Personally I enjoyed the experience. It showed me that a man is as like- ly to change his mind as a woman; that human nature, whether masculine or feminine, is much the same.

Daily Observation: The thing that Kngered with me after this transaction was the picture of Kitty Klover that had been conjured up in my mind. There are a great many Kitty Klovers in New York and they constitute a very large pro- portion of the customers at this and other ultra-smart shops on Fifth Avenue. It is inevitable that the saleswoman who waits on these customers should be intrigued by their man- ners and appearance and that vague speculations in regard to their lives are bound to occupy a space in her day-dreams and reveries. In this connection, too, it occurred again to my mind that the saleswoman cannot have an account at the store in which she works that is larger than her weekly salary.

CHAPTER X A GIRL FRIEND

On the third day that I worked at Harold's, Fifth Ave- nue, I met Edith. Because we were the newest girls in the department, we had been given the eleven o'clock lunch hour, which falls to the lot of all newcomers. During the morning when I was busy with a customer, I felt a light touch on my arm and heard Edith whisper in passing, "Let's go to lunch together today." I nodded as I looked up at her with a smile and went on mth my sale. I was pleased. I needed a chum as much as any other girl does when she goes to a new place, and I looked forward with pleasure to spending an hour with a companion whose permanent prob- lems and interests were the same as my temporary ones.

I was ready promptly at eleven. With our purses tucked imder our arms, Edith and I left the department together. In the locker-room I waited while she changed her dark dress for a pretty green silk, and we were soon walking down Fifth Avenue in search of a place to eat.

"I don't Uke to eat in the cafeteria on these nice days/' Edith explained as we walked along. "I feel fresher if I change and get out of the store for an hour. When you eat at eleven, the afternoon is terribly long and lunching out seems to make it a Httle shorter. I know a nice Kttle tea- room on Forty-seventh Street."

We walked briskly down the avenue, crossed at Forty- seventh to a tiny restaurant with a sign outside its door which read, ''Table d'hote luncheon — 50 cents." We spread

I02 THE SALESLADY

our napkins over our knees, ordered our luncheon, and talked. We talked about the girls at the store, about the customers, and about the sales we had made that day. Then Edith told me about herself. I knew from her accent that she was an English girl but that was all I did know about her.

"I came here just three months ago," she explained. *'I had worked in a store in a London suburb for years and I had good references so when I applied at Harold's they gave me a position right away. I was awfully surprised — I thought I'd have a hard time to get a job, being EngHsh, you know, but they took me at the very first place I ap- plied."

Our soup arrived and interrupted Edith's confidences. While we were waiting for the meat course, however, she continued.

''You can't imagine what a time I had with those sales checks and with American money. Why, at first I had to change everything in my mind to pounds and shillings be- fore I could get onto the price of things. I didn't know what a charge account was — where I had worked everything was cash — and all your ways of doing business were so different, I just thought I never would learn. Everybody watched me closely, the buyer, the section-manager, and even that girl who works down there at the end with me, you know that one with a face like a bulldog and those big earrings hanging down — the one that just can't smile."

The waiter now placed a plate of meat, potatoes, and vegetables before each of us and we began to eat, but be- tween mouthfuls Edith went on with her story.

"I can't tell you how mean that girl has been to me. Every little thing I get wrong she notices and she just loves to tell me about it. I don't get along with any of the girls

A GIRL FRIEND 103

very well. I think they hate English people. You heard how they talked to me this morning when I asked a question about a check. But I can tell you I talk back to them. If I didn't they'd walk all over me. I show them that an EngHsh girl can fight for her rights. But I have been awfully lonesome and I was that glad when I saw you come into the department, and I made up my mind that I'd get acquainted with you. It's terrible working in a place without anybody to chum with."

I showed Edith that I was wiUing to chum with her, and we were soon chatting together like old friends. Pres- ently the discussion turned to the important matter of wages. We were both being paid the beginning wage of twenty-five dollars a week, the lowest that Harold's pay to any saleswoman.

''It's more money than I got in England," said Edith, ''but it doesn't go as far. I pay twenty dollars a month for my apartment. It's in the same building with my sister. I can't live with her; she's married and has a little boy. Her husband doesn't want me living with them and I don't want to either — I want my own place. I get my meals, except, of course, lunch, but even then everything costs so much that I don't have much left for clothes. American girls dress much better than English girls. It takes a lot of planning but I think I can manage. I buy good things when I buy anything, and I make them last. Cheap clothes are no economy."

Edith was as well dressed as the average young woman one sees on Fifth Avenue. She was neat, clean, and fashion- able. Moreover, she was pretty with a certain air of refine- ment and distinction that I have noticed in the many other working-girls who come to America from England.

I04 THE SALESLADY

"I get taken out to dinner a good deal lately, and that helps a lot," continued Edith naively. "I have a friend. He takes me to the pictures, too, and for Httle holidays over the week-end."

''How nice," I said. 'Who is he and how did you meet him?"

"Well, I'll tell you," answered Edith gaily. "You see I come down to work on the Third Avenue car, and one morn- ing it was crowded and he gave me his seat. Then the man that sat by me got off and he sat down by me and we started to talk. He asked me where I lived and where I worked, and then he said he'd like to see more of me. Then he asked me for a date that night. He seemed a nice man and I didn't know anybody and didn't have anyone to go out with so I said I would. We agreed to meet on the corner of Third Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street. I didn't think he'd be there but I went anyway and took mother along — she came over with me, you know, and stayed awhile to visit sister. When we got to the corner, there he was though I was half an hour late. He was awfully surprised to see mother but he was nice about it and shook hands when I introduced them. I said, 'Well, I didn't expect to see you here,' and he said, 'Why not, didn't we agree to meet here?' I said, 'Yes, we did but I don't expect any man to keep his word. The promises you men make are Hke pie crust and easily broken.' He laughed and said he wasn't that kind of a man. He took us to the pictures — that was Friday night — and Sunday he took us to Coney Island — mother, too, because I told him that she was over here for a visit and I wanted her to see all she could while she was here. He was always nice to mother and she Hked him."

A GIRL FRIEND 105

"That sounds as though he was a nice man," I remarked.

"He says he is a bachelor," continued Edith, "and that he is a manufacturer of dress goods. His factory is on Third Avenue and he Hves near there."

"Are you sure he's not married?" I asked. There was an air of innocence and naivete about Edith.

"Oh, I'm sure he's not," she repKed with conviction. "He spends four or five evenings a week w^th me and all day Sunday. He couldn't get away from home that much if he was married, could he?"

"No, probably not," I replied, but I advised Edith to be careful.

It was now time for us to return to the store. We paid our bill and hurried away so that Edith might have time to change back into her dark dress.

In the afternoon, when I had completed a sale, Edith came around to my side of our little pen and said, "Won't you come over here; I want you to meet my sister." I walked around and was introduced to her sister Agnes, a wholesome-looking young woman a few years older than Edith who shook hands with me, "I'm so glad that at last Edie has found a friend, she has been so lonesome here."

As we were not busy, I visited a Httle with Agnes. She told me that she was on her way to work and had just stopped in a moment to see how Edith was getting along. When I asked her what her work was, she said that she was

a night maid at the C Hotel on Park Avenue. "I work

from three in the afternoon until ten at night," she ex- plained. "You see, Robert — that's my husband — is a chauf- feur and he has to work often at night so I may as well work, too. We want to get ahead. I make good money — last week,

io6 THE SALESLADY

with my wages and tips, it was thirty dollars. I save my money — I've got a boy and I'm going to see that he gets a good education."

She paused, looked at the clock, and added, "I'll have to go now but you come home with Edie to tea some Friday night — I don't work Fridays, that's my day off — and we'll get better acquainted. I'm so glad Edie has you. Now I won't worry so much about her. She was so lonesome that I've been afraid that she'd want to go back to England." With this Agnes hurried off to her job, and I returned to the selHng of handbags.

Edith and I went to lunch together every day, always either where we could get a whole meal for fifty cents or to some restaurant where a sandwich and a cup of tea could be had for twenty cents. On the days when Edith expected to dine with her friend, we had a Hght lunch, because, as she said, "we don't need two good meals aU in one day." On other days when we ate the table d'hote luncheon Edith would remark, "Now tonight we'll need only a Hght tea. I shall take home a lettuce and that with bread and butter and a cup of good tea is all I shall want."

Soon after this, on a Friday evening, Edith invited me to go home with her from the store. "I have a date with my old man at eight thirty," she explained jocularly, "but this is the only night Agnes is home and she wants to see you. After tea we'll all meet the old boy and then, if you don't want to go to the pictures with us, we will take you home."

On our way home I bought some muffins and fruit for our tea and Edith made some necessary purchases. With our arms full of packages, we boarded a Third Avenue car and stood, clinging desperately to a strap, for forty minutes, our tired, blistered feet making those minutes an ordeal. Then

A GIRL FRIEND 107

we got off and walked for another ten minutes along a scorching hot sidewalk through a dirty street Uttered with old paper, tin cans, bits of wood, and filled with screaming, grimy-faced children who were playing games in the only playground at their disposal, until we came nearly to the East River. There Edith stopped before an old, dilapidated tenement with front steps that sagged off toward the river at an acute angle, and announced that this was where she Kved.

^'Take a deep breath," she warned; ''you've got five flights to climb."

Together we climbed up dirty steps, hundreds of them, it seemed, and so dark that we had to grope our way cau- tiously, clinging with one hand to the bannisters, our pack- ages held tight against our breasts. At last we reached the end of our journey; Edith inserted a key in the lock of a door and flung it open, revealing a narrow passage about twenty feet long at the end of which a faint hght glimmered. I followed her down this passage until we entered her apart- ment. Once there we threw our parcels onto the kitchen table and sank down to rest before even thinking of tea.

We talked for awhile, fanning ourselves with newspapers. Then Edith went to change her dress and to begin the prep- arations for our meal. I made use of this time to look at Edith's apartment. I wanted to see how a girl could hve in New York on twenty-five dollars a week and look as sweet and dainty as Edith did. I caught a glimpse of her through the open door as she was changing her dress, and her underwear was not only clean but it was also pretty, fascinating, and feminine.

The apartment consisted of four rooms: a small Hving- room furnished with a shabby golden-oak table, a hideous

io8 THE SALESLADY

flowered rug, and two or three chairs; two small bedrooms in each of which was a sagging white iron bedstead and a chest of drawers with an inexpensive mirror hung above it, and a kitchen, which was the most attractive room. Its floor was covered with a blue and w^hite oilcloth. A large coal range, brightly pohshed, stood in one corner and in an- other was what Edith called a ''gas ring," a three-burner gas stove sitting upon a box which was also neatly covered with the blue and white oilcloth.

Under the one small window was a tiny sink and beside the sink two large washtubs with wooden covers, which could be removed when the tubs were needed for laundry or other purposes. Later I learned they served also as bath- tubs which explained one thing that had mystified me — the bathing problem in a tenement — for there was no bath in the apartment. In a tiny, windowless cubicle off the kitchen was an offensive and reluctant toilet, which, however, looked as clean as scrubbing and washing-powder could make it.

On the other side of the room was a good-sized kitchen table covered with a red and white cloth, and at the end of the room was a built-in cupboard, the bottom with shelves for cooking utensils and food suppHes and the top with glass doors behind which were displayed Edith's china and glass- ware.

The plumbing was old and unsanitary, but in spite of it and in spite of the old woodwork, the stained wall paper, and the generally run-down condition of the building, Edith's apartment was spotlessly clean and really attractive.

The only means of heating the place in winter was the coal range in the corner, and Edith explained that she would have to carry her own coal up those five flights whenever

A GIRL FRIEND 109

she needed a fire. ''But I don't think I'll need a fire often," she added; "we English people don't care for heat the way you Americans do." She also explained that she had to wrap her garbage up in newspapers and carry it down the five flights herself to the cans that stood on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the building, and that she heated all her hot water in summer on the gas ring and took her baths in the laundry tubs.

All this I discovered while Edith was setting the table, making the toast, scalding the tea, and scrambHng eggs in a Httle saucepan. We piled the fruit in a large bowl in the center of the table, set out the muffins on a plate, cut some butter off the pound that Edith had purchased and which she kept in a coffee can under the running water, for she had no ice. Agnes then came down from her apartment on the sixth floor. We were all hungry and ate with zest, but even our appetites could not keep us from talking. Agnes did most of it, however, Edith and I merely commenting from time to time between mouthfuls.

Litile by Httle Agnes revealed herself as a strong, robust, vulgar, but forceful personality, the kind of woman one could imagine leading a regiment of Amazons to battle or potting Indians from the windows of a blockhouse in the days of the pioneer. As she spread slice after slice of toast thickly with butter and ate it between gulps of three cups of strong, black well-boiled EngHsh tea, she talked.

"I took this apartment for Edie and mother," she said, "and we are keeping it because our sister Mabel is going to join us in October. I bought the furniture, just as it is, second-hand from the folks that moved out. I want my sisters near me. It's hard for Edie to pay all the rent now, but when Mabel comes they will both be working and can

no THE SALESLADY

get along nicely. Girls need a home of their own ; they can't be rooming with someone or living in those clubs they have for working-girls. That's no life for a woman and, besides, who wants charity? This way the girls can be independent and have a place to ask a friend in for a cup of tea now and then."

The conversation now turned to Edith's ''friend."

'T think he's a good man and so does Robert," remarked Agnes. "We invited him to our home because we wanted to get acquainted with him and he's a man that can give you a good honest shake of the hand. He can look you in the eye, too, when he talks to you. I think he's well fixed and can give Edie a good home. Of course, he is a httle old for her but even so he'll be a better husband than these young fellows. If you knew as much about men as I've found out since I worked in that Park Avenue hotel, you'd understand how I feel. I want my sister to marry a decent man, and decent men are hard to find in a city like New York. He means to marry Edie if she'll have him — I took good care to find that out — but I won't influence her; she can dq as she likes."

We finished our tea. Edith began to clear away the dishes.

"You come on up to my place now — it's more comfortable there — and we can visit while Edith washes up," said Agnes.

Daily Observation: Saleswomen in shops present an as- tonishing similarity of appearance. In their manners they conform to certain established conventions of saleswomanly behavior; outwardly they are Americans. But if you trace them back into their homes you will find a vast dif-

A GIRL FRIEND iii

ference in cultural status, and customs and traditions utterly- foreign to the established American standards. Edith, at home, was a girl of the English working-classes, with their ideas of marriage and behavior. Edith is, moreover, rep- resentative of the other racial types which meet together in the shops as Americans.

CHAPTER XI AGNES TELLS HER STORY

I followed Agnes up another flight of stairs. Her four rooms were furnished more elaborately than Edith's but in no better taste. There was a piano at one end of the living- room, and curtains of coarse, heavy lace covered the win- dows. ''We bought the piano for Donald — that's my boy," explained Agnes. "He's up in Canada now on a farm with some friends where he can get all the fresh air and good food he needs. The city is no place for a boy in the summer."

She took a photograph from the top of the piano and handed it to me. It showed Donald a fine, manly Uttle chap.

"Sit down by the window," directed Agnes, as she pulled back the curtains to let in more air," and put your feet on this foot-rest. A gentleman at the hotel gave it to me. He was going to Paris and couldn't take it along. I know how tired you must be, on your feet all day."

I settled myself comfortably as Agnes suggested. She sat down opposite me in front of the other window and began to talk. She was a great talker. All I had to do was listen.

"You see, Robert had a garage in London," she began, "and we got along fijie. Then the war broke out and of course he had to go. We had some money saved and when he left I bought a second-hand clothing business for fifty pounds. I made a good living for myself and Donald out of it, but when Robert came back from the war I sold out. I got two hundred pounds for it, but if I had known the turn

112

AGNES TELLS HER STORY 113

things were going to take, I'd have hung on to that business. I had no idea that Robert couldn't support us; he always had. But the garage business was all shot to pieces by the war and after a few months we saw that if we kept on we would lose all that we had put by."

Darkness falls early in the tenements and now I could scarcely see Agnes' face. I had no trouble in hearing her, though, and she went right on talking.

''There wasn't any opportunity for a man in England, so we made up our minds to come to the States. We sold the garage at a great loss and then we got visitors' passes for America. That was where we made our big mistake, but we didn't know any better and some friends advised us to come that way."

Agnes rocked vigorously back and forth in her chair and fanned herself with a newspaper. I stretched myself more lazily in my big chair and prepared myself for what I saw was going to be a long siege of conversation.

"Robert's sister was living over here," continued Agnes, "and she got him a job on a big estate on Long Island. We went straight there as soon as we arrived. The estate belonged to a German bachelor who Hved in the big house in the front, and we had a caretaker's little cottage in the back. It was partly furnished but we had to buy some more furniture of our own, and I used all my own linens, which we had brought with us from England. Robert was the gentleman's chauffeur, but he also had to mow the lawn and do some of the garden work. It was too much for him, so I helped him with the lawn which was immense."

A woman's scream distracted our attention. We looked out of the window and saw a wife leading her drunken hus- band home, followed by a rabble of curious and amused

114 THE SALESLADY

youngsters. Without comment upon this occurrence, which to Agnes was a mere commonplace, she resumed her nar- rative.

''Well, we stayed there six months though it was a hard place and the other servants weren't a bit nice to us. The butler was a German and he hated Robert because he was English, and was always looking up extra work for him to do, far more than his share and work that should have been done by others, but they were Germans and had a stand in with the butler. But we were new to the country and had to take things as we found them; we were saving money and it was a good healthy home for our boy."

By this time I had become accustomed to the darkness and could see Agnes, a dim, dramatic figure against the back of her chair, as she went on in a husky, tragic voice.

"At the end of six months, the German gentleman came to us one day without warning and said that he had been married and was leaving the next day for a four months' honeymoon in Europe and that we must leave our cottage immediately because he wanted to shut up the house at once and leave it closed until his return. This news just about knocked us over, for we didn't have any place to go and we didn't know how to get another job. We didn't know that we could have come over here to New York and got work without trouble. We were greenhorns and didn't under- stand conditions."

Agnes paused and leaned forward dramatically in her chair. "All I could do," she said emphatically, "was to give that German a piece of my mind and that I did, I can tell you. I told him that I'd get out when we found some place to go and not before. I was that mad but after all there wasn't a thing we could do.

AGNES TELLS HER STORY 115

"I put on my hat and went to talk it over with Granny HouKhan. She was a little old Irish woman who lived in a cottage down in the village. We hadn't known each other in the old country, but you know how you make friends with those that are from your home when you are in a new place. My, but she was mad! But she says, 'Now Mrs. Malcolm, you just come along and put up your bed in my parlor and stay here until you know what to do. Donald can sleep on the couch and you needn't be a cent out except for your share of the food while you're here.' "

Agnes dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief; 'T'll never forget that Httle old Irish woman; I can tell you she was sl friend."

Agnes' hair had become loosened and it fell in a thick rope over her shoulder. Her face was a blur but her eyes shone out through the darkness with a catlike gleam as she went on with the recital of her wrongs. ''The next day w^e moved over with Granny, and Robert tried to get a job on one of the other estates on the Sound but all he could get to do was some odd jobs that didn't pay anything. I got some work with my needle. We had a few thousand dollars, but we are not ones to sit in idleness and live up our capital. Then on top of all this we got word from the emigration authorities that we would have to go back to England when our visitor's passports were up at the end of a year. We knew there was nothing for us back there so Robert came over to New York to see what he could do about it. We spent the rest of the summer traveling back and forth to New York, but in the end we found that we would have to go back to England and come over as emigrants.

"Then somebody told Robert that if we would go to Canada, we could come back to the States from there with-

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out any trouble. We left all our things except enough clothes to last us ten days, and went to Montreal. When we got there we found that the man who told Robert this had just be stringing him along and that we couldn't get back to the States for a year at least. We went to see the consul general and he told us that there was nothing for it but to return to England.

"And back we would have gone," Agnes grew more em- phatic here, "if just then he hadn't happened to see our Donald. When he set eyes on that child his whole tone changed. He called Donald over to him, asked him some questions, and then he said, 'That certainly is a fine boy; I wish I had a son like him. The United States ought to be glad to welcome a fine lad like that.' He just stood off and looked at Donald as though he was thinking hard and then he said, 'You are fine people and the kind of citizens any country should be proud to get ; I will see what I can do for you.' "

Here Agnes settled back in her chair as though a great load had been Ufted from her shoulders and went on in a calmer voice. "The upshot of it all was that he gave Robert a job at his place. It was a big country estate and he kept a lot of servants. There were housekeeping rooms over the garage furnished with everything except dishes, linens, and bedclothes, and there was where we were to live. Now, mind you, we didn't have a thing with us except our clothes but we didn't say a word, we moved right in. I was terribly tired and I didn't feel well so I let Robert and Donald go down to the village and get some food for supper and break- fast. We ate it picnic style off the bare table. I planned to go the first thing in the morning and get what we needed to make us comfortable.

AGNES TELLS HER STORY 117

''That night we slept on bare mattresses but it was warm and we didn't mind, thinking it was only for one night. But the next morning when I awoke I had such a terrible pain in my side I couldn't get up and I was sick to my stom- ach. Robert and Donald got their own breakfast and then I made Robert go to work and I sent Donald out to play. 'And, mind you,' I said to both of them, 'don't you tell any- body I'm sick.' I was just scared to death, the first day in a new place and me sick. They'd think Robert wouldn't be any good if they knew he had a sick wife.

"I was sick all that day and all the next but I wouldn't let Robert do anything about it. I was sure I'd be all right in a day or two. There is no knowing what would have hap- pened but when Donald was out playing the lady's maid came along. She was an English girl and she had heard that I was EngHsh and she said to Donald, "Tell your mother that Miss Brown, the lady's maid, asked after her and that I'd like to come in to call some day.' And with that Donald blurted out, 'My mother's up there sick in bed,' and he be- gan to cry.

"Well, Miss Brown came right up those stairs. I was lying there on the bed all burning up with fever but I heard her coming and I called out, 'Who is it?' and she said, 'It's me, the lady's maid from the big house,' and in she came and saw me lying on that bare mattress without even so much as a sheet to cover me. She was horrified and she said, 'Why on earth didn't you let us know?' I told her I was afraid Robert would lose his job and she said, 'My lady isn't that kind of a lady,' and with that she was off. Pretty soon she was back and my lady was with her. They had armfuls of linens and bedclothing and even clean nightdresses for me. My lady herself heated water and gave me a bath while Miss

ii8 THE SALESLADY

Brown fixed the bed and tidied the room. Then the men servants brought over dishes and silver, all nice things right out of the big house, and they fixed up those rooms like a home. When Robert came they had a nice tea ready and they washed Donald and got him into his nightdress. They had telephoned for the doctor and he came all the way from Montreal.

^'He made an examination and he said that I had rup- tured my side from running the lawn-mower on that Ger- man gentleman's estate, and that it was pretty bad. He said he'd wait until morning before deciding whether I should go to the hospital. I had always been terribly afraid of hospitals and I begged him not to send me to one, but in the morning I was so much worse that he packed me off right away. Before I went my lady told me not to worry, that Robert and Donald could have their meals up at the house while I was away and that she'd see that my boy was well looked after. I was in that hospital in Montreal a month and I got over my horror of them, the nuns were so kind to me.

''My lady kept her word, and when I came home I found everything as it should be and the rooms fixed up pretty with every comfort. We lived there a year and then my lady decided to come back to New York. She was a very rich American girl and she didn't like living in Canada. Her husband had got transferred or something so that they could live in New York. They arranged to bring us with them and she got Robert a position as chauffeur with her brother, who is a very rich bachelor. He keeps three cars and Robert still works for him. He is a good, kind employer and he pays Robert well. There is no real need for me to work but you know having that second-hand clothing busi-

AGNES TELLS HER STORY 119

ness in London spoiled me for staying home. I get restless and can't stand it."

Agnes rose, walked into the kitchen, and returned with two glasses of ice water. Handing one to me, she sat down again with the other in her hand and continued, "One day when I was walking by this hotel where I work, I stopped in and asked the housekeeper for a job. She set me to scrubbing down the back stairs. It took me all day but when I was through and she came and looked at them she said, 'Agnes, those stairs have never been scrubbed as well as this since I've been here. I guess a girl that can scrub stairs can do chamber-work but the only place I have va- cant is for a night maid.' I told her that would suit me fine. I took the place, and I've been there ever since."

"It's hard work but it's good pay, and the girls that work there are sensible women that want to get along in the world. We don't stand for any nonsense from the men and the housekeeper backs us up. Of course, there are some men there that aren't what they should be but you just have to make the best of it. One day I went to the room of a man they call the 'tobacco king.' He stood in his bathroom with- out a stitch on with the door open and he yelled, 'Come right in; I don't mind.' But I answered very dignified, 'I'll come back after you have finished, sir.' I didn't go back un- til I found out that his key was in his box.

"I save every cent I make — both wages and tips — and a good part of what Robert makes, too. Do you know what I'm going to do just as soon as I can? I'm going to buy some of this old run-down East Side property and hold it. It's going to be valuable in a few years and by the time Donald is ready to go to college, who knows, we may be worth a tidy little sum."

I20 THE SALESLADY

We heard Edith coming up the stairs. "My goodness!" exclaimed Agnes, ''if there isn't Edith. I must run and change."

''But tell me first," I asked, "what you do with Donald when you are away and his father is not home."

"He stays at the settlement next door," answered Agnes. "He belongs to all the clubs there and it's fine for a boy. I set his tea on the gas ring and he gets it himself when he doesn't eat with Edith. He's eleven now and real handy. He has his own key, and when his clubs are over in the eve- ning, he comes home and goes to bed. I don't have to worry about him."

Agnes hurried into the bedroom. When she came out she was wearing a silk dress, her hair was pinned up, and there was a thick white layer of powder on her nose. We started immediately to meet Edith's date on Third Avenue. "There he is, that's him!" giggled Edith as we approached the corner. "He always has an umbrella; I'd know him a mile off."

I couldn't see anyone who looked like a beau, but there was an old man of seventy or so who leaned on an umbrella. He wore spectacles with gold rims that fastened behind his ears, a decent gray suit, and a plain straw hat. He reminded me of the old Yankee farmer who used to hang over my grandfather's gate when I was a child, picking his teeth with a sprig of timothy. This was Edith's date.

After introducing me, Edith walked ahead with her cavalier, Agnes and I behind them. Agnes continued to talk but the elevated made such a deafening roar that I could not hear what she said. On the opposite corner we waited for a street car, and the old gentleman politely asked me to be his guest at the movies. I thanked him but de-

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dined the invitation. A taxi came along, I hailed it, and with a murmured ^'Thank you" to Edith and Agnes for my entertainment, I got in and rode away.

Daily Observation: The question may arise, "What has Agnes to do with The Saleslady?^' My answer is that she is interesting — more interesting than Edith — and she repre- sents home Hfe and antecedents. Her story, moreover, so like a story-book of the Victorian era, needs no excuse for the telling.

CHAPTER XII NEW YORK AGAIN

After an absence of ten months, I returned to New York the second summer and sought out my former friends be- fore I looked for a new job. First I went to Harold's and walked past the old department where I had sold hand- bags. There, shut in by the little doors, were the usual dozen or so girls. Edith was not among them and only one face was familiar.

Next I went down to McElroy's and to the Mabelle de- partment. More new faces. Of the twenty-two girls with whom I had worked only six were now in the department. Miss Lovelace, with her old gray hair and her young black eyes, saw me first. Her greeting made me flush. She called to the others. Miss Beebee, Miss McDonald, and Miss Nel- son, who were free at the time, were almost as cordial in their greeting. My eyes searched the floor for one face I particularly missed.

''She is looking for Alice," said Miss Nelson.

It was true. It was the slender Alice with her unbobbed hair severely drawn back from her Madonna face that I missed.

"AHce left last fall," volunteered Miss McDonald. "She's over at Allan and Conway's in the dress depart- ment." Alice had achieved one of her ambitions — a Fifth Avenue store of the first class.

''And Miss Holmes? Miss Bird? Klara? Miss Leslie? Leah?" I demanded eagerly.

NEW YORK AGAIN 123

"Miss Holmes has been transferred to the sports depart- ment; Klara is out to lunch; Miss Bird is assistant buyer in the lingerie; Leah has gone to — where was it, girls? Oh, yes, to Minneapolis. Miss Leslie doesn't work any more. She isn't very strong and she and her husband decided to give up their car so she could stay home."

"I don't see Flossie at the wrapping desk."

"Flossie's on her way!" said Miss Nelson; "she's head wrapper on the fourth floor now."

It was twelve o'clock, a busy time in the department, so after inviting them to come to see me and securing their promise that they would soon, I went up to the fourth floor to see Flossie. Arriving there, I asked a section-manager where I could find the head wrapper.

"There she is, that girl over there," he replied, pointing to Flossie, who in a flowered red chiffon instead of the old black work dress of the summer before, was just leaving the department.

Flossie was disappointing. She didn't know me at first. She glanced from my face to my frock and back again with an air of wisdom and suspicion. Instead of being the old joyous, slangy youngster with the blase eyes and the nimble wit who patronized me, she seemed to think I had come up in the world and was entitled to some respect. Plainly she was determined to show me that she also had come up in the world. Flossie acted like a lady.

"I don't wrap any more at all," she explained; "I just supervise the other girls and inspect the packages and send them out. It's very interesting."

"But, Flossie, how do you get on without T.M.'s'?" I asked.

A little, dignified smile qualified her answer. "I get more

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now than I made then with wages and premiums. Besides this is the kind of job where you can learn the business. I expect to be a buyer."

"How's your other job?'*

"What job?"

"Marriage."

More dignity. "We're buying a house in Brooklyn."

The buyer in Chicago, who was partly responsible for my becoming a saleswoman in a department store and who had started her career by selling red-flannel underwear for a wage of one dollar and a quarter a week, is now earning around ten thousand a year. Like Flossie, she had married, and when her husband had been offered a better position in Chicago, had gone with him. Like Flossie, she had no chil- dren, and, since the little flat where she lived did not keep her busy, she had applied for a job and got it as a sales- woman in a Chicago department store. There she had stayed and worked until, when her husband died, she was firmly established in a career. She had a family but it was a "store" family. She listened to the hard luck stories of the girls under her and helped with advice and often with money. She saw to it that those who were capable of ad- vancement got their chance and, in general, treated her de- partment "as a mother would a child."

I thought, too, of my Httle high-school girl. Marguerite. If she had decided to enter a department store, with her better education supplementing her natural abilities, she might have outdistanced Mrs. Carter. I remembered what Mrs. Carter had said about education. "I often wish I had had more schooling, but as far as I can see not even college women can earn any more or as much as I do. We tried them out in the store during the war, but they were not a

NEW YORK AGAIN 125

success. They were too high hat and they couldn't stand the long grind of working up. A girl who starts selling red- flannel underwear when she is sixteen knows what it means to be a buyer; she is raised to it."

Flossie was on her way upstairs to lunch but she accom- panied me to the elevator and she took my telephone num- ber. ''I'll call you up once in a while," she said.

I went down toward the East River to look up my old friend, Edith, the English girl, with whom I had worked at Harold's. I wondered if she had married the kind old gentle- man and moved into the comfortable home he was able to provide. A man and a woman were leaving Edith's old apartment. I asked them whether Edith was still hving there. Later I learned that they were Edith's sister and her husband who had come over from England after I had left New York.

''A lady to see you, Edith," called back the woman over her shoulder and went on her way down the stairs with the man.

Edith was standing in the kitchen door. She greeted me as if we had parted only the week before. She was glad to see me but casual about the lapse of time. When I explained to her that I had spent the winter in Chicago, she did not ask a single question. In fact, I was never asked any ques- tions by any of the girls. Whether this lack of curiosity was due to indifference or to courtesy, I was never quite able to determine.

"But weren't you surprised when I did not come to the store on Monday?" I asked Edith.

"Oh, no," she repHed, "the girls are always in and out Hke that."

126 THE SALESLADY

"I went to the store this morning but I couldn't find you."

"I'm not at the old place anymore. I'm over in the ex- pensive bag department. I've been trying to get into the dress department — you know that's my trade — but there hasn't been an opening. They want me now to try to be assistant buyer in the umbrellas, but I don't know — I want to get back to the dresses. I'd like it if it was dresses but somehow I don't fancy the umbrellas." Edith was serious about this.

I took a chair in the kitchen and Edith, after politely asking my permission, went on with her ''washing up." During the process she told me what had happened while I was away.

"My sister and her husband came Christmas and we all live here together. It's a bit crowded but we get along nice- ly. We are all out during the day. Sister works with Agnes over at the hotel and my brother-in-law has a job in a factory."

The sound of a child's voice came from the httle bed- room off the parlor. "That's Jane, my sister's little girl," said Edith; "don't you want to see her?"

Edith disappeared a moment and returned carrying a lovely little girl of five, a chubby cherub of a little girl with tumbled brown curls and red English cheeks, whose finger was in her mouth and whose head was downcast. She was wearing a little pajama coat but her soft legs and dimpled knees were bare, because, as Edith said, "It's too hot for the panties, isn't it, Jane?"

Edith introduced us as though the child were a grown-up and Jane, peeking shyly at me through her long lashes, shook my hand and said, "How d'ye do," with perfect courtesy.

NEW YORK AGAIN 127

Then Edith took her into the bedroom that opened from the kitchen and put her into the cot that was her own. We sat down in the room with the child and Edith continued her confidences.

''But how about your own family affairs?" I interrupted. "How's your old boy?"

Edith threw up her hands and laughed. ''He's gone long ago; I've had three others since him."

"But I thought you were going to marry him."

"Agnes thought so, too, but not I. That old man!"

Our conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of a handsome little chap of eleven, Agnes' son.

"I've got a new beau now," continued Edith. "He's young and lots more fun than that old man. I go out with him three or four times a week."

"But," piped up the little boy, "he's married. I don't ever see what she wants to be spendin' her time with married men for. They won't get her anywhere."

He spoke with a broad English accent and with what I recognized instantly as a delicious imitation of his mother's speech and manner. Edith laughed and added, "Well, you never know whether they are married or not until after you have gone around with them awhile."

Daily Observation : Edith was certainly making progress. It's wonderful what working in a store will do for a girl's education.

CHAPTER XIII

SHOP TALK AND PERSONALITIES

During the summer I saw a great deal of the girls from the Mabelle department at McElroy's. I met them fre- quently at lunch when they always insisted upon sharing the expense of my check. In return for their courtesies, I invited them to dinner one evening at my apartment.

At half past six they had not arrived. By seven they were all present, dressed up in their best clothes. Miss Peddie, a girl whom I had known but slightly the summer before because she had been away on her vacation at Asbury Park while I was employed at McElroy's but who belonged to the Httle, intimate group, wore a flowered chiffon which she had made herself "without a pattern"; Miss Beebee, in a dainty creation of dark blue with insets of gay printed silk in the skirt, looked as if she was arrayed for an afternoon bridge party, and Miss McDonald and Miss Nelson had on the dark blue georgettes that are recommended in the Mabelle department as suitable for the stylish stout. Klara came in a striking frock of black satin relieved by a large red hat tilted at an inveighng angle.

"Stand up, Klara," said Miss McDonald while we were at dinner, "and let Miss Donovan see how thin you are."

Klara obediently stood up and displayed long slender lines.

"How do you do it, Klara?" My inquiry was prompted by more than mere politeness.

"It's a secret." Klara sat down.

128

SHOP TALK AND PERSONALITIES 129

"Isn't she mean? She won't tell anyone how she does it." Miss Nelson laughed and took a second helping.

The girls joked Miss McDonald about her beau, declar- ing she was soon to be married again. ''Don't you believe a word they say," she protested, but it was plain that she enjoyed the teasing.

"And let me have that Jewish boy friend of yours if you decide you don't want him," said Klara; "he looks good to me."

On the table were some delicious raisin buns. Miss Nelson shook her head when they were offered to her. "I yust can't eat raisins," she apologized. "One time when I was visiting my aunt she prepared as a great delicacy a special white cream soup we make in Norway with dozens of raisins in it. I had been brought up to eat what was set before me but when I saw those big, fat, juicy raisins float- ing around in that cream soup I yust felt sick all over. I took a big mouthful and swallowed it. My head began to swim. T can't eat it! I can't eat it!' I said. I was so sick I nearly fainted. No, I yust can't eat raisins!"

Miss Nelson illustrated with graphic gesture and facial grimace. She had power of description whose effect was en- hanced by her charming Scandinavian accent.

Supper over, Klara insisted that the guests wash the dishes. It was not merely a poUte formula; Klara meant it. Miss Peddie and Miss Beebee were chosen to help her. Miss Nelson, Miss McDonald, and I settled ourselves in the Hving-room and they began to talk, as they always did, about the life of the store.

"She is going to be transferred," said Miss Nelson, "and I'm not going to do a thing about it. It's all right to be in- dependent but there is such a thing as being too independent.

I30 THE SALESLADY

That girl breaks every rule. She doesn't co-operate with anyone else in the department; she yust goes her own way. You can tell her over and over again about her mistakes but it doesn't do one bit of good."

"And she always wants to argue with you," interrupted Miss McDonald. ''The other day she came over and tried to argue with me and I said," Miss McDonald opened her eyes very wide and brought out each word emphatically, *' 'Now, see here, you have argued with every other girl in the department but you are not going to argue with we,' and I left her just hke that."

"What makes me provoked," continued Miss Nelson, "is that when you correct her she never gets mad; she yust takes it nice and pleasant. Now a conscientious girl sput- ters at you — that's natural and I don't mind but she takes it to heart and doesn't make the same mistakes again. But that girl," she threw up her hands expressively, "cares no more for what you say to her! . . . ."

The dish-washers completed their work and joined us. Miss Beebee perched herself on the davenport, modestly pulled down her short skirt, and started a new topic.

"What do you think, girls, Robert took his mother out yesterday." Turning to me she added by way of explana- tion, "Robert is Miss Lovelace's son."

"Would you ever believe it?" exclaimed Miss Peddie.

"Where did he take her?"

"To Trinity Church, to the Woolworth Building, and to Coney Island. She was so excited you'd have thought she'd been to Europe."

"That's the very first time he has taken her anjrwhere. That woman might as well still be living in that Httle town in Michigan for all she's seen of New York in the four years

SHOP TALK AND PERSONALITIES 131

she's been here. She only knows what she sees coming to work in the morning and going home at night. Robert is the queerest boy I ever heard of."

Miss Nelson leaned forward dramatically, ''Girls, I must tell you about Robert's graduation. His mother invited me to go out with her to Columbia University to see him get his diploma. Well, do you know that boy didn't get his mother a seat down, in front with the parents where she belonged but yust let her find seats in the back with the strangers."

"Pull down your skirt," interrupted Miss Beebee, giv- ing a tug to a piece of black lace through which the plump white knee of Miss McDonald was visible. ''The idea of wearing underwear like that to work; it's immoral."

"Where would she wear it, I ask you?" demanded Miss Peddie.

"You're jealous, that's all," Miss McDonald made a little moue. "You're a nice polite bunch, I must say. Go on, tell us more about Robert, Miss Nelson."

"That was not the worst of it," resumed Miss Nelson; "when the exercises were over we went to speak to him but he was nowhere to be found. All the other parents were up there talking to their children but Robert had gone home. He is ashamed of his mother, though God knows she's a nice- looking woman and she's a lady.

"And so good to him! Why, she is going to let him stay at the university another year and get his Master's degree."

"It's her own fault," Klara spoke with conviction; "she hasn't brought him up right."

"That's the trouble," agreed Miss Nelson. "I'm good to my three boys but, believe me, they are good to me, too. When I get home from work there is supper on the table. They get home first and they don't wait for their mother to

132 THE SALESLADY

come and cook for them." Turning to me, she continued her narrative.

''Last winter Miss Lovelace was sick. She yust couldn't get Robert to call up the store for her. The third day she managed to crawl to the telephone in the hall downstairs. I knew she didn't know a soul in New York outside the store, so I got off early one afternoon and went out to see her. We took up a collection in the department and I bought some flowers to take along.

"I found the address all right. It was a big house, one of those old-fashioned ones that they divide into housekeep- ing rooms. I rang the bell and up out of the basement came a queer-looking man. He began to jabber in Greek, I think. When he saw that I couldn't understand him he motioned me into the basement. It was an awful-looking place but I said to myself, 'Look here, you're a big, strong woman and I guess if anything happens you can fight your way out.'

"I went down the steps into that basement," Miss Nel- son pronounced every word slowly, emphatically, "and into a big, dark room. The man kept motioning and pointing. At first I couldn't see a thing and then I saw another room that opened off the first one. There on a bed lay a man on his back staring at the ceiling. I went up to him and asked him where Miss Lovelace lived. 'Third floor front,' he an- swered in EngHsh but did not turn his head nor look at me; he yust kept on staring at the ceiling."

"Weren't you scared to death!" in awed, hoarse whis- pers.

"I cHmbed three fhghts and knocked on the door of the third floor front. A boy opened the door about six inches and looked out. I knew it was Robert though I hadn't seen him before, so I said, 'Hello, Robert, I've come to see your mother/ and pushed right in. Miss Lovelace was sitting in

SHOP TALK AND PERSONALITIES 133

a rocking-chair by the window. She looked awfully weak and white. I told her right away about the man down- stairs on the bed and she said he was parahzed and bUnd and that he had laid there on the bed looking at the ceiling all the four years she had lived in the house. She said the Greek took care of him."

'What kind of a place was it?"

'Tt was one huge room with a screen between two beds and a place to cook in one comer. But it was a nice light room," Miss Nelson added as a kindly afterthought.

''But imagine," commented Klara disdainfully, "using that one room together."

"Why not?" was Miss Nelson's reproving answer; "Mother and son. And besides there was the screen."

Klara was silenced. The telephone rang. A man's voice asked for Miss Beebee.

"It's my husband," she said as she took up the receiver. "Yes, dear, in about an hour — ring the bell and I'll come right down."

Klara and Miss Peddie came dashing out. Klara grabbed the receiver. "Hello there, sweetheart! Don't you know me?"

Miss Peddie snatched the telephone, "Don't pay any attention to her. Don't make Dora go home so soon; we are having an awfully good time."

KJara's turn again, "Come on up and bring some men, can't you? We are six girls aU alone; we want some boy friends."

Miss Beebee asserted her authority. "Yes, Tom, I'll be ready then. Good-bye, dear."

We returned to the living room. "I wish I was married," said Klara with a sigh.

"Why?"

134 THE SALESLADY

"Because old maids look older than married women. I'm no older than Dora but I look years older."

''That's because you are big and Dora is little."

"No, it's because I'm not married."

"Why don't you get married then? You've got a boy friend."

Klara did not answer. Miss Beebee tactfully turned the conversation another way. "How is your friend, Consuelo, Klara?" she asked.

"She's pretty blue; he's going back to Cuba tomorrow."

"And isn't she going with him?"

"I should say not! She doesn't even dare to go down to the boat to see him off. If any of their friends should see them together they'd go back to Cuba and tell everybody that they were living together up here. He's a big man down there and he has to be careful."

"That's the kind that always does what he is doing," said Miss Nelson.

"I don't see why he is crazy about her," commented Miss Beebee; "she is such a sulky-looking girl."

"I know," agreed Klara, "and she's not even pretty. For the money he spends on her he could get the prettiest girl in New York. I'll have to keep her until she finds some other place to Hve. I can't turn that girl out; she was kind to me."

"How was that?"

"When I had that job as a cashier in a movie in Cuba, I didn't earn enough to eat and Consuelo — she was living with her aunt in a nice home — used to ask me there to din- ner every Sunday. I used to look forward to that meal all week. When anyone has been good to me I always stick to them. She has done wrong, but she is my friend."

SHOP TALK AND PERSONALITIES 135

"That is right," said Miss Nelson; **but you should not have let him stay at your house with her."

"That is what my brother says, but I'm just like that with everybody. Now, there's my mother. Just because she saved and scraped to let me stay in school — it isn't easy to go to school in Roumania like it is here — I will do anything for her. I sent her money to come for a visit, and when she went home she took all my dresses, every pair of silk stock- ings I owned, all the bottles of perfume the fellows had given me for presents, and even the can-opener!"

"The can-opener!" The girls screamed with laughter.

"Yes, the can-opener," repeated Klara. "She will have a lot of fun with that can-opener when she gets home. There are no can-openers in Roumania and she will invite all the neighbors in to see her use it."

The conversation turned toward vacations. "I shall be going on mine soon," said Miss Nelson with a mischievous look in my direction, "and when the cat's away, the mice will play."

"Oh, now, Miss Nelson, you know we will be good. We may be bad when you're there — a little once in a while — but when you are away we are as good as can be. And this year we will be extra careful with that old supervisor around."

"Since you were there. Miss Donovan," explained Miss Nelson, "we have a man on the floor who is called a super- visor, and he is over all the section-managers."

"Snoopervisor!" interpolated Miss Peddie.

"And one day he had me called to the floor superin- tendent's office."

"Will I ever forget that day?" from Miss McDonald. "Not if I Uve to be a hundred."

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"When I got to the superintendent's office, he cleared his throat and he hemmed and he hawed and then he said, 'Miss Nelson, I hear that you are not attending to your proper duties — that you do stock work.'

'' What do you mean by stock work?' I said. I was mad and when I get mad I always cry. I was scared to death that I would start right then and there.

" 'Well, they say you pick up dresses off the floor.'

"I knew that supervisor had been telling tales. I said, 'Is that all he'd got to do — to come and tell you that I pick dresses up off the floor? Well, let me tell you that I don't make a practice of picking up dresses but Fm not above picking up dresses of the floor. ^

" 'No, no, of course not,' he stammered, 'but you must be careful.'

"I waited for him to go on, but he just sat there and looked at his desk. I felt the tears choking me. I rushed out and when I got to that little corner, I hid behind a rack of dresses and I cried and cried."

"I'll never forget that day," repeated Miss McDonald. "Every girl in the department was furious. We didn't do a thing while you were in that office. Customers came and looked at dresses but we paid no attention. No one was waited on; we just paced the department. I went over as close as I dared and peeked to see what was going on. The girls kept whispering to me, 'Is she there? Is he talking to her?' and I'd answer, 'Yes, she's there. Now they are talk- ing. Now she's coming out.' The superxdsor walked through the department and we just glared at him."

"It was awful," said Miss Beebee. "We all made up our minds that if you had to leave, we would all leave with you." There was infinite affection in her glance and tone;

SHOP TALK AND PERSONALITIES 137

"We would never work under another section-manager in that store."

"We've all been there with Miss Nelson ever since the department started four years ago. It couldn't be the same place without Miss Nelson and we just couldn't have stood it there," explained Miss Peddle.

"How did it come out?" was my question.

"We have never heard any more about it from that day to this and that was six months ago," answered Miss Nelson, triumphantly.

The door bell rang. Miss Beebee rose. "It's Tom," she said.

"Ask him to come up," I suggested.

"He can't; he's got his mother and father and kid broth- er down there in the car and he won't leave them. When I'm not home in the evening he always has dinner with them and takes them out for a ride."

"I must go, too," said Klara, "my boy friend is sick and I want to stop to see him."

"You shouldn't go there alone, Klara," admonished Miss Beebee. "What will those people at the house think of you going to see him in his bedroom? You don't want to get talked about."

"But he's sick and I want to persuade him to get a doctor," said Klara and left the matter there.

The others, though I urged them to stay, left with Miss Beebee. After they had gone I looked at the clock and was surprised to find that it was eleven. The evening had been enormously interesting and had passed with amazing ra- pidity. Upon reflection I decided that this conversation, apparently so trivial, had been interesting because it had brought out with such force the character and personality

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of the participants, and had shown the ease with which dif- ferent personaUties meet in common interests. Miss Beebee was from Vermont; her attitude might have been that of a New England schoolma'am. Mis§ McDonald was a Scotch girl and Miss Nelson was a superior Scandinavian woman of the upper servant-class. Miss Peddie was an East Side New Yorker who had risen in the world and moved to Brooklyn. Klara was a Roumanian Jewess.

Daily Observation: How different were the cultural back- grounds of the members of this group, and yet how surprising were their similarities! None was loose, flapperish, rebellious, or smart; all were free and independent. Each had a different conception of convention or, at any rate, as to what was wise behavior in a conventional situation, yet each was ac- cepted by the others at her face value. The store and their encounter with the real world had made them free souls and women of the world.

CHAPTER XIV A WEEK-END WITH KLARA

I had to go to Monticello, which is in the heart of the Catskills, to learn that Klara, who in my own mind I had regarded as a Roumanian emigrant, had a college education and degrees that made me feel apologetic for my own.

It came about in this way. I knew that next to the sea- shore the Catskills were the popular playground of the sales- woman, so, when Klara invited me to join her in a week-end at a camp about three miles from Monticello, it seemed to me an excellent opportunity to learn something at first hand of the saleswoman at play.

"You're sure you don't mind it's a Jewish place," said Klara. "Bring a knicker suit — and a bathing suit — and something to wear at the dance on Saturday evening. No, not an evening dress — something with long sleeves. It costs six dollars on the bus and five dollars a day. Be on time — five fifteen. I got an early pass from the store .... sure you be there .... it's the last bus."

I met Klara, as we agreed, on Friday evening at the Rip Van Winkle Hotel. We could not get seats together on the bus but Klara sat directly behind me. We jolted and puffed all the way to the ferry at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street through a din of city traffic so terrific that conversation was impossible. But when we had left the ferry far behind and were out on the mountain roads where only a house set back on a wooded hillside now and then flashed into view for a second or two, we talked, or rather, Klara made Uttle

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running comments about the beauty of the country and the freshness of the mountain air.

We sped on; the night grew chill. Klara pulled my coat up over my shoulders. "There is a nice boy up there. He's in the fur coat business with his brother — but they don't both have to be in the city now — it's the dull season. I wrote him we should be there at nine o'clock. He'll meet us — he drives a Cadillac. I thought my girl friend from the second floor would go along — she promised me — but I guess she backed out because the fellows are Jewish. She's Eng- Hsh — but I should worry. I'm glad you could come. It isn't your crowd, but you just stick around with me and you'll have a good time."

We were rolling along between the mountains now, low hills of them, mistily distant yet very near. ''Aren't they lovely!" breathed Klara into my ear as she leaned forward. ''Up there where we are going it is all mountains and Httle lakes white like a mirror."

On and on we went. It grew hazy and a young moon shone across our left shoulders. Presently it was so dark that only the moon and two long paths of Ught made by the bus lamps were visible. The occupants of the bus were vague, black shapes. The driver stepped on the gas; the great coach leaped ahead with such rapidity that our feet stung with the vibration. Then suddenly, with a grinding of brakes, the car stood still. I expected to see a gang of bandits pointing short handled guns at us; I almost heard hoarse orders of "Hands up!" But it was only a motor cop who had objected to our speed. An altercation followed and then, the cop chugging head on his motor cycle, we drove slowly into the next village and to police headquarters where our driver disappeared for ten minutes or so.

A WEEK-END WITH KLARA 141

"We are going to be dreadfully late," worried Klara. ''I told them nine o'clock and it's ten now. We have miles to go yet."

We rolled on, more slowly now, for another hour. We reached Middletown, and an old lady started to get off. She couldn't find her rubber, which she had kicked off somewhere under the seat because, she explained, it hurt her across the toes. The men, all of them Jewish, got down on their knees and began a search. At the end of five minutes the rubber was found two seats away from where the old lady had sat. In another five minutes we were off again. Up steep hills and down, now in absolute darkness, we proceed- ed for another hour. At half past eleven we coasted non- chalantly into Monticello.

At first there was no sign of the boy friend. Then there was a shout and we saw five men advancing toward us.

"We thought you'd never come The bus was held

up by a cop Kllara, this is Abe. Ike, this is Klara.

Morris, you know Klara This is my girl friend.

She used to work with me in the store."

I never heard men talk so much or so fast. Not much was intelHgible but I heard Klara say to Jack, "I hear you are reading my letters out loud to the whole camp."

"Did you think I could keep such letters to myself?" yelled Jack and then he quoted funny Uttle excerpts from them. "And that last!" he added; "that was the rarest! 'I will be true with you!' What we say is, T will be true to you.' It sounded as though you said, 'I will be through with you. Did you think I could keep that?^^

Klara laughed. "Well, you know what I mean. I never went to school in this country."

We reached Brookside, half mountain boarding-house

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and half camp. A few girls and young men who had not yet gone to bed rushed out and greeted us. ''Rachel says you are to come right up," they said.

I followed Klara up the staircase, through a narrow hall, and into a room which contained two single beds, a golden- oak dresser, and a chair. In each single bed were two girls in nightgowns who rubbed their eyes sleepily in the Hght from a hastily turned on, bare electric globe, and whom Klara kissed all around. One was a lovely brown nymph with black hair bobbed and cut in a bang across her fore- head. The ends of both the bang and the bob curled ador- ably and white teeth gleamed through scarlet lips that did not owe their color to lip rouge. Another was a handsome, voluptuous Jewess with a sullen expression. She looked an- noyed at the interruption of her beauty sleep. The other two were slim young things with no particular personality.

"My Gawd!" said the brown n3miph with a prodigious yawn, "but you are late. I had given you up altogether. I haven't a room for you; we're full up. You will have to sleep over there," and she indicated the single bed opposite her own from which the two Httle blonds were drowsily ris- ing. "I'll put the kids outside in the tent."

The "kids" mournfully drew on their stockings and shoes, clutched their discarded clothing against their breasts, pulled a blanket from the brown nymph's bed, and reluctantly withdrew. The girls kept up an incessant chat- ter and I learned that Rachel, the brown nymph who did not appear to be more than seventeen, was married but that she helped her parents to run the boarding-house in the summer. She said she expected her husband the next day to stay over Sunday.

Kllara, who was undressed first, piled into the single bed

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and lay down in the middle of it. When I had finished my disrobing I balanced myself on the narrow shelf of bed that was left for me and pulled the sheet and one thin blanket over my bare shoulders. Rachel, reaching up, pulled the string of the electric Ught and we were in darkness. But I didn't sleep. Instead I fell into one of those half-conscious dozes from which I awakened every little while to realize that my knees, which stuck out over the edge of the bed, were cold and that my feet, which protruded from the cover- ing, were like ice.

Finally the uncomfortable night came to an end. A bell rang. I started to get up, rejoicing at the prospect of don- ning warm woolen sport hose and a velveteen knicker suit. But Rachel heard me and, sitting up in bed as she shook her black hair out of her eyes, whispered, "Don't get up yet; that was the children's bell. You can sleep another hour."

Just as I was dozing off in what promised to be, in spite of the discomfort, my first real sleep, the bell rang again. The girls yawned, stretched, and sHd out of bed, their faces wearing the abused expression common to those who wake at the call of a bell.

"Don't wait for me" ordered Klara. "Go down into the sun; it will do you good."

The mountain morning snapped and sparkled in the brilliant sunshine; alternating currents of hot and icy air struck my cheeks. I sat down in a rocker on the porch but not for long. A kind, motherly woman passed me and as she went into the house she said, "Take your chair out into the sun, dear, it will do you good."

I walked about in the big yard that stretched up toward the road in front of the house and down to the brook in the

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back. Tall trees rustled in the hot sunshine and grassy slopes, twinkling with dew, tempted me to he upon them. In the distance were the mountains and at their feet a little sliver of glassy lake. Truly a lovely country, as Klara had said.

Another bell rang; Klara joined me and we went into the dining-room. It was a great bare place with rough boards for walls upon which were tacked the pennants of Fordham University, of New York University, and of the College of the City of New York. Probably ten tables, with seats for eight or ten at each, j&lled the dining-room with the exception of a small space in the center. Klara and I were assigned seats at a table in the corner. Two young men whom Klara introduced to me sat down with us. ''They go to the College of the City of New York," she explained, *'but they are musicians up here for the summer. They get their vacation free for their playing."

They were courteous boys who talked to me politely and saw that I lacked for nothing. With Klara they seemed to be on the best of terms. Presently I heard one of them say to her, "He can't help it, you know. Tom's his friend and his girl asked her here to make a foursome with Jack. I know he likes you best but he has to sit over there at that table; he can't change just for Sunday."

At the table next to ours Klara's boy friend was seated beside a pretty blond girl. When he saw me looking their way, he shouted, 'T hate the Jews ! They come up here with their children and expect the boarders to take care of them. They are an awful race!" Then he grinned at me. I was the only Gentile in the camp. All morning whenever he came anywhere near me, he yelled out, ''I hate the Jews!" added some absurd reason for his hatred and grinned at me.

A WEEK-END WITH KLARA 145

Breakfast over, we went out into the yard and sat on the benches and chairs that were scattered about. The yard was swarming with children of all ages from long bare- legged youngsters of thirteen or fourteen to little toddlers who threatened to fall at every step. In carriages, in ham- mocks, in swinging rubber bathtubs that were being used as cradles were babies, some who slept and some who kicked their little brown legs and gurgled, but all basking in the golden sunshine. Mothers came running out of the kitchen with bottles of warm milk; mothers were hanging baby linen on lines behind the house; fathers sat by baby-containers holding bottles to the lips of their hungry offspring and keep- ing an eye on toddlers who tottered about on the grass.

Klara sat thoughtfully on the porch. I looked at her and imagined that I saw two Klaras, one who longed to be a part of this domesticity, to have a husband, kind and de- voted, and brown, fat babies; another who rejoiced that she was not tied to diapers and nursing-bottles but was an independent woman who sold dresses, one of the aces of her department, self-supporting and free, who could go joyously off w^ith her boy friends with no responsibilities left behind, the remembrance of which could spoil her enjoyment.

In the afternoons all the young people piled into motor cars and drove to the lake two miles away where they frol- icked in the water or punted about in flat-bottomed boats until it was time to go home to supper. In the evening they danced in a barnlike hall provided for that purpose to the music played on a violin and piano by the two college boys. In the mornings they stayed at the camp and, s'tting around in the sun, talked and exchanged experiences.

The boys talked about their college Hfe with that as- surance and air of superiority characteristic of college youth

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the country over, and which at times becomes slightly ir- ritating when it is not amusing. Plainly it irritated Klara, for she assured them they hadn't the faintest idea of what exacting study meant.

"What do you know about it?" asked the college boy who played the vioHn.

"I? I know all about it."

"Who told you?" asked the college boy who played the piano.

"I am a graduate of the University of . I was

graduated cum laude."

That "cum laude" was a facer to the college boys. Up to that time they had thought Klara was spoofing and so had I. They began to fire questions at her and she answered correctly. Then she bombarded them with questions in chemistry, psychology, philosophy, and mathematics which bowled them over completely and me as well.

"You don't know what hard study is in America. Your college courses are no harder than our high schools in Rou- mania," said Klara.

"And you write T will be true with you/ " remarked the violin player in amused perplexity.

"I do not know English at all well yet," said Klara with dignity. "I learned only to read it in Roumania. I speak what I have picked up." There was a tinge of scorn in her voice which indicated that the method of the sources was shabby. "But I will write it for you in Roumanian, German, French, Italian, Greek, Spanish, or Yiddish." And she forthwith demonstrated this.

"I should think that with your education and knowledge of languages you could get a good position as a teacher," said the piano-player.

A WEEK-END WITH KLARA 147

*'It may be," returned Klara, "but I don't want to be a teacher. I like selling much better. I'll always be a sales- woman."

''Wait till you get married," laughed one of the young married women who had formerly worked in a department store. ''Then it will be different."

On the heels of this Klara stood by the rickety old piano and sang German and Italian opera for two hours, sang with an intimate acquaintance with score and word that complete- ly overwhelmed the two college boys who played the piano and the violin. And truly their repertoire was remarkable.

In this camp there were five or six young married women who had before marriage worked in a department store. All but two of them had left the store immediately after marriage and the others had worked only for a few months. "What is the use of staying in the store?" said one of these young matrons. "You know youVe got to leave as soon as the children begin coming, so you might as well get some fun out of being married for a year or so before you settle down to taking care of them."

In fact, apart from the amazing revelation of Klara, the most impressive thing about this week-end excursion to the mountains was that with all these people, Klara in- cluded, the first thought was, not about having a good time — that is, pleasure in the ordinary sense — but of health, coupled with a deep appreciation of the beauty of the coun- try. The knowledge about the preservation of health and the rigidity in observing its rules exceeded that of any other group that I have ever encountered. Particularly was this true of the mothers in looking after their children.

Whether they gained this knowledge from newspapers and magazines or in clinics and lecture-rooms I have no

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means of knowing. But I do know that they observed the laws of health with an almost fanatical faith in their efficacy. Klara and all her friends were constantly keeping in the sunlight and talking about it, were constantly breathing deep the mountain air. These were the two things that had drawn her to the Catskills in the first place, not the boy friend or the Cadillac. She had met him while she was up there on her two weeks' vacation.

Daily Observation: As for the mothers of the fifty or more children, practically their whole time during the day was devoted to keeping the children in the sunlight and to supervising their diet, which was especially adapted to an active outdoor life. The children ate by themselves and were not allowed in the dining-room of the grown-ups at all. Of these mothers, who were as competent as any I have ever known, and as devoted, which doesn't mean the same thing, the four former department-store girls displayed a knowledge and an efficiency in looking after their youngsters which commanded the respect of the other mothers and the united condemnation of the grandmothers.

CHAPTER XV RECREATION

The thing that the department-store girl enjoys most is work. She Hkes the companionship of those whose interests are identical with her own; she enjoys her wide contact with the humanity that pours through the doors of the store and sooner or later finds its way to her department ; she -enjoys the fierce struggle to hold her own and to get ahead, and she adores the conflict of personalities, the constant bickering between her fellow-workers and those higher in authority. To her, life is a dramatic episode in which she has the dual role of participant and spectator. All the little happenings of the store are her meat and the gossip that drifts by her counters is to her the wine of Hfe.

She has no lack of opportunities for recreation outside the store, and she takes advantage of them, but she is not dependent upon outside agencies for enjoyment. She has resources within herself; she can sing and dance; she plays every musical instrument that you will find anywhere in a ladies' orchestra; she takes a part in the entertainments of the city; she writes verses, and she can be found at the meetings of the young poets in the Troubador Tavern in Greenwich Village, that University of Youth where those who have not attended college obtain the degree of experience and those who are college graduates take graduate courses in finding themselves. Out of the largest stores in New York I have no doubt that there could be recruited three musical-comedy companies, and as many dramatic com-

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panics, from those who have had actual experiences as actors but who have given up the stage because the store offers a better future and a greater security.

This does not mean, however, that the department-store girl does not follow the lines of ordinary recreation and en- joyment. Normally she devotes two evenings a week to recreation — Wednesday and Saturday — when she is willing to go to the movies or to a dance and stay out late. The other evenings, unless there is something exceptional going on, she is likely to be in bed at eleven or earlier. She has her friends in the store with whom she gets together for informal good times and she goes to the picnics and parties given by the store where she may have the honor of dancing with the owner. (It must be admitted that outside the store she does not take this honor too seriously.) If she goes to Washing- ton, she may come home to boast, like many thousands of Americans, that she has shaken hands with the president. She rides in aeroplanes as well as in motor cars.

One thing that makes for her good times is that she is always well dressed. On Fifth Avenue you could not pick her out as a working-girl. She looks fully as smart as her sister, the society woman, and is, perhaps, a Httle more con- servative in the use of cosmetics. From the standpoint of recreation, I think every woman will agree with me that being well dressed is of supreme importance. Outside the store, however, the saleswoman talks less about clothes than most other women I have known. Certainly less than the stenographer, the housewife, or the school-teacher. She knows all about clothes, just what the fashions are, and fol- lows them, but to talk about clothes outside the routine of business is a waste of time.

R. H. Macy and Company of New York publish a house-

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organ called Sparks which is, I am told by a man who has made a study of some three hundred house-organs in the United States, some of which are far better written, the best that came under his observation. It is conducted along the lines of a country newspaper and is chock-full of real news about the people of the store, of their work, and of their personalities. It is issued once a month and not given away but sold for a penny. Whenever the distributor ap- pears with the month's issue, everything else is forgotten while the girls rush to buy a copy. I do not believe that there is any other publication, daily newspaper or otherwise, that is more eagerly sought or more carefully read.

To me the astonishing thing about this house-organ is that a study of it furnished documentary evidence confirm- ing conclusions reached through personal experience. Also it gave me much information which was outside the sphere of my personal activities, and this was so accurate in respect to what I was able to check that I am prepared to accept as accurate any facts that it presents. Take the subject of recreation, for example: I found innumerable items in Sparks that illustrated what I already knew.

From my own observation, therefore, supplemented by information obtained from the pages of Sparks, I have con- cluded that the round of gayeties enjoyed by the sales- woman are not vastly different from that enjoyed by those women who make enjoyment a profession. In the autumn and winter months the store seems to lead in the providing of entertainment while in the spring and summer months the saleswoman provides the bulk of entertainment for her- self.

In October Sparks chronicles a series of Hallowe'en parties with which the ''season" may be said to open:

152 THE SALESLADY

The Hallowe'en party proposed by Mr. Greenberg of the Women's Shoe Department was a grand success, with the assistance of Mrs. Nuyens and Mr. De Roche. Mr. Brown acted as chairman of the entertainment committee. With the help of many departments in the store a group of well talented men and women entertained, among whom was Miss Berganhoff, who sang a few Scotch songs accompanied by Miss Maloy at the piano. A few colored boys showed their dancing abiHty by doing the "Charleston" and the "Black Bottom." .... Snappy music was furnished by Louis Marshall and his band. The party ended with an Earl Carroll bathtub . delight amusing the guests. All in all the party was the biggest and greatest success the Shoe Department has ever had.

A good evening was had by the members of the Sheet and Pil- low Case Department on Hallowe'en Eve. Everyone with the same spirit had an honest to goodness wild time which will long be re- membered.

One grand Hallowe'en party was held by the members of Depart- ment 122 at the home of Miss Einstein, their Head of Stock. Everyone was dressed in fancy dress costumes. Mrs. Van Horn did a few good turns in her Girl Scout costume. One of the prizes went to Miss Falvey, who amused everyone by her baby costume. Some baby! Miss Crove, dressed as Huckleberry Finn, took a prize for having the most original costume.

Music, dancing, and singing by Mrs. Einstein completed the enter- tainment, and when the party broke up at two they were all reluctant to leave.

That the round of festivity does not stop at Hallowe'en is evidenced by the following account in Sparks, of January, 1927:

When the Training Department steps out, it steps in style. A cer- tain Saturday evening in December saw about twenty-six of us, and the same number of intimate friends, making merry at a choice Httle tea room somewhere in the Village. Although very formal in attire, the party could hardly be classed as such. All barriers of reserve and

the like were broken down, and self expression reigned supreme

Much credit is due certain husbands of our members for putting in an

RECREATION 153

appearance at all; after all they know we must have heard about them. Others present, we judge, are the owners of various fraternity pins which are familiar signets in the Department. The orchestra was good and so was the dancing. Particularly the Charleston Exhibitions done by many, including Division Heads.

That the New Year is welcomed with appropriate cere- mony in the department store world can be seen from the following account taken from Sparks, February, 1927.

The stafif of the Far East Departments celebrated the coming of the New Year in a novel manner. They were entertained at the Yoyo Kwan Restaurant by Mr. Hoist where an exotic dinner was served in the Japanese fashion. On entering the guests were ushered into rooms decorated for the occasion with huge lobsters topped by loaves of bread hung on a diminutive Christmas tree with long scrolls of white paper. When the guests had been seated there were gasps and groans of dismay as they discovered that the implements consisted of chop sticks. However, after sHght manipulation, they realized that the sticks were not so difficult to use as is generally supposed, and much to Mr. and Mrs. Hoist's disappointment, all behaved in a de- corous way.

Each one had before him a lacquered tray covered with small dishes which were followed in close succession by many others, some good, some questionable, and some rather bad. But even the latter were made palatable by a dehcious suki of which there was unfortu- nately only a limited supply.

Though it is plain that there is no dearth of provision made for a hearty, rollicking enjoyment in department- store life, yet there is also evidence that an equal provision is offered for the enjoyment of what might be termed the "higher" pleasures. For example:

Monday, January 10, seemed an eternity to the girls of Depart- ment 118. The cause was their prospective party at the Metropolitan Opera House. The Barber of Seville never had a more appreciative audience. The girls were the guests of Miss K. Hartman who enter- tained them at her club for supper.

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And:

At six thirty on April 26, the cafe was resounding to the strains of "Lucky Day" and a lucky day it was for the Reception Committee. Three hundred strong they gathered for the annual dinner and to hear D. Alexander Lyons of the Eighth Avenue Synagogue, the principal speaker of the evening.

Mr. John Nesbit, accompanied by Miss E. Buckhard, sang two songs and proved himself quite worthy of his evident popularity. Rabbi Lyons, in his talk, brought out the idea that we are all depend- ent on each other, and even on people that we never see and will never know. In the same way they are depending on our services. Therefore Dr. Lyons urged, since our most trivial act or word may have consequences far beyond our knowing, that we carry this thought with us and perform every slightest service with a view to its ultimate effects.

The Misses Rankell, Hoffmeier, Canlice and Mr. Greenberg of the Fur Storage, and Mr. and Mrs. Frost, and their friends from the store, attended a musical recital at the Town Hall. No, they didn't go because the tickets were free of charge, but rather because they enjoy musical programs. And they did enjoy this one.

There are girls in the store who try out for prizes at Loew's Grand and girls who star with the Washington Square Players in Greenwich Village. Every year R. H. Macy and Company gives a musical comedy with its em- ployees playing all the roles. This is an event of great im- portance and dear to the hearts of both actors and audience. For example, in the April number of Sparks you read para- graphs like this:

Should any of the readers of this column see Flo Ziegfeld in the Store, please direct him right up to the Controller's office. He might be shopping but his main purpose is to seek out three appealing "Chorines" who hail from our colorful precincts. We refer to the Misses Billie Diamond, Frances Davis, and Victoria Masiello, without whom our recent Red Star Revue couldn't possibly have gone over with the snap and sparkle it did. Nor would he overlook the D.A.

RECREATION 155

section of the Controller's office family, for there he would find the second starry trio in the charming persons of Ruth Allen, Bernice Taub, and Ethel Jacobson.

In the spring and winter also, there are those who go south to Palm Beach and to Florida, while others take trips to Bermuda.

When the Christmas rush is over and we are aU tired out, most of us have to stick around and work it off, but there are some of us who drop in on the smart set at Palm Beach. To that class belongs Mrs. Margaret, Head of Stock in Departments 79 and 120. Two weeks down there just fixed her up and now she is ready for the spring rush in diamond rings. ^

In the June issue of Sparks appears the following gay account of a Decoration Day frolic enjoyed by the em- ployees of R. H. Macy and Company:

This is the time for all good mothers to lay down their knitting and die. For know ye that on the 29th day of May in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and this year, 67 junior executives of the Kingdom of Macy got aboard the water wagon and stayed there for two days and two nights. Yes sir, 67 young scamps (many of them handicapped with college educations) left home against their mothers, anguished cries, and after a mad gallop on the grimy back of an iron steed of the Erie rails, pulled up at Camp Isida for the commencement of two of the most innocent and delightful days ever synthesized from a merchandising establishment.

Speaking chronologically, it was like this: Met at Erie Railroad Station, Hobukken, 8:30 Saturday night; disbanded at Erie Railroad Station, Hobukken, 9:30 Monday night; interim consisting (in rota- tion) of eating, singing, dancing, eating, hiking, rowing, singing, danc- ing, eating, playing ball, eating, playing cards, eating, dancing, singing and eating. You will note that eating outnumbered the other forms of exercise. That was because there were no Confederate soldiers in the party. Miss Wison knew she had to produce the goods, and dag- nabbit, you know, she showed what she really can do. "Haste thee. Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity"

^ Sparks, February, 1927.

156 THE SALESLADY

We brought the nymphs, and the nymphs brought the jest and youthful jolUty. For instance, there was Nymph Horowitz, who did wood-nymph dancing, Charleston prancing, and even imitated a Harem on fire. And there was Nymph Marshall, better known as Betty, who smote the ground with her Terpsichorean feet to the tune of drums and other kinds of racket. And there was Nymph Shaefer who organized a ball team and smacked the everlasting dayhghts out of an opposing team which boasted Babe Ruth Funnell on its lineup. And there was Nymph Skolnick, who bought three men at an auction sale of all the masculinity in the party unsaleable through regular channels, and then vamped the auctioneer in the bargain. And there was Nymphissima Perper (nee Grealish) who brought Shakespeare up to date by playing Juliet in her usual active transitive way. And there was Nymph Murray, who showed up nicely in some interpreta- tive dancing, and Nymph Axelrod, and Nymph Huvane, and Nymph Anpell and a few married Nymphs who came because Mamma knows where Papa goes or Papa don't go out. And of course there was a whole slew of Nymphs from the Department of Training.

Now getting down to the brains of the party, there was Earl Car- roll Campbell of the Advertising Department and his side-kick Monty Montague, both of whom did quips and cranks and wanton wiles. And there was Perper the Lion-hearted, who was the S.O.S. on ideas all the way from A to Z. And there was Mike Peyser who organized a historical society and put over a spectacular barrage with his ma- chine-gun-camera. And there was Len Lippman, the only member of the party at all concerned about the prohibitionary aspect of the affair. (He had himself thrown in the lake by way of protest.) And there was your obt. humb. servt. who nearly learned to dance (for the nine hundred and eighteenth time in seven years). And there was the band, God bless them and their little bows and drmnsticks.

And so on and so forth. It was really a most dehghtful time, and everybody hopes to get another crack at it next Decoration Day.

In conclusion, we want to write into the record the statement that the best little Uncle Joe and Aunt Liza in North America are Mr. and Mrs. Leon Allen, and we mean to send them an autographed copy of these minutes when they come out.

Like the rest of us, the department-store girl, however, takes most of her vacations in the summer time. It is then

RECREATION 157

that she goes to the seashore, to the mountains, and on motor trips short or long. All of these she enjoys but most of all she likes the seashore and its bathing. Her Mecca is Asbury Park. By far the greater majority of the girls I met and heard about make this the high point of the year. Almost invariably the department-store girl goes on this vacation at Asbury Park with another girl, and the boy friend who happens to be devoted to her at home does not appear in the picture at all. The attraction is the ocean and the beach. She spends practically her whole day in a bath- ing suit and seems to remember every minute of it.

Asbury Park has always been celebrated as a straight- laced resort harried with all kinds of censorship. In fact it is only less harried than Ocean Grove, which adjoins it. For years it has appeared in the news as the sanctuary of the modest bathing costume.

As Asbury Park is less than three hours by rail from New York, the railroad fare is moderate. There are a few pre- tentious hotels, but the great bulk of the hotels and boarding- houses are not expensive when measured by the resort standard. The saleswoman plans on a celebration at Asbury Park on a total expenditure of seventy-five dollars, and with this sum she expects to pay for all of her enjoyments; she demands absolute independence.

While the percentage of those who prefer the seashore to the mountains seems far above the average, there are, of course, many who from choice seek the higher altitudes. These mostly go to the Catskills, which are decorated with hotels, inns, boarding-houses, and camps. While the rail- road fare is somewhat more than it is at Asbury Park, the board and lodging is cheaper. A two weeks' vacation in the Catskills can be managed for from forty to sixty dollars.

One of the famihar ways in which the saleswoman spends

158 THE SALESLADY

her vacation is to make her home her headquarters and take motor trips. In fact many girls devote the entire two weeks to motoring, Canada being a desirable objective. It is usual for those who are married, and work because they want to have a motor car, to take with them one or two girls in the department, who pay a part of the operating expenses as well as their own hotel bills.

Then there are the various camps conducted either by the store itself or by organizations that are able to make the expense very small. A girl can have a two weeks' holiday in such a camp at a minimum cost of twenty-five doUars including car fare.

The amazing thing about department-store workers is the number who go abroad every year. Take one store whose workers represent a city of possibly twenty-five or thirty thousand inhabitants, considering the usual ratio between adults and children. I should guess — and it must be merely a guess, since there are no statistics — that apart from those who go abroad on business, there are five times as many workers cross the ocean each year as there are from any city of twenty-five or thirty thousand in the United States. In the July, 1926, issue of Sparks appeared the following items in regard to trips abroad:

Miss Louise Interante of the Adult Games Department has sailed for Paris. We wish her Bon Voyage, and hope she wiU return to us next fall.

Miss Alice McGovern, Merchandise Checker of the Rug Depart- ment, is returning to Ireland for a short period. Bon Voyage, AHce.

On June 10, Margaret Urweider and Lece Dearaway sailed on the steamer De Grasses for a three months' trip to Switzerland and France. We hope they will have a pleasant trip and find their parents well and happy.

Miss Selley came back from Europe on June 7.

RECREATION 159

Miss Lies departed for Europe on June 12, which fact led one of our good friends to remark that we seemed to have a foreign repre- sentative in Europe. The only trouble is that each has to wait his turn.

Miss Rosenberg, Buyer of Neckwear, has left for another trip abroad. She will be back again somewhere in the neighborhood of August 16.

Our old associate, Miss Tooker, is leaving for Japan with her family. She carries with her our best wishes for a happy and pleasant voyage.

Miss Murphy, Mr. Mark's assistant, has sailed away to Europe on business and, we hope, for a well earned rest. She'll have no worries. Mr. Kerner will keep things running smoothly until she returns.

Miss Roland, one of the best fitters on our floor, and now with Department 70, is leaving July 4 to visit England, Scotland and Wales. Best wishes for an enjoyable trip.

But the thing that impressed me most was the interest and amusement that the saleswoman finds in her work. Already there has been emphasized the popular pastime of "Playing Customer" which seems to me to be more sur- prising every time I think of it. When the Chicago buyer who, with Marguerite, prompted this book said to me, "The store is my hfe/' I thought that she was exaggerating, per- haps posing a little, and that even if it were true in her case, that she was the exception. I have found out that she is not the exception.

A woman who owns her home in the Chelsea district of New York City, the head clerk in the stationery de- partment of one of the finest stores, said the same thing. She is perhaps forty years old and has never married. She has worked only in one store where she began as errand girl at the age of fourteen. 'T wait on the most cultured peo- ple," she explained, "even ambassadors, and I hear all the news of the society world. I have the most fun with the nouveau riche whom I have to teach to buy engraved sta-

i6o THE SALESLADY

tionery. There is a constant study of human nature. Do you know that when a man has a son born he rushes down the same day of his birth to get the announcements to send out, but if it's a daughter he waits until she is old enough to sit up in a high chair and eat beefsteak before he thinks of a formal announcement."

This girl is a personality; nothing escapes her. In one of our conversations she told me about a joke she had played on one of her most aristocratic customers. 'Tt was this way," she said; "you know there are a lot of rich negroes in this town and they are adopting the customs of the whites and sometimes they go them one better. One day the wife of a rich colored lawyer came in to order some paper napkins to use at picnics at her country place and she asked me to have her monogram engraved on them. I had never had any monogrammed paper napkins ordered before but I thought it a good idea so when — I'll call her Mrs. Reginald Whitford of Park Avenue — came in to get some paper napkins for her yacht, I suggested the monogram to her. 'What a splendid idea!' she said right away, delighted, and ordered a couple of thousand. I had a good laugh all to myself after she went out. I wondered what she'd say if she knew that she was imitating colored society."

Another time this saleswoman said to me; "My, the changes I have seen in this store! Things aren't what they used to be. It's no longer a disgrace to be a working-girl; the shopgirl attitude is dead.^ My customers treat me like

* The following is from Woman's Wear, August 21, 1926:

A "shop girl" by any other name

H. Gordon Self ridge of Self ridge & Co., London, feels that the expression "shop girl" has become "an epitaph almost of disrespect" and has undertaken a crusade to eliminate not only this term but also its companion, "shop

RECREATION i6i

a human being and so does the store. Fear doesn't exist any more; we don't jump when the section-manager comes around. We have our clientele and the store needs us."

Daily Observation: It seems to me that it is perfectly plain that this girl is happier working in a department store than she would be doing anything else.

The saleswoman has a zest in her enjoyments that is possible only to one who works. She has a capacity for en- joyment and her recreation seems to be directed by rather shrewd common sense. On the whole she is a natural, nor- mal development and she and her fellow-workers get more satisfaction out of living than any other group with whom I have come in contact.

assistant." His feeling in this matter is along the lines practiced if not as distinctly enunciated by the leading stores of this country, the great majority of which have adopted terms which they feel lend greater social prestige to their employes and build a better esprit de corps than do the designations to which Mr. Selfridge has expressed his objections. Some of the names in use in this country include: co-worker, fellow- worker, associate and store member. There are many other terms of a similar nature all of which have been introduced with the idea of giving the store workers a title indicative of their dignity and value to the organization.

CHAPTER XVI ROMANCE AND MARRIAGE

One day there came into a store where I was working a girl of twenty-five or thirty, with more curves than girls have nowadays, and a real charm; not pretty, a ''nice-look- ing girl" with an air of good breeding. A man accompanied her and they went around shaking hands with many of the girls.

"She used to work here," explained one of my fellow- workers; "then they made her assistant buyer and last win- ter they sent her down to Palm Beach with some negligees. One day when she was on the bathing beach she saw this man," nodding toward the girl's escort, "looking at her. The next day when she went to the beach, he looked at her again. Then he went up and introduced himself and in- vited her to dinner with him that night at his hotel. She went and met his mother who was there with him."

The girl paused so that the effect of this would sink in, then she continued: "He played around with her for a month at Palm Beach; then she had to come back here to the store. He followed her; the day after he came she took him to the Ucense bureau; the next day to the minister. I'll say he is a fast worker. He's a millionaire from Kansas City. She has a Packard car and did you notice that sparkler on her left hand? Isn't she the lucky kid! And you and I go right on workin'."

I looked at the husband. I would have expected to see a somewhat ordinary individual, the sort of man I had always

162

ROMANCE AND MARRIAGE 163

pictured as the kind who "picks up" girls. But I didn't see him. I saw a man with graying hair, straightforward, clear blue eyes, well dressed in a conservative fashion, carrying a stick as though he had been accustomed to it always, a handsome, manly man.

His devotion and pride awed the girls about me. They couldn't believe that it could be true. The wife was un- doubtedly happy and proud of her husband, for which there was full justification. I thought of Marguerite and her aspi- rations toward a miUionaire husband. Perhaps they are as plentiful in the department-store world as in the steno- graphic.

I believe that these fine marriages, as they used to be called, are not so exceptional as one might suppose. I knew of several marriages and heard of a great many more where the husband was far above the wife as measured by the economic scale. Frequently, too, there were marriages which gave the wife a certain social position.

Most department-store girls are willing to marry a mil- Uonaire if he is otherwise agreeable but they don't expect to do so; they are too shrewd for that. The great majority of them, however, expect to marry and they do marry. What might be termed the matrimonial turnover is large.

But there isn't an executive in any department store that I have found, and I interviewed many of them, who could even approximate the percentage of marriages per capita. In fact they do not have accurate figures as to the labor turnover, which seems to me unbelievable.

''Of course they get married," said one personnel man- ager; ''they are getting married all the time," and this sums up as much as I could learn on this subject. The store execu- tives cannot even approximate how many marry and leave

i64 THE SALESLADY

the store, or how many come back after marriage. They are extremely hazy about the husbands.

Rather curiously the personnel managers have a certain unanimity of opinion that the department-store girls in- cline to automobile salesmen. I think there must be an error somewhere. Undoubtedly there are department-store girls who marry automobile salesmen, but despite the large number of motor-car salesmen, there are not enough of them to supply the department-store demand for husbands. And besides automobile salesmen do not all marry depart- ment-store girls.

The saleswoman may meet her husband in the store, she may be introduced to him by a friend, or she may meet him "casually" as Edith said, on the street car, on the top of a bus, or in the routine of the day's work. There is abundant evidence that she meets him in all these ways.

Have you noticed a gentleman wearing spats stopping at Miss Holahan's counter every day, leaving a spray of lily of the valley? Best of luck, Ide. You have a personality. — Sparks, June, 1926.

To head the list of interesting news, we have a store romance in our Basement. The very intriguing Titian haired young lady in the Candy Department, Miss Gloria Schillingham, has good cause to smile sweetly at Mr. Tom McQueeney, former section manager in the China Department, since she has accepted his Fraternity Pin. They will be married in the spring. Tra La! — Sparks, June, 1926.

We folks had our hands full Saturday, June i, congratulating blushing brides. First we paid our felicitations to Miss Charlotte Crofton who recently won a prize in a beauty contest held by one of the New York newspapers. The lucky groom is also employed at Macy's. Looks like the revival of "The Romance of a Great Store." After the day was done, she left for a two weeks' trip with her better half. — Sparks, June, 1926.

There is an elderly gentleman who brings Pauline Baldwin the most beautiful flowers from his estate in Bayport, L.I. She says it is her uncle but we doubt it. — Sparks, December, 1926.

ROMANCE AND MARRIAGE 165

We have proof that even men of balance sheets and profit-and-loss statements can forget their ledgers and their statements and go a-court- ing as gallantly as the best of them. Especially when so delightful a young lady as Mildred Greenspun of Merchandise Control is involved. So here we have Mr. Lew Brown, a most practical business-Hke mem- ber of the Accounting Staff, laying siege to the charming young person aforementioned, and the future formation of a partnership that is sure to show a handsome net profit in happiness. The ring is in as fine taste as has been seen in many a day, and speaks volumes for the critical judgment of both. We can only reecho the warm and spontaneous congratulations of the many friends these popular young people can count in the large organization known as "Controller's OflSce." — Sparks, January, 1927.

Miss Irene Pelen of the Gardening Department is leaving us this April to visit her folks in Vermont. When she returns, she will be the bride of Mr. Michael Reynolds, one of the electrical engineers. Best wishes from Department 11 for a happy future for both of them. — Sparks, May, 1927.

The girl in the city can be excused for a certain amount of unconventionality. The city makes no provision for in- troducing her to men. The society girl has a mother who manages these matters for her but the working-girl must look out for herself. In the store there are only one-third as many men as there are women and the competition is, naturally, keen. The church might help, but for the most part the girl in the city does not go to church. Sunday is laundry day, the time for putting clothes in order, for going to the bathing beach, or on excursions into the country.

I have been told by one who has had more experiences than I that in many large city hotels there is someone who has a list of the names of women whom they can call upon to accompany the male guests who are alone in the city and desire companionship, to dinner, to the theater, on sight- seeing trips. The conventional idea that a lady must wait to be introduced — though it has much to be said for it —

i66 THE SALESLADY

is not workable in a large city and the modern business girl does not sit around and wait for introductions that never come her way. She finds her friends among men just as men find them among themselves and as women make the acquaintance of other women.

There are men in the city, also, who are too busy trying to get ahead in the world of business to play the social game. These men have not the time to spend on the ritual of court- ship that is demanded in conventional circles and are grate- ful for these chance acquaintances. If marriage follows, as it often does, the union is likely to be a fortunate one.

The department-store girl when she marries does not expect to be a pure luxury. She understands the business of getting ahead and she likes to play the game with her husband. For the busy business man she is the ideal com- panion, for she, too, understands business and the ways of the business world. She offers him a comradeship of the undo- mestic sort. Marriage is to such a couple a sporting proposi- tion. The saleswoman may not be romantic but she is loyal and tolerant; she is not critical and she does not make too heavy demands. The girls of the more conventional world are apt to make demands that a man cannot meet.

There can be no question but that the saleswoman meets men, plenty of them, but as to how she meets them, that is her business. She follows her own inclination and judg- ment; her experience in the store teaches her to be a quick and keen judge of human nature, and my observation led me to the conclusion that she makes fewer mistakes in mar- riage than the women of any other group with which I am famiUar.

There are, it is true, a large number of divorcees in every department store, but nearly always their divorces

ROMANCE AND MARRIAGE 167

have preceded their going to work in the store. I did not encounter a single instance of a girl who left the store to get married and who returned after divorcing her husband.

The saleswoman is willing to flirt; but when it comes to marrying she demands a certain efhciency as measured by the standards of the store. Thus it frequently happens that she marries a man who is certain of the job he holds but who has not the capacity to go farther.

In addition to the incHnation to work, the saleswoman demands from a husband, as she does from the girls who work with her in the store, loyalty, and within my personal contacts with department-store husbands she receives it to a degree scarcely credible. But I think that my experiences must have been exceptional because they are opposed to the law of averages and, after all, my acquaintance with the husbands was superficial.

In regard to divorce, the saleswoman has only one prej- udice and that is the expense. If a divorcee has anything at all to recommend her, she is treated with special consid- eration, not as a person of deeper knowledge and broader contacts — which is, I believe, the familiar way of regarding divorcees — but rather as an unfortunate person who has drifted into matrimony and blundered through lack of ex- perience.

Of course the fundamental underlying attitude of the saleswoman toward marriage is the comforting fact that she does not have to get married — she is economically inde- pendent. She chooses her husband with shrewdness; she is bound to be a better judge of character than most women because no other occupation offers the same opportunities in this respect as selling.

Perhaps the most trustworthy source of information on

i68 THE SALESLADY

this point is to be found in the house-organs published by the various stores, though the field covered is not compre- hensive since there are only about a dozen of these pubUshed by the department stores of the United States. Also, some of these are pubHshed for the owners of the store and not for the workers.

The attitude of the department-store girl toward ro- mance and marriage is, however, reflected in the house- organs, which plainly regard marriages as having news val- ue. Because it reflects the attitude of some ten thousand workers I quote from the Macy publication. Sparks.

It should be explained that each department has its own reporter, almost always a saleswoman, always a volunteer. Her journalistic career is subject to the approval of her fellow- workers, and if they don't like her stuff she loses her job as reporter. Individual resentments count for little; it is only when the other girls feel that she is not doing the department justice that she loses her job.

STREET FLOOR NEWS

The girls of the Notion Department were all very much surprised to learn of the engagement of Miss Rose Soman, Head of Stock, to Mr. Albert Bladdey. Rose has always been so quiet that we believed all those stories about riding home on the subway every night with her brother. Our congratulations and best wishes for a happy future go to them both, and we hope Rose will not leave us yet awhile. — Sparks, June, 1926.

JUNE BRIDES

In addition to the many marriages mentioned in the Floor News, there are others of interest.

Miss Rose Castinova, Mr. Wall's Ofi&ce Manager and invaluable assistant, is being married on June 27 to Mr. George Krowl of Wood- side, L.I, The wedding will take place in St. Sebastian's Church, after which a large reception will take place in the Hotel Astor. The young couple will enjoy an extended honeymoon of five weeks. We are glad

ROMANCE AND MARRIAGE 169

to see Germany and Italy getting friendly again, and are still more glad that Rose will return to Macy's to work. — Sparks, June, 1926.

Department 17 wishes to congratulate their Head of Stock, Miss Laura Sheaves, on her marriage to Mr. Joseph Seftner, which took place on June 20, in Grace Church. After a honeymoon in Atlantic City, they will live in New Rochelle. Miss Sheaves had been in the Glove Department for eight years. — Sparks, July, 1926.

On the 28th of June another wedding took place, when Mrs. Riley, also of the Glove Department, was married to Mr. Dilds. They will reside in Pitman, N.J. Mrs. Riley has made many friends during the course of her seventeen years in Macy's, all of whom wish her many years of happiness. — Sparks, July, 1926.

Department 129 broadcasts that their httle Dorothy Cooper has left to be married. She was given a royal send-off by her co-workers at which she was presented with a lovely set of flat silver. We wish her happiness in her future years. — Sparks, December, 1926.

Christmas is fast approaching and something more than that is approaching for Miss Schneider. We hear that she has enquired the price of George Washington coffee to say nothing of Del Monte's best brands of canned fruits. If these thin things are to constitute the home menus, we dare say Rose will not have to diet any more. The truth about it is that Miss Schneider is to be married on December 26 to Mr. Robert Suslow. After a month's vacation she will return to the De- partment of Training. — Sparks, December, 1926.

The end of the February Drive revealed a third floor that had carried off a large share of the honors. The Fur Trimmings' Depart- ment was first in the store with 165 per cent and the Woman's Coat Department a close second with 163 per cent. Not content with pub- licity she received for making that 165 per cent — actually winning the drive herself. Miss Goldberg of Department 149 drew to herself all sorts of attention when she came in last week with a wonderful spar- kler. We had to wheedle from her the admission that his name is Mur- ray Friedman — lucky fellow. Miss Goldberg also has the distinction of being the one to pick the show for Department 149 and 40, of which more anon. — Sparks, April, 1927.

Vera Antanasio, who has been in the employ of R. H. Macy & Co. for five years, has also fallen prey to Cupid. She was asked by this

I70 THE SALESLADY

Little Love God to choose between him and her present work in the Order Checking Office. Now as Vera is a wise girl she chose the course of true love. The following poem is the only means by which her friends can express their joy and good wishes:

We miss you, it's true,

Order Checkers are quite blue

Now that 3'ou have left and turned away your step .

It's a prosy old game,

Not a darned thing is the same,

And nothing has an}^ pep.

But never mind, old dear,

Here's a Httle good cheer

From the friends in your office so blue.

May joys always haunt you,

Troubles never taunt you,

Lots of luck to Raymond and you.

— Sparks, December, 1926.

Gentle waj^farer, if ye pass the desk of Miss Frances Herbert, tarry not in astonishment at ye strange gleams and sparkles playing round ye fair white hand of said maid. 'Tis but a pledge of friendship from Sir Rodolph Vitale, but forsooth, a passing fair and beauteous troth. To the maid joy; to the youth admiration for his taste in ring and maid. — Sparks, December, 1926.

"And what is so rare as a day in June?" sang the poet, but he neglected to add — "without brides." This addition would make the great-grand daddy of all the "Ask Me Another" questions, the world's hardest query to answer. Somebody once replied, "A Chinaman with whiskers," but it is to be gravely doubted whether this is really the correct answer to the question.

All of which is simply by way of telling a palpitant store that Eros (do you remember cross-word puzzles, dear readers, and a four letter word for the God of Love?) has not forgotten us even in these days of Societies for the Extermination of Husbands. For hark you, the choicest flower of that little corner nosegay on the Second Floor that adjoins the blankets, bedspreads, and Manager's Office — our own D.A. — proudly proclaims its place in the matrimonial sun.

On the scroll there appears emblazoned in luminous letters the

ROMANCE AND MARRIAGE 171

names of Rose Herman, Rose Huter, and Jean Agazzi, whose knights answer to the names of Charles Reiner, Nat Pensky, and Joseph Fefonce, respecter-respectively. "Hail the bridegroom, hail the bride, hail the nuptial knot that's tied," but it's not a knot, girls (pardon the pun). A knot is something hard to untie, so where's the similarity? But really, congratulations, luck and — always shop on a DA. — (adv.) D A.'s section cannot be closed until one other name is recorded — that of Marjorie O'Connel who is sometimes known as "Doc" and with good reason, for she holds a doctor's degree. At any rate, on May 17, good ol' spring got its hand in and showed it can't be resisted, for Doc Marjorie, degree and all, took mere man for a husband. The moral of which is, a man may love to a degree, but he gets there just the same. — Sparks, June, 1927.

There is a general superstition that New York and New Yorkers rank first in sophistication, that the ambition of most New Yorkers is to be superior and hard-boiled. The saleswoman is regarded as a t3rpical New Yorker and there- fore it was something of a shock to me to discover that the department-store attitude toward matrimony, and especial- ly toward the principals, is that of the small town. As you read in the house-organ the paragraphs relating to romance and marriage, you will be impressed by the intimacy and famiharity of the editor with her readers. The jokes, the teasing, the showers, the weddings, the congratulations are those of a village democracy. Incidentally, unless the hus- band is from the store not much interest is shown in him. Just as in the small town, all attention is centered on the bride; the outlander husband is merely tolerated.

Daily Observation : In the department store, there is, as a matter of fact, a democracy that no small town has ever attained. The store has its business aristocrats, it is true, but socially all meet on a common plane. In the vernacular anyone who high hats "get his" or hers, as the case may be.

CHAPTER XVII

A LIFE-HISTORY: TWENTY-ONE YEARS IN A DEPARTMENT STORE

I am writing this from my rooms in Palm Beach, Florida. I am now the wife of a loi per cent man, a capitalist, and a man with a great mind. When we met I told him at once I was a business woman and how I adored my work. He was so happy to meet one girl who was clever enough to earn her own living, and that was the greatest joy of my career, that I could take care of my family and myself. When I was seven my father died, leaving mother with two girls, one seven and one fifteen. My sister went to work at once knowing I, the younger, must be kept in school.

When I was about twelve, my mother was called to take care of a sick aunt. I thought that that was a good time to make my debut in the business world, so down I went dressed up in sister's clothes so I would look older. My first position paid me $1.75 per week and that first envelope was thrilling. I was big for my age, very active, and always trying to please. To please others was my motto.

I started to sell at once and never missed a chance to find something that would please the customer — was never discouraged when I would get someone who was very cross. My great joy was to be so nice to them it would put them to shame. Very soon I had them eating out of my hand. With such methods and hard work I soon became the first saleswoman. They used to say in fun that I would sell the carpets off the floor.

172

TWENTY-ONE YEARS 173

In a short time my salary was up to twelve dollars a week and I thought I was a very rich girl. Then through a customer I had been very patient with came my first chance for New York and to be a buyer. She was a very big cus- tomer and told the head man how bright she thought I was and would he give me a chance as buyer.

He did, and going to New York was the greatest joy I have ever known. Even my first trip to Europe couldn't equal that thrill. We were to open a new store and my job was to get the best values possible. I was to meet this man in New York, but I thought it was a good idea to go first and get a line on New York and the wholesale houses. So down I went on my own time and money to be prepared when my employer reached New York, and I was. I had a list of houses, had called on most of them, met the important people of the different houses, so when I went in days later I was known by name and could introduce my employer. I knew the houses that were good for certain types and those which were not right for our store.

At the end of the week, my employer told me I had worked in a business-like way and had shown him I was a bright, clever, hard-working girl and he knew I would be a success. These few words were a big part of my success. In a few years this man was responsible for my becoming a New York buyer — he had said several times, ''Some day you will be in New York," even before I had seen New York.

I used to ask the salesmen the name of the best New

York store and they all said X always. And then I

would always say, 'T'm going to be a buyer there." It was a great joke among the traveling men, this child — for at that

time I was only a girl — going to be a buyer at X 's.

But I was.

174 THE SALESLADY

One day I decided the time had come for New York. I told my employer I was going down to get a position. I

left on Friday night and on Saturday went in to X 's

and applied for a position. At that time I was getting forty

dollars a week back home. X 's offered me eighteen. I

told them I knew I had to pay for New York experience, so

I went back home, packed up, and back to work at X 's

on Monday morning.

I went in as third assistant and in a few months I had worked so hard, the department was large, and as the buyer had left to go into business for herself, the sections were separated and I was able to buy for the better things. After four years one of the leading smaller stores sent for me with an offer and a very handsome salary. I accepted and spent many happy years with them. Many trips to Europe — many successful departments.

After five years of hard but such happy work I had an- other offer from the newest and finest store in New York anyone has or ever will know. There my dreams came true — all my true nature of color, style, and enthusiasm came out. It was a big success and for them I had many trips to Europe. I spent three years of hard work, joy, and happi- ness with them. Then came my marriage.

It was hard to give up all my departments that were so successful. If all girls who are in business would put love and joy along with the cares and troubles it would be so easy and kindness to all, to your girls. You can keep them with fairness and love, the customers, even the manufacturers. My motto was they need us as much as we need them. Have them love you and always respect you, keep your word and have your word mean law. Rule by love and

TWENTY-ONE YEARS 175

love everyone. It's the greatest career in the world for hard work.

Daily Observation: This girl was earning a huge salary at the time of her marriage. Her husband is a millionaire. Now she spends her winters in Florida and her summers travehng in Europe. She was probably thirty-eight years old when she wrote this Ufe-history, which is reproduced exactly as she wrote it.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SALESLADY AT HOME

Carter did not know the shop girl. He did not know that her home is often either a scarcely habitable tiny room or a domicile filled to overflowing with kith and kin. The street corner is her parlor; the park is her drawing room; the avenue is her garden walk; yet for the most part she is as inviolate mistress of herself in them as my lady inside her tapestried chamber.^

The shopgirl in fiction lives with her family in conditions described by 0. Henry or in a little attic hall bedroom with soiled paper peeling from the wall, a hard bed in one corner, a washstand with its cracked bowl and pitcher in the other, and a geranium in a tomato can on the window sill.

There may be department-store girls who live in attic rooms nowadays, but I never met one nor heard of one. So far as I could find out even the girl who "rooms" is prac- tically nonexistent today in the department-store world. Those who do not live at home have little apartments of their own where they live either alone or with another girl, or they rent housekeeping rooms where they can cook, wash, iron, and press without fear of an irate landlady who would berate them for being a nuisance or, for hanging their stock- ings over the back of a chair to dry. Even in the working- girls' hotels, like the Junior League, the Webster House, the Carrol Club, or the Y.W.C.A., where the newcomer stays until she learns the city and finds her own apartment, laundry and pressing facilities are provided. For a few pennies, the girl can wash and iron to her heart's content.

The girls who live at home, a few of them, may be Hving

^ O. Henry, "A Lick Penny Lover," 1908.

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THE SALESLADY AT HOME 177

under the conditions described by 0. Henry but, in an age when there is so high a percentage of automobiles, even one of these has her rate of mobility enormously increased from the avenue and the park to the beaches and summer resorts within fifty or even 100 miles of New York. The independ- ent girl who is ''on her own" lives under no such conditions.

As far as being mistress of herself is concerned, that is probably more true today than it was in 1908. I found nothing in the department-store group that would lead me to think otherwise. What do ''salesladies" talk about? If they were married they talked about how their husbands liked their eggs in the morning. If unmarried they had "boy friends" whom they discussed in much the same terms that girls use in high-school or college circles. If the department- store girl's life is not according to the code, she is clever enough to keep silent about it. In this she is radically dif- ferent from the waitress.'

The working-girl no longer depends upon heaven to pro- tect her ; she protects herself. She lives her own independent existence, has her own gas range and laundry tubs, which she exchanges in marriage, perhaps, for a larger domain but one that does not necessarily interfere with her business career. Half of the women employed in stores today are married and most of these were working in the store before marriage. The part-time job facilitates marriage; the girl knows that she can take the chance in matrimony because she can always go back to the store. If she marries a "white- collar" man she is practically sure of returning sooner or later; if she marries an artisan the family budget will be large enough to let her stay home if she wishes to do so.

^ Frances R. Donovan, The Woman Who Waits. Boston: Gorham Press, 1920.

178 THE SALESLADY

TWO MILLION WOMEN IN U.S. ENGAGED IN GAINFUL WORK^

LABOR SPEAKER FINDS 8o PER CENT ARE MARRIED

Detroit, Mich., Oct. 8. — [Special] — Eighty per cent of the 2,000,- 000 women engaged in gainful occupations in the United States are married, Rose Schneiderman told the American Federation of Labor convention here today.

"These women not only are wage earners but home makers as well," Miss Schneiderman said. "Surveys reveal that most of them have famiHes and they are not working for pin money, but to keep the family budget from becoming depleted.

COMPELLED TO DO SO

"As a woman engaged in the trade union movement, I have found that most of the women engaged at work are compelled to do so be- cause their husbands don't receive a sufficient wage to support a family. In New England recently a survey of Hving conditions of the wage earners disclosed that in 85 per cent of the homes the head of the household received less than $1,500 a year, while government advice is that it takes at least $2,300 a year for a married man to Uve and support a family.

"Flappers are easier to organize than married women; the latter seem disheartened at the outlook in Hfe."

But often she does not wish to do so. She is lonely; she misses the life of the store; if she is employed, she will keep from spending money unwisely. The store provides com- panionship, satisfaction, excitement. ''A day behind a coun- ter is filled to the brim with experiences — you have your finger on the pulse of the life of New York — you are a part of a huge and important organization — and you come in contact with the world in general."^

I have described the conditions under which Edith lived in the tenement on the East River. Her home presents one

^ By Thomas Wren; Chicago Tribune, October 9, 1926. 'Hungerford, The Romance of a Great Store, pp. 123-24. New York: McBride & Co., 1922.

THE SALESLADY AT HOME 179

extreme of the picture and the home of Ella Bailey, the head clerk in the stationery department, the other.

I once spent a Sunday afternoon with Ella in her home in the Chelsea district not far from the Episcopalian Semi- nary. Ella is an Episcopalian, so perhaps that is why she chose to live in this neighborhood. Her home is a two-story brick house with a brown-stone front, the kind that you see built in rows in the older residence portion of the city. It has eight rooms, that is, a front and back parlor separated by sliding-doors, which are always left open, dining-room, a kitchen, and a back porch on the first floor and four bed- rooms and a bath on the second.

Ella bought this house before the war for twelve thou- sand dollars. She had made the first payment of two thou- sand dollars from her savings and a little money that she had borrowed from her mother, who thought the buying of a house a wild bit of foolishness. "And now," said Ella, 'T have been offered almost twice what I paid for it, and I suppose I'll sell one day now that mother's dead. It's lonely here all by myself and I'd be much better off in a little apartment, but I just can't bear to give up my home. And what would I do with all these things?"

The house is furnished in excellent taste. There are pieces of old mahogany, even an old melodeon, oriental rugs, books, handsome pieces of bric-a-brac, some of which Ella has picked up at sales in the store and others that have been brought to her as presents from Europe by her customers. On the walls are fine old engravings, water colors, quaint photographs of her family, singly and in groups. On the mantle and on the tops of the bookcases are modern photo- graphs of her brother and his children. He is the director of a well-known conservatory of music in a large city in Ohio,

i8o THE SALESLADY

In comparison with the cramped quarters in which so many are obliged to Hve in the present era of high rents, Ella, as far as space and furnishings are concerned, lives in luxury. The house is beautifully clean. *'0n week days," said Ella, 'T dust and run the sweeper around. On Sundays I turn out the rooms and give them a good cleaning, one week the upstairs and the next the down."

As I have said, I lived in a model tenement. I found it satisfactory. It was built around courts to make it cool, light, and airy. A large window in each room provided cross- ven tilation ; even on the hottest days there was air stirring in my apartment.

The largest room was the kitchen, which had been in- tended by the builders to serve as a living-room for the tenement family. It contained a four-burner gas range with a good-sized oven, a sink with a draining-board that Ufted, revealing a capacious laundry tub, and a cupboard, the top of which had shelves for china and glassware, the bottom storage space for cooking utensils and dry groceries. These compartments were separated by a wide shelf under which were drawers for silver and Unen. One entered the apart- ment from an outside stairway into a small hall, on one side of which was a bathroom fitted with good plumbing and on the other a compartment for the refrigerator. There was a steam heating plant for use in winter, and there was always an abundance of hot water on tap. The garbage was col- lected every day and the porches and stairs swept and hosed down several times a week.

Two small rooms, each containing a window that opened from floor to ceiUng upon a Httle fenced balcony large enough for my neighbors who had babies — most of them did have babies — to place them there to sleep in clothes baskets,

THE SALESLADY AT HOME i8i

were intended to be used as bedrooms. I used one as a bed- room and writing-room, the other as living-room and a place in which to entertain my friends.

The apartment was furnished comfortably and attrac- tively from a second-hand store at a cost of somewhere between fifty and one hundred dollars. The building was fireproof, with concrete floors that could be scrubbed to a dehghtful whiteness and upon which the rugs, made from pieces of thick red altar carpets, glowed like a hearthstone. A few books and pictures and one had an attractive home for any working-girl.

I paid $10.00 a week for this apartment furnished. If I had furnished it myself, the price would have been S7.50 a week. If I had shared it with another girl, the cost would have been reduced to half that amount. By using both small rooms for bedrooms this could easily have been done with- out discomfort to either. The kitchen, with the sink screened oft' and the stove hidden by a high-backed settle, was a pleasant Hving-room. A good-sized closet held my clothes.

Food bought on Avenue A or at the pushcart markets on Second Avenue, ice at 20 cents a day on hot days, and milk at 14 cents a day, came to $7.00 a week. Household linen, which I sent to a laundry cost around 75 cents a week, lunches $1.00 and car fare 50 cents, making my running expenses close to $10.00 a week. Gas and electricity in the summer months cost about $1.00. To be exact the electric light bill averaged 65 cents and the gas bill 30 cents a month — making a total of $10.25 ^ week apart from the rent. If I had furnished the apartment the total would have been $17.75. If I Ji^-d shared it with another girl we could have Hved just as well for around $10.00 a week each.

i82 THE SALESLADY

The first week I earned only $10.75, the beginner's aver- age; the second week my earnings increased only 6 cents; the third week I earned $13.75 and was almost self-support- ing; the fourth week my wages rose to $15.75. I^ f^^^ weeks I spent for my Uving $29.99 more than I earned and I had to draw on my ''capital" to make up the deficit. The fifth week earnings of $22.50 saw me ahead of the game. As a part-time worker, a job intended for married women who can work only in the middle of the day, and are not depend- ent upon their wages, I was able to support myself even in the dull summer months. On the beginning salary of $25 a week that I received in the Fifth Avenue stores, which pay straight salary to beginners, I could not only support my- self but I could save money for clothes.

I bought a hat, a pair of silk stockings, a purse, some beads to take home to my niece, and a silver cigarette case for my brother's Christmas present. On all of these pur- chases I was allowed the employees' discount, but more than that I was on hand to take advantage of the sales to em- ployees. The regular price of the purse had been $30; it cost me $6.75. I paid 50 cents for the beads which had been marked $3.95. If I had bought the cigarette case in Decem- ber in Chicago I would have paid $12 for it. I know that this is true for I priced some just like it at Marshall Field's.

This experience, which rather amazed me, goes a long way toward explaining how it comes about that department- store girls are not only so well dressed but why they can afford luxuries in dress like $30 handbags. For, remember, these bargain sales for sales people are common to the whole store. The girls are always informed and are given ''shop- ping time," as it is called, to make their purchases. This

THE SALESLADY AT HOME 183

request is never refused because the girls exercise good judg- ment in asking for it.

I was told that these sales were not wholly altruistic, albeit the store recognizes their value in maintaining good will among its employees. The object of all bargain sales is to get rid of goods. Sometimes it is cheaper to give away merchandise than it is to carry it. For the most part, a cer- tain line of merchandise is priced at a figure that will give a certain percentage of profit on the whole. When this profit is made in a certain line, then it has served its purpose and every penny that is received for the overstock is pure profit. Merchandise is very often like a human being; its room is more valuable than its company.

If I had stayed at McElroy's during the fall and winter months as a part-timer, I could have depended upon earn- ing at least $25 a week and probably sometimes as much as $30 a week, with an average of $27.50 as a reasonable cer- tainty. I could have lived well, bought all the clothes I needed, and saved something besides for the rainy day or for old age. But better still, I could have worked up into a good position as a junior executive or even as a buyer.

Certainly, even on a beginner's wage, my financial con- dition did not resemble what I had been led to suppose were the ''straitened circumstances" that prevailed in the sales- woman's world. During my researches in the Chicago Pub- lic Library, I came across an article in the Survey of Decem- ber 20, 1913, from page 339 of which I copied the following:

Last month eleven cadets were arrested by the police at

Brothers' store on Sixth Avenue .... on the complaint of a customer. The cadets had plied their trade in the waiting room of the store and from press comments, the store had done Httle to prevent it

i84 THE SALESLADY

These cadets were not learned in sociology. They had not made a scientific study of the social evil. But, as business men, plying their business, they went with unerring instinct to the most promising markets.

In the light of my own experiences, I chuckle over the pic- ture of a cadet trying to ply his trade with a girl like Miss McDonald. He would have received one of her "dirty looks" which she kept for the men who leaned affectionately against her on the elevated and which so successfully sent them scattering. I would also enjoy the picture of a cadet trying to make his way in the waiting-room of the employment ofhce of any store. The daughter of the fireman whose uncle is a policeman would drive him out with an industrial broom handle or rolling-pin. Times do change.

As I have said, I sent my household linen to a laundry, but, like most business women, I washed my personal clothes myself, not in a miserable Uttle bowl in the bathroom but in the big, comfortable laundry tub. This I did on Sunday morning, the working-girl's wash day. I dried them on the roof, a brick-tiled roof from which one viewed the East River with great ships sailing up and down its course. While the clothes flapped from the line which I had stretched across from the hooks so kindly placed there by the builders for my convenience, I looked at the view or danced with my friend, the poet girl, who had secured my tenement apartment for me. The music was furnished by her portable victrola and the audience — we didn't want an audience but we had no patent on the roof — was made up of our neighbors who seemed to enjoy the performance, for what reason I leave you to conjecture.

It didn't take long for clothes to dry on the roof but I didn't care to risk them without the protection of my pres-

THE SALESLADY AT HOME 185

ence. Probably this solicitude on my part was unnecessary, but four hundred families lived in my tenement unit and had access over bridges, to all parts of the roof, which had been designed not only as a place to dry clothes but also as a playground for the children and a recreation center for the adults. I had a feeling that among them there might be one kleptomaniac, though a neighbor girl who hung up her washing next to mine said that she had never lost anything except a suit of her father's underwear which she had once forgotten and left out all night.

In addition to this large Sunday wash, every night be- fore I wTnt to bed I rubbed out silk stockings and undies which could dry on a string stretched across the tub in the bathroom. Looking through my windows I saw other work- ing-women doing the same thing. I wonder what the de- partment-store girls of twenty years ago did about laundry. How on earth did they ever launder those white drawers with rufEes and embroidery three inches deep, those starched corset covers, flounced petticoats, stiff shirt waists, and high stocks? Praise from the working-girl to the one who invented silk undies that weigh less than an ounce, can be washed in five minutes, and worn without ironing. Praise also for the knee skirt in which one can flip up and down the stairway of a bus, run for a street car, or hang by a strap in the subway without danger to life or limb. In 191 7 I saw a girl in a wide pleated skirt caught in an eleva- tor door and wound clear up to the ceiling before the car could be stopped and she could be extricated. How did those girls in long skirts, corsets, shirt waists, and belt buckles get to work at all?

My neighbors in the tenement were, for the most part, Italians, Germans, and Hungarians of the working-classes.

i86 THE SALESLADY

In addition there were a couple of poets, many chauffeurs, a writer whose stories appear in the Saturday Evening Post, a policeman, an artist, three librarians, several taxicab drivers, two school-teachers, and the dean of a fashionable girls' school. At times there was an impressive row of high- priced motor cars before our entrance. They belonged to mil- lionaires who Hved on Park Avenue, but the chauffeurs were the fathers of tenement families. Often one of them took his children and some of their playmates to ride in his Packard or his Rolls Royce as the case might be.

My foreign neighbors had many children and these, I was surprised to discover, were, many of them, remarkably pretty, clean, and well behaved. My nearest neighbors, and the ones with whom I became best acquainted, were the MartinelUs. Mr. MartinelH was a stone-setter and Mrs. MartinelH stayed at home to take care of the children, six of them. The eldest was Margaret, aged thirteen, and the youngest a baby, little Teresa. Every afternoon Mrs. Mar- tinelH and Margaret bathed the other children, except Michael who was ten and able to take his own bath, in the laundry tub in the kitchen. Then they dressed Helen, Rosie, and Freddie in clean Httle clothes and white socks and sent them out to play either on the roof or in the court below where Mrs. MartinelH, from her fourth-floor window, could keep an eye on them or call them when it was time to come in.

Margaret took care of Teresa. Practically every after- noon I saw her sitting on the lowest step of our stairway working cross-stitch embroidery over a hoop while Httle Teresa lay in her carriage with its snow white pillows and kicked her Httle pink legs with their tiny toes, displaying a wide expanse of snow white diaper. When I stooped to

THE SALESLADY AT HOME 187

speak to her she put up her little hand, soft as a flower, and poked my cheek while she gurgled her dehght at being aUve. The Martinelli children were proud of Teresa's brown eyes and soft curls.

In the evening when Mr. Martinelli came home Helen and Freddie ran to meet him and he came up the four flights of stairs holding each by the hand. Then in a few minutes I would hear him call from the window, "Rosie, come up. Come up right away." Almost immediately, Rosie, the ob- streperous four-year-old who hated to mind, would be heard climbing sturdily up the stairs. I never saw the Martinelli children downstairs after supper.

Mrs. Martinelli could scarcely speak Enghsh. She had a younger sister, Carlotta, who Uved with her and worked in a department store on Lexington Avenue. I knew nothing of Carlotta's department-store hfe, nor was I ever inside the Martinelli home, my gossip with Mrs. MartinelH being con- fined to the court and the stairway where I learned from her that her apartment was just like mine except that she had five rooms — but I saw Carlotta go to work every morn- ing in immaculate flesh-colored silk stockings, fresh collars and cuffs on her dark blue store dress, and with cheeks and body fresh from her morning bath.

Daily Observation: The Ufe of the department-store girl is very like that of other people. Like them, she has her home, her relatives, her friends, her interests, and her amusements.

CHAPTER XIX THE STORE AND THE GIRL

The store is a great theater, the customers are the audience, the selling force the actors, the nonselhng force and the managers are the stage hands and scene-shifters. As in the theater, not many get behind the scenes and yet it is these hidden recesses, these unseen springs that are the most interesting. Much of this I have unfolded to you in the preceding pages; now my purpose is to show more in de- tail the inner workings of the present-day department store.

If one little pipe of the biggest organ in the city is out of tune, or out of order, it wails and wails, and goes on crying and whining, though all the other pipes are against it, until the organ builder puts it right again. It is just like that throughout the store — wherever there is an out of tune clerk or salesman the whole section is spoiled by the dis- cord.

So the master tuner must be on the go all day, Hstening that all the notes of the human organ are sweet-sounding and up to concert pitch.

The store must open in the morning in harmony and close at night in harmony that all who come and go on both sides of the coun- ter may be happy all day long.

(Signed)

John Wanamaker^

June 26, 1914

When Ella Bailey said that conditions had changed in the last twenty-five years in the attitude of the store toward the girl and in that of the girl toward the store, she was stating a truth conservatively. And it is not only true of

' Founder's Writings.

188

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 189

the world of the store but of the world in general in every occupation.

The city of today, wdth its rumble, its noise, and its changes is for the women of today the field of Camelot and they are the knights w^ho tilt in its industrial tournaments for the reward it has to give. Some are unhorsed and are heard of no more but most are in some degree successful. The city of today is an ocean upon which no woman of sixty years ago would have ventured to embark, even had she been given the opportunity. The store is an intensely com- petitive world where women are up against routine and drudgery. But it is this kind of a world that has made men, and the w^omen of today are striving in their manners, their dress, and in their activities not only to compete with men but to equal if not surpass them.

The girl who works in the department store today is no longer taken on as a decoration. She is, for the most part, selected by women and bossed by women — her sex appeal doesn't count. She must be neatly dressed, it is true, but she need not be pretty or appealing. Any reasonably intel- ligent girl can get a job in a city store and earn enough so that she can live comfortably. In fact she can hve cheaper in the city than anywhere else after she gets on to the ropes. Her fellow-workers give her information freely. There is a fine comradeship among these girls. Like soldiers in the trenches they are buddies.

The department store is open not only to the spinster but also to the married woman. In fact, married women, like married men, have responsibihties that make them often greater assets to the store than the unattached. You find many of them in the ready-to-wear sections, in the millinery, furs, interior decoration, antiques, tapestries, and furniture

I90 THE SALESLADY

departments, all of which are considered the aristocratic departments of the store. In these the highest salaries are paid. The unmarried women who are found in these de- partments are those who are most intelligent and most effi- cient.

When the employment manager hires a girl, she places her in the position to which she seems best suited. Certain types are considered best for certain jobs. However, if the demand for help is particularly heavy in a certain depart- ment, the new recruit is placed there. But a girl can keep in touch with the employment manager and in time can be transferred to the place where she believes she can do her best work.

One of the most valuable things the store does for the girl is to give her a thorough business training. From the minute she enters this training begins and it continues as long as she stays. At first it is conscious training and then it becomes unconscious, but in either case it is continuous. The store is truly the saleswoman's alma mater.

After she has been hired and passed through her physical and mental tests, the new saleswoman is turned over to a fellow-worker who initiates her into the work of the depart- ment and looks after her until she is familiar enough with detail to get along alone. In some stores the girl who takes care of new employees in this way is called a "receptionist" and, in addition to her salary, is paid one dollar for each new girl she receives. A receptionist is appointed by the store secretary, who has charge of this work. From time to time the receptionists have meetings to report on their work and once a year there is a receptionists' dinner, a gala affair which is paid for by the store. .,.The first training which the new girl receives is training

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 191

in system, the sort of training which I have described in an early chapter as given to me. Later she attends more ad- vanced classes where she is instructed in store history, store policy in deahng with customers, and store poHcy in regard to the promotion of employees. At the end of six months she is checked up by the Selling Review Committee, and if she falls below the departmental average the reason is sought and if it cannot be corrected she is transferred to another department in the hope that it will prove better suited to her abilities. She cannot be discharged by a temperamental buyer without a thorough investigation. If a girl is not punctual she is punished, but not until her tardiness is so marked that the store cannot afford to keep her any longer. On the other hand, if she is punctual she is rewarded by extra days of vacation.

The less intelligent girls remain indefinitely on the con- tingent force — a group of extra salespeople that is sent from place to place each day whenever there is a sale in progress — behind the notion counter or at the sales table in the mid- dle of the first floor where bargain articles which sell them- selves are placed for quick clearance. In such positions the girl does Httle more than make out sales checks.

Almost any girl who is on the job every day and whose salesbook shows a reasonable number of sales is sure of her position. The faithul plodder in the notions stays there un- til she is too old to stand on her feet and sell safety pins any longer, and then she is sent up to the marking-room where she can sit down and mark merchandise under the direction of a superior intelligence.

The store watches eagerly for those whom it can pro- mote; it offers every incentive to advancement. In fact it uses great ingenuity in inventing ways to give recognition.

192 THE SALESLADY

In the February and August drives for the quick clearance of the last season's merchandise to make room for the new, those who make the highest percentage of sales in their de- partments are given, in addition to commissions which they have earned, a day off with pay. Only those who have worked in department stores can reaHze the preciousness of a day off — a whole beautiful day to use for oneself. There is also a dinner party or a theater party for the winners.

In fact all sorts of honors are bestowed upon the capable and efficient. These have small monetary value, but money is secondary to honor. To be the ace — the best saleswoman in your department — is compensation enough in itself. In 1926 Miss Agnes Murphy was chosen store ace at Macy's, a very great honor, indeed. It means that she was elected by her department as its best salesclerk and for this was awarded five dollars. Then a committee made up of the aces of the floor, the floor superintendent, and the divisional teacher elected her floor ace. This degree was conferred upon her at a luncheon, where she was presented with a fiity-dollar bill. Later she was chosen store ace and re- ceived for this honor a prize of one hundred dollars. A bathing beauty may receive a prize of five thousand dollars in a beauty contest; but her beauty would not win for her in a department store a silver cup like the one Miss Murphy received in recognition of her ability as the best saleswoman in a store of some ten thousand or more employees. Honors have a sentimental value which money cannot give.

But by far the most ingenious device used by any store is the premium or red rubber band which I have already mentioned in a previous chapter and which the girls con- sider the supreme disgrace. The store pays for these mis- takes, it costs the saleswoman nothing, and yet she is furious

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 193

at herself when she receives one. This feehng of disgrace seems to be far more effective than any punishment could possibly be. The red rubber band is a sign of inefficiency for all her fellow-workers to see and the sight of one on a returned carrier is to her Uke the sight of the red flag to the bull.

The girl who is capable and desirous of success as a sales- woman soon discovers the essential of such success. She finds out first of all that she must have a thorough knowl- edge of her merchandise so that she can talk convincingly about it. (To aid her, the store provides her with pamphlets about her particular merchandise.) Then she must be thor- oughly familiar with her stock on hand. This is not difficult, for she goes over it every day in her selling activities and she has only to cultivate keen observation and the habit of making memory pictures. She must also co-operate with her buyer and section-manager by remembering what cus- tomers ask for and by making note of the kinds of mer- chandise that make the most successful sales appeal. Often she can give invaluable suggestions to her buyer, for it is she who is in immediate touch with the buying public. In addition the good saleswoman is resourceful, cheerful, cour- teous, industrious, and she is considerate of her fellow- workers. Above all she must have a feeling for her mer- chandise and handle it with the fingers of an artist.

The logical promotion for the expert saleswoman is to the position of head of stock in her department, then to that of assistant buyer, and finally to the coveted place of buyer where her salary will be somewhere between twenty-five hundred and fiity thousand a year. For every twenty to forty saleswomen there is nowadays, on an average, one buyer. In some stores the majority of the buyers are

194 THE SALESLADY

women. The majority of the customers are women. A woman has a greater understanding of the problems and difficulties of her own sex and takes a family interest in her saleswomen. Mrs. Carter said that she was the mother of her department, and I suspect that every department has its mother. If it isn't the buyer, it is the section-manager or the head clerk.

The position of buyer is one of great responsibility and demands a high degree of intelligence. The duties are many, varied, and exacting. The buyer selects and purchases the goods for her department; she also aids in its display and sale, looks after the stock and keeps track of it, fights for her share of the advertising, decides the members of and man- ages her sales force, and keeps a more or less personal con- tact with the customers. To select and buy merchandise, she must have constant interviews with the salesmen who represent the manufacturers, she must visit the wholesale houses in large cities like New York and Chicago, and, if she is the buyer for a large city store, she must make frequent trips abroad. She must always know the latest tendencies in styles and the current prices of merchandise.

The buyer, moreover, needs every desirable human qual- ity, but the most important of these are good judgment in buying merchandise that sells quickly, a capacity for hard work, and an abiUty to manage people. Her success depends largely upon the good will and co-operation of her sales force. She must work often long after the regular closing hours, checking stock and going over every detail of her department. Her position resembles that of the proprietor of a small store and her responsibility is as great. Rent for the space in the store and the warehouse, administration charges, delivery charges — all the things included in over-

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 195

head — are charged against the department in addition to salaries and wages. These, of course, are figured in percent- ages. She must pay these charges and show a certain per- centage of profit on the capital set aside to run her depart- ment.

The compensations of the position, aside from the gen- erous salary, are that it offers interesting work, travel, and broad contacts. The hardships are no greater than in other positions of responsibility, but the position is a man-sized job. Women nowadays contend that they are able to handle such jobs, and many of them are proving the truth of the contention.

The saleswoman is not the only person in the store who may become a buyer. Buyers are often recruited from the stock girls, the bundle-wrappers, the inspectors, or the office- workers. Girls Hke Flossie are good material for buyers. Theirs is the temperament that takes to detail, to respon- sibility. They begin at the bottom when they are just out of high school — some of them have grammar-school diplo- mas only — and serve a long apprenticeship in every detailed position along the line.

Just after the war there was a great campaign to get college women interested in department-store work. Now the store managers are pretty well agreed that this move- ment was not a success. College girls took positions in stores but they did not stay long. They couldn't stand the grind of the apprenticeship nor the long hours which the store demands. Store officials charge the college girl with being too "high hat," ordering people around and expecting an immediate salary of seventy-five dollars a week and at the end of three months to be assistant manager at least.

The high-school girl has no such exalted opinion of her-

196 THE SALESLADY

self. She is young — often not more than sixteen — and can afford to take a small position and work up. She has the wind for the long climb. She realizes how much she has to learn and is willing to listen to what her superiors have to teach her.

Besides that of buyers there are other positions in the store that are open to women. These sometimes are a step- ping-stone to a buyership; often they are objectives in them- selves. A capable girl from either the sales force or the cleri- cal force is often promoted to a position as assistant in the ofhce of a store official — general manager, merchandise man- ager, advertising manager, store superintendent, or con- troller. There she does research work or has assistant ex- ecutive duties and responsibilities. In such positions her salary many become as high as three thousand dollars a year.

A woman is usually director of training. That means that she trains the new employees when they enter the store and the old ones for promotion. Her salary may range somewhere between two and three thousand a year.

The position of employment manager is another desir- able objective of the saleswoman. The duties of this posi- tion are the recruiting of employees by various means — ad- vertisement, lectures at high schools, the analysis of per- sonalities so that she can place employees properly, the hiring of them, and the following up of them afterward so that those who do not succeed where they have first been placed may be transferred and those who do may be pro- moted. The salary for this position ranges from two thou- sand to seven thousand a year.

The comparison department which keeps track of what other stores are doing in the way of merchandise and prices

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 197

offers desirable positions. The girl begins there as a com- parison shopper at around twenty dollars a week, but she may work up to a salary of eighteen hundred to thirty-six hundred dollars a year. A woman may be head of the mail order department also, where her salary will be between two thousand and four thousand a year.

A good saleswoman does not always become a buyer. Sometimes she may never wish to do anything but sell. She may not have the buying temperament and she may not like responsibility. She often earns more than the sec- tion-manager, sometimes as high as seventy-five dollars a wxek, and in rare instances more than that. There are sales- people in the furniture departments whose incomes are around six thousand a year. Furniture, however, seems largely the province of the man, although one would think that women could sell it as well or even better than men. Men always sell blankets and comforters also, though there is no reason for this nowadays. They used to be heavy but now they are light enough for a woman to handle. But even the most progressive department stores have these foohsh customs based upon tradition.

Store managers pretty well agree that the selHng tem- perament and the buying temperament are not always found in the same individual. This is true in the sense that a good saleswoman makes a poor purchasing agent, but a buyer in a store is not buying things to use but to sell, which is an entirely different matter. As a matter of fact a buyer's chief usefulness is to sell things, and these must be what the sales force can sell. The main reason why salespeople fail as buy- ers is because they balk at the drudgery that is an inevitable part of the job and also because they cannot handle people.

The disinclination to promote salespeople to the posi-

ipS THE SALESLADY

tion of buyer results in a rather widespread belief that it is necessary to leave the store and get a job somewhere else, the kind of job that will command consideration. This does not mean necessarily that such experience must be in buy- ing. I knew of one girl who left the store and got a job on a magazine in the fashion department. When she returned to the store and asked for a buyer's job, she secured it though it had been refused her when she worked in the store.

In a first-class department store selling may very well be the objective of the capable saleswoman. Many stores pay salary, quota — a fixed amount upon which you receive a commission of i per cent — and bonus — a commission of 2 or more per cent on all sales over and above the quota. This system, like piecework in the factory, enables the sales- woman to make her earnings in proportion to the effort she puts into her job.

A position in a department store, no matter where it is or what it is, is full of interest. There is no other job where a girl can come into contact with so many different kinds of people, no other job which offers so much variety, is so free from monotony. Moreover, the store itself is fascinating, chock-full as it is with colorful merchandise, the understand- ing of which is in itself a liberal education. In this age when every woman, whether she lives in a tenement or in an apart- ment on Park Avenue, has the same standards of dress, working with pretty garments, knowing the trend of fash- ions, not to mention the 20 per cent discount on anything she herself wears, cannot help but be a source of satisfac- tion and pleasure.

In addition to the tangible awards — prizes, bonuses, ex- tra vacations — for all of which the store pays, success brings its less tangible but not less real rewards, the recognition

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 199

of one's fellow salesfolk. Fellow-workers have a strong voice — if not the preponderating voice — in the selection of the prize-winners. For illustration, take the store ace of 1926 at Macy's. She was voted department ace by her fel- low-workers and floor ace by the workers on her floor. Of course, the volume of her sales was a determining factor, but no saleswoman who is unpopular in her department ever runs a record book.

There is nothing in the way of a generous conspiracy; the competition is too keen for that. Saleswomen live up to the old axiom of "a fair field and no favors," but if a girl does not play fair, no matter how great her ability as a saleswoman, her fellow-workers will find a hundred and one ways to handicap her sales. They go about this with the joyous and justified conviction that nobody is ever going to be able to find out what they did nor how they did it.

So it is not selling efficiency alone that makes for recog- nition. There is an illuminating appreciation of the girl who is kindly toward her fellow- workers. Apparently a genuine smile has a great commercial as well as personal value in the store. But a girl has to have more than a smile; she must be helpful, generous, and considerate. The recogni- tion is not mere lip service, the girl has to earn it. But when she does earn it, the response is enthusiastic.

This recognition on the part of her fellow-workers as a worker and as a human being is highly prized. It makes for the greater profits to the store, and for the greater comfort and happiness of the workers, which seems to be the com- bination that enlightened business is seeking.

The employer, in his enlightened selfishness, realizes that the health of his workers is a factor in his profits. He there- fore maintains a force of doctors, nurses, dentists, and

200 THE SALESLADY

chiropodists to examine them when they enter his employ and to look after them during their period of employment. When an employee has been absent three days on account of illness, a nurse calls upon her and takes the case in hand. The services of a physican are given free of charge to all pa- tients who can call at his office for help, advice, or treatment.

In addition the store educates its staff in health. It warns them against accidents; it maintains a gymnasium where classes in physical education are provided and vaca- tion camps where health may be sought in outdoor recrea- tion by those who need rest, and uses the same quarters in the winter for convalescent employees, who are charged a fee in proportion to their earnings. If they cannot pay for the service, it is given free.

Every store of the kind mentioned in these pages main- tains a restaurant for its employees where food is served at cost but with no interest on the investment. These stores are also unanimous in closing at five o'clock every day in July and August and all day on Saturdays because of the extreme heat in the New York summer. One of these stores does not open any day throughout the year until half past nine in the morning.

The store has a recreation room in which the saleswoman may sit in a comfortable chair during a part of her lunch period and to which she may retire during the two fifteen- minute rest periods that she is allowed, one in the middle of the morning and the other in the middle of the afternoon. Some of these recreation rooms are luxurious in their ap- pointments; some are on roofs and are provided with steam- er chairs in which a girl can lie stretched out on a comfort- able couch in the cool darkness if she wishes to do so.

Of great importance to health are the vacations granted

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 201

with full pay. An employee who has worked in the store eight months is entitled to one week of summer vacation, one who has worked twenty months to a two-week sunamer vacation, and those who have been in the store two years have not only the two weeks of summer vacation but also one day of winter vacation with pay. And for every suc- ceeding year of service, a day of winter vacation is added.

The store provides a library so that the employee may have easy access to reading materials for her leisure hours, and in connection with the library there is usually a savings service. The person in charge of this service acts merely as messenger for the convenience of the depositor and takes the money to a regular savings bank. The store pays for the service.

Nearly all stores have a mutual aid association. The em- ployee pays into this association i per cent of her salary each week. In return, if she is ill, she receives two-thirds of her salary for a period of six months. This association is man- aged by a board of directors who are elected by the em- ployees and who serve without pay.

The store also maintains a charity office, like the case- history office of the United Charities, which carefully in- vestigates each individual case of employees who are in need of help and gives the necessary aid. The store does not wish its workers to appeal to outside agencies for such aid.

There is also a loan fund for those who may be only tem- porarily embarrassed which can be paid back in twenty weekly instalments and on which no interest is charged. Pension systems are not yet worked out by even the best department stores, though they are planning to make these a part of the welfare program at any early date. Meantime, deserving persons are given individual attention.

202 THE SALESLADY

Conditions in the department store have not only im- proved in the last twenty years but they are improving all the time. The department store has no labor troubles and it has never had a strike. The future prosperity of the store depends upon its workers.

The source of supply to the department store is practical- ly unHmited. It is one of the few jobs today that does not require special training, and yet the store does everything in its power to keep its workers. No employee is allowed to quit without giving her reason; it is always harder to quit a job than it is to get one. The store says that it never dis- charges a girl; that by carelessness, by repeated tardiness, by inexcusable absences from the store she discharges her- self.

Yet the labor turnover in the department store is high; some stores put it as high as 75 per cent and give mar- riage as the leading cause. Girls work for three or four years after high-school graduation sometimes for the sole purpose of saving money for a trousseau and house furnishings. Ella Bailey told me of a girl whose name appears constantly in the society columns of the newspapers who worked in her store for three years to earn a trousseau, but that when she married she did not invite to her wedding any of her fellow- workers, though she had been on intimate terms with some of them.

In the fall of the year, when all the stores hire an extra force of salespeople for the autumn trade, which is heavy, and in anticipation of the Christmas rush, there is a heavy labor turnover in the department stores. It is then that a girl who wants more money and can't get it in her own store, changes to another where she can. Her old store can- not give it to her without making discontent in the depart-

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 203

ment, so it prefers to let her go. The highest-type employees are not so likely to make these changes; they are more in- cUned to stay with their store and work up in it. This au- tumn migration and marriage are the two important causes of migration in the department store.

The daily success of the store depends upon its sales force, and a sales force cannot be valuable unless it is perma- nent. The sales force has always been important but now it is more important than ever before. Formerly buying was more important than selling; now it is service that counts. Nationally advertised products have standardized merchandise. Such magazines as Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, Good Housekeeping, and the House Beautiful have educated the pubhc to the point where women know what they want and come in and ask for it. Comparison shoppers have standardized both price and merchandise. Customers can get what they want in any store; the service is then the de- termining factor that makes them choose a certain store and return to it again and again.

Buying nowadays is more cut and dried than it used to be, but selling is more ingenious and individual. The buyers use the hand-to-mouth method and depend upon the sales force to a very great extent for knowing of what to buy. Customers ask the salesclerks for what they want. In one store where I worked we had a form upon which to record every request of a customer for goods that we could not supply and at night this form was turned in to the buyer.

Service is constantly going up ; the customer buys where she receives the best attention, the greatest courtesy, where the saleswomen are of a high type of intelUgence, and where the section-managers represent the store office. The old- fashioned floor- walker, who was just what the name impHes,

204 THE SALESLADY

has disappeared and in his place is the new section-manager who instructs the salespeople and meets the customers with intelligence and courtesy.

The turnover in the department store is however con- stantly lessening. Even marriage does not deplete the force as it once did. The girls who marry can come back as full- timers or as part-timers or they can leave their addresses and telephone numbers with the store and be subject to call for bargain sales, heavy days like Monday, for the fall trade. The demand on their time is not heavy; they are still employees and entitled to the discount on personal clothing.

As I have said I talked with many personnel managers. In some stores the position of employment manager is com- bined with that of personnel manager and one person with a group of assistants employs the appHcants and looks after their welfare after they become employees. In one big New York store a member of the firm acts as welfare manager, doing the work with the efhciency of a trained executive who knows how to delegate authority that accomplishes re- sults. Obviously when there is both an employment man- ager and a welfare manager, they must be closely associated since their activities are always overlapping.

In the days when department-store wages averaged probably half what they do today there were many more applicants for jobs than there were places for them to fill and so the business of employing was relatively simple, particu- larly as the yearly turnover of employees was not given much thought.

Nowadays in the busy season any girl with intelHgence enough to go through a grammar school can get some sort of a job in a department store. While the demand for bright,

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 205

attractive saleswomen or girls who promise to be efficient in selling is in excess of the supply, even in the dull season a girl without experience, if she promises well, is likely to have a place made for her in a week or two.

The explanation probably is the tremendous increase in the number of typists and stenographers which draws upon the girls who formerly sought places in a department store. The supposed social distinction attaching to a stenographer, as well as the requirements of the job, naturally attract the better-educated girls and the department store suffers in consequence. This condition makes the work of the em- ployment manager much more exacting because she must discern a future good saleswoman among applicants that do not seem especially promising. This requires fine judg- ment and knowledge of human nature.

Whether because of her own attitude or a realization that her job is dependent upon her success in selecting em- ployees, it is true that the really good employment manager does not feel that her responsibility is ended when the girl has been given a place in the store. She goes out of her way to do everything she can to help the girl make good. Fur- thermore, her aid is invaluable. Some of the really good employment and personnel managers display a capacity and enthusiasm and an experienced intelHgence as well as a fine, sympathetic, human understanding that is beyond any- thing I had expected.

Within my personal experience without exception these notably successful employment managers came up from the ranks; they knew the inner workings of the store and they knew its problems ; they knew the girls in the store and their problems. Their education is in human beings rather than in books.

2o6 THE SALESLADY

As in every activity the exceptionally proficient employ- ment manager is rare. There is a group, by far the larger group, made up of the more or less competent who are hard workers following a routine. Then there is a group of what may be called professionally trained personnel managers, college women. In theory, at least, college women, given an opportunity for practical experience, should be the most ejSicient of all. I'm sure there must be some who have a fine natural abiUty supplemented with real education, but those I met were distinguished by a sense of extraordinary per- sonal superiority and a lack of knowledge of their job.

In certain instances, particularly in a store where I was expected to fiind unusual excellence, one of the stores that I worked in, the college women in the personnel department showed an abysmal ignorance in so far as the store and its inner workings were concerned. On the other hand, workers in these departments who had grown up in the store were admirably efficient.

In anticipation of a charge that I may be prejudiced, perhaps I may be pardoned for saying that no woman of my acquaintance ever worked harder or made more sacrifices to get her college degree than I and no one has a higher re- spect for what a college has to give than I have. It pains me to record that college men in the personnel departments with whom I talked had a definite knowledge of the store and its people and were able to apply their training to meet these problems. Perhaps the explanation of this Ues in the fact that these college men when they went to work in the store began on the same basis as that of any other applicant and worked themselves up. This process automatically weeds out those who have a college education coupled with a superiority complex and Uttle else besides. College women.

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 207

as I have said, do not take to the idea of working up, they want positions of importance immediately, and sometimes they get them.

One of the exceptional personnel managers whom I met is a young woman, now possibly thirty-five years old, who has held that position for ten years in one of the three or four most fashionable stores on Fifth Avenue. She went to work in a store in Columbus, Ohio, when she was sixteen. Hers was an office job — she has never worked behind a sell- ing counter. Her wages were four and a half dollars a week. IncHnation and a peculiar fitness for the job made her gravi- tate toward the personnel department. Later, seeking wider opportunities, she came to New York and got a job in a Brooklyn store as personnel director. A year later she was on Fifth Avenue in the same position. Her salary is now around seven thousand a year and she is worth twice that amount.

She is shrewd in judgment with a joyous disposition that delights in being helpful, a rich, sympathetic manner, and a keen sense of humor, which last quality is not the least im- portant because without it I cannot see how a personnel manager can meet the daily exactions of her work. When- ever I was in this woman's office, which was not infrequent- ly, there were constant interruptions by the girls in the store. Always she gave them the impression that she was not an executive so much as a fellow-worker, that their problems and hers were the same.

Once a girl came in on the verge of tears. "There isn't a dress in the store that I can wear for my wedding for less than seventy-five dollars and I can't pay more than sixty," she complained.

"Are you sure?" asked Miss Tanner.

2o8 THE SALESLADY

The girl was sure. She had looked at every wedding dress in every department.

''Don't worry," said Miss Tanner; "you shall have your dress and it will be stunning. I'll have the buyer order some sent over from the manufacturers at sixty dollars and we will select one that you will think is better than any you have seen."

The girl left beaming, perfectly confident that Miss Tanner would make good her word, as indeed she did.

Girls came in to borrow money, to ask about vacations, to complain about mistakes in pay envelopes, about trans- fers to another department, and one even asked for the proper treatment of varicose veins. Miss Tanner greeted them cheerfully, sympathetically, and whenever a request was reasonable or a complaint just she settled it on the spot. When the girl was wrong her error was explained to her painstakingly until she agreed. Miss Tanner sent the girl with the varicose veins in to see the nurse, with the laughing admission that that was one of the things that was beyond her.

SYSTEM OF DAILY, WEEKLY, AND MONTHLY AWARDS

FOR HIGH SALES RECORDS SPURS SALESPEOPLE

TO BEST EFFORTS^

A simply, yet carefully, devised system of daily, weekly and monthly awards for high sales records has been used with good effect during the past winter and spring season by the Milton R. Ney Co., Washington, D.C., and will again be put in operation next fall, accord- ing to the store.

"We figured out that the cost of this system of awards which gave our salesforce a steady daily incentive and seemed to inspire a con-

^ Women's Wear, Saturday, August 21, 1926.

THE STORE AND THE GIRL

209

stant enthusiasm, amounted to only 7 cents on each dress sale," said Ferdinand M. Ney, of the firm. "The same system was used in the coat and miUinery departments with equally good results,"

USE SPECIAL CARD

Working of the system revolved about the use of a special card de- vised by Mr. Ney. These cards were issued weekly and held spaces for the clerk's name and for each day of the week. The space allotted to each day was divided into divisions for sales and returns, with num- bers from one to 15 placed in the sales space, and numbers from one to five in the return space. Every time that a sale or return was made, the clerk's card was punched much in the manner of a railroad ticket. Each clerk's weekly card thus constituted a complete record of both sales and returns.

WEEK ENDING

Clerk

Returns

M	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	12	13	14	15
T	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	12	13	14	15
W	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	12	13	14	15
T	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	12	13	14	15
F	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	12	13	14	15

1234567

9 10 II 12 13 14 15

2	3	4	5
2	3	4	5
2	3	4	5
2	3	4	5
2	3	4	5

2345

The Card Used To Record Sales in the Ney Award System Awards were computed on net sales. Thus a clerk selling 10 dresses and having one returned, was credited with nine sales for the day. Awards in the coat and dress departments each aggregated about $50. A daily award of $1 was given the girl registering the greatest number of sales, with one of $3 for the best record for the week, and $5 for the best month's record in number of sales. In addition there was a $5 award for the highest record for three weeks in rotation, while $10 was given for the monthly sales record showing the highest aggre- gate sales in dollars and cents. While records on this last contest were necessarily compiled by the office, data on the others was recorded

2IO THE SALESLADY

daily on the girls' individual cards, thus tending to keep the contest for sales constantly in mind and to stimulate enthusiasm.

In the millinery department awards were half the amount of those in the other departments, because of the different nature of the stock, except for the daily award of $i, which was unchanged.

AROUSES employes' ENTHUSIASM

"The enthusiasm that this system inspired in our salesforce was remarkable," said Mr. Ney. ''While we employ our salesforce on a salary, with bonus if the sales quota is exceeded, the new system gave the added touch of incentive that was needed.

"I somehow beHeve that the way we have figured it out is psycho- logically right. The small daily award keeps every one on their toes more than a larger one offered at longer intervals. There is no drop- ping off in energy because some member of the force is so far ahead as to be almost sure of the weekly or monthly award. Instead, there is a feeling that every day is bringing a new deal, with a chance for everyone to get a little of the honors. The element of interest supplied by weekly, monthly and the three weeks' record contests all help to keep up the spirit of a game. The $io award for the highest money total of sales also gives recognition to the salesperson who successfully sells the better type of clothes, while it very effectually prevents the girls from concentrating on running up the number of dresses sold, irrespective of price."

WILL BE REVIVED IN FALL

While the system has been discontinued for the summer, it will be started again in the early fall, with a more Hberal scale of awards, according to present plans of the store.

"Our records showed that we were spending 7 cents in awards for each dress sold," said Mr. Ney. "I think that we can afford to pay out 10 cents easily in this way for each garment sold. It is our plan to use this figure as a basis for our system next winter. Instead of announc- ing a definite amount for each award, we will thus base awards on the volume of business, with the exception of the daily honor, which will probably remain the same. According to our figures of last season, this should result in increasing the amounts about 50 per cent. Also it will put the system on a very sound financial basis in definitely re- lating award amounts to the sales totals of the departments."

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 211

. MACY SALESWOMAN TELLS OF NINE POINTS THAT WON HER TITLE OF "SELLING ACE"^

MARJORTE MURPHY, CHOSEN AS BEST SALESPERSON IN STORE

OF NEARLY I0,000 EMPLOYES, WAS FIRST SELECTED BY

CO-WORKERS IN KNIT UNDERWEAR DEPARTMENTS

The signal honor of being named store ace of R. H. Macy & Co., Ir z., New York, belongs to Miss Marjorie Agnes Murphy. This en- do -sement comes from Miss Murphy's co-workers and from her supe- riois, for she was chosen store ace as the result of a recent store-wide competition for the purpose of determining the best salesperson of the entire store.

The methods of the best salesperson in a store of nearly 10,000 employes are of interest to all ambitious salespersons.

Miss Murphy was selected as ace of the knit underwear depart- ments by some of her 40 co-workers at R. H. Macy & Co., Inc. A com- mittee of representative executives next chose her as the representa- tive of the entire first floor. Her record was then in competition with other floor aces, with the result that she was selected ace of the entire store and is richer by $155. Miss Murphy, the best Macy salesperson of 1926, has been with the organization seven years.

Although the observer was waiting at Macy's doors when the store opened in the morning and went directly to the glove silk under- wear section, where Miss Murphy works, she found that alert and aggressive saleswoman had a sale w^ell under way.

EXAMPLE OF GOOD SALESMANSHIP

Miss Murphy's understanding and courteous consideration of customers was shown in her skillful handling of a man who was wan- dering about the store in quest of a gift to take home to his wife. The sale, amounting to nearly $20, hinged chiefly upon her handling of the size question.

"Is your wife tall?" Miss Murphy asked.

"Yes," the man replied.

"Taller than I am, and she weighs about 140?" Miss Murphy hazarded.

"About 145," he corrected.

"All right. I know her size," Miss Murphy assured him.

^ Women's Wear, August 27, 1926.

212 THE SALESLADY

In discussing her selling ability, Miss Murphy gave nine essential factors, which, in her opinion, contribute to the development of an expert salesperson:

1. "A fundamental knowledge of your merchandise, so that you may discuss its quahty and merits and give an intelHgent description, and convince your customer that you know what you are talking about, is the first requisite of an ideal saleswoman.

2. "Study the individual needs of your customers. Your custom- ers are the real vital problems in your everyday life. You cannot gen- eraUze and sell them anything.

"like your job"

3. "Like your job, put all your pep and vim into your work. I cannot stress this point too strongly. There is a fascination about seUing and a satisfaction (to use the vernacular) in 'liking what you've got.'

4. "Use initiative. You can add materially to the progress of your department by suggesting ideas that will maintain its efficiency. Be mentally alert and you will find that you will learn something to your advantage every day. Remember that to a certain extent the cus- tomer's problems are also the buyer's problems. Endeavor to ascer- tain just what type of merchandise is appealing to them.

5. "Be resourceful. If you happen not to have in stock what the customer desires, it is easy to assume the Hne of least resistance and say, 'Madam, we are all out of that particular style.' How much better it would be to try to substitute something similar in a tactful manner. You will find in many instances, that eight out of 10 custom- ers will purchase the substitute.

6. "Good stock-keeping is synonymous with good salesmanship. A well kept stock and a knowledge of its location inspires the custom- er's confidence in your ability.

BE KIND TO NEWCOMER

7. "Try to create the spirit of good fellowship among your co- workers, particularly toward the newcomer in the ranks. Kindness and consideration toward others is an infallible mark of good breeding. Try to visuaHze your first day and remember how you appreciated a friendly attitude.

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 213

8. "Courtesy, combined with service, is one of the greatest assets in the business world. Courtesy, if practiced at all times, will act as a magnet when we are confronted with trying situations. A satisfied customer is a permanent customer, who adds to the prestige of an organization whose chief aim is service, first, last and always.

9. "Do not accustom yourself to a fixed daily routine. Try to do a little more than is required of you. Feature your merchandise in an attractive manner. Take a personal pride in your department and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have been thorough in the performance of your duty."

Miss Murphy adds that she does not suggest these rules as the only means to success, but that she passes them on to other salespeople as points she has found helpful.

BUYER FOR EACH SECTION INCREASES TURNOVER AND DECREASES MARKDOWN^

By adopting a plan imder which an individual buyer is placed in charge of each section of the store or, where two sections are closely allied, one buyer has charge of both, the Block & Kuhl Co., of Peoria, 111., has discovered a means of hastening stock turnover and avoiding the necessity of frequent markdowns in order to move inactive mer- chandise.

Since inaugurating this plan, according to H. T. Morgan, secretary of the firm, the store has been able to turn its stock every 90 days, in- stead of, as formerly, but twice a year.

"Formerly," said Mr. Morgan, "we employed a general buyer who had charge of many of our departments. He would make occasional trips to the markets, make his selections and stock us heavily. We would receive shipments of goods that would stock our own large ware- houses, and frequently we had to rent additional spaces from ware- house companies. It was the general buyers' natural disposition to buy huge quantities at a time. They didn't like to be 'pikers' or be known as 'pikers.'

"There was but one answer to that kind of buying. The goods lay in the warehouses for months. The stock was not fresh when brought out. Often it was more or less passe, and sickening markdowns had to be made to move it."

^ Woman's Wear, August 21, 1926.

214 THE SALESLADY

Today, the Block & Kuhl Co. employ 60 buyers, which, according to Mr. Morgan, is an unusual number for a store of its size and for a city of less than 100,000 population. These buyers make frequent trips to the markets, select the things they like and beheve will move, and stock just the amount of goods they think can be disposed of quickly and easily. Thus, they can stock a wide variety of articles which are new and fresh at all times.

"We stop markdowns by turning our stocks more frequently," said ]Mr. Morgan. "We have a smaller reserve stock and need less space for our reserve. Neither do we have our money invested in one article for too long a period. We are striving constantly to cut the time it takes to turn our stock to even less than 90 days."

IN BUSINESS GIRL CONTEST APPEARANCE COUNTS 50 PER CENT^

At a recent contest held in Newark, N.J., to choose the typical American business girl, it is interesting to note the rating was based thus:

Fifty per cent for general attractiveness.

Twenty per cent for efficiency.

Twenty per cent for business ideals.

Ten per cent for poise.

At first glance that fifty per cent for general attractiveness might confirm the jealous wife's worst suspicions. But hold on a minute. Consider efficiency and general attractiveness in their relation to each other. Whatever the relation might have been twenty years ago, to- day where the business girl is concerned efficiency is so involved with physical fitness that it is pretty difficult to determine the dividing line if there is one.

General attractiveness need not be construed as outstanding beauty. I mean, a young woman might be turned down at a stage recruiting office as lacking the short upper hp, the golden halo and the baby blue eye of the chorus girl and be welcomed into a business office as a most attractive person to have there.

This general attractiveness of the office girl need not necessarily be a face that would launch a thousand ships, nor a form that would launch a thousand more. It's something else again; something every

^ By Antoinette Donnelly, from the Chicago Tribune, June 5, 1928.

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 215

efficient young woman may have. Has, I should say. It's first the look of health, the beauty of health and the enthusiasm that radiates from a vital young person. Second, it's grooming in every small per- sonal detail — hair, skin, hands, feet, And third, it is dress — dress that may be chic, charming and flattering, but always becoming the office.

I think the poise might just as well have been included in the gen- eral attractiveness. Without it, a girl is without attractiveness, isn't she? I carmot see any reason for setting it apart from feminine charm. It is so outstanding a feature of it.

It may, however, be the experience of employers that girls other- wise attractive lack this one essential so that it becomes a virtue in itself.

Anyway, I advance the Newark contest and its ratings to my young business women readers with the suggestion that they check up around their places of business and see if the efficient young workers aren't, as well, the attractive yoimg workers and to draw their own lessons from the observations made.

CHAPTER XX WHAT BECOMES OF THE SALESLADY?

I have offered evidence that saleswomen marry. There are no statistics to show how many marry but from what I learned from store executives it will be a reasonable guess to say that 15 per cent marry each year. Of this num- ber 50 per cent marry well enough to give up the store and make marriage a profession, while the other 50 per cent re- turn to the store, at least for a time, and go on with their careers there.

It will take us all some time to get used to a Macy's and a Fourth Floor without Miss Harburger who has, for sixteen years, been a member of the organization and for the last nine years a Buyer. At the time she left she was the Buyer for Departments 37, 133, 77, and 141. The reason for her leaving is very obvious. When Miss Harbur- ger became Mrs. B. Stacy, some five years or so ago, she was per- suaded not to leave Macy's and then again when "J^'Ckie" came four years ago. Every time Miss Harburger has gone abroad since that time, leaving her son behind her has been a terrible ordeal for her to go through. And now that Jack is four years old, she has decided that he needs her more than we do at the store. And we don't blame her in the least, although we will miss her so much. Mrs. Stacy and Jack will probably leave very shortly for a trip abroad, the first one they will make together. We wish them both a pleasant voyage. — Sparks, February, 1927.

Mrs. Burnett left us about a year ago to try the romantic side of life but has returned preferring to answer to the chirp of the feather- less chickens at luncheon, rather than the call of the white feathered ones at dawn. We all welcome her back. — Sparks, May, 1927.

Many girls marry and return to the store not from neces- sity but from choice. Their husbands cannot give them the atmosphere that they have been accustomed to in the store

ai6

WHAT BECOMES OF THE SALESLADY? 217

and with their wages they can buy some of the luxuries that they have seen about them on all sides in the store. Some work because they are lonely at home without the store and others to keep themselves out of mischief.

By far the greater number, however, regard the store as a profession and stay on year after year earning one promo- tion after another until they have arrived at positions which completely satisfy the desire for recognition. Both the store and the fellow-workers are generous in giving recognition where it is due.

January 8 was a big day for Miss Goldberg of Department 55, for on that day she became the proud wearer of a handsome engagement ring. Ever since she came to Macy's in June 1918, things have been happening to Miss Goldberg. She came in as stock girl. After about a year she was promoted to selling, and later was made Head of Stock in 55. — Sparks, February, 1927.

Miss Gladys Gormley was recently made Head of Stock and Third Special in Department 159, lower priced coats. She formerly sold in Women's Dresses where her good work stood her in good stead for promotion.

Miss MoUie Berzin, our salesclerk in sweaters, has also been pro- moted. She is now Head of Stock in Misses' dresses. Our best wishes are extended to them and also to Miss Rembough who succeeds Miss King as Head of Stock in Women's Sportswear. She was formerly in the Comparison Department. Miss King is now Assistant Buyer. — Sparks, Jime, 1927.

Miss McClure who was assistant to Miss Clancy in Department 62 is our newest buyer. She is now in charge of Department 115. The fact is that she's so new it thrills her, we hear, to sign her name to a buyer's notice. Don't laugh! You cynics would get a kick out of it too. Miss McClure has worked hard for her buyership and all who know her wish her the best of luck. — Sparks, February, 1927.

Many saleswomen, after years of faithful service, are able to leave the store and Hve on the income of their savings.

Miss Zimpher of Department 97 has left us after thirty-one years of faithful service. — Sparks, December, 1926.

2i8 THE SALESLADY

FIFTY YEARS WITH FIELDS', WOMAN RETIRES TODAY^

From an obscure beginning more than three score years ago, Maggie McGurn has rounded out sixty-two years in the commercial world, and will today celebrate in a blaze of social festivities her retire- ment which is coincident with her completion of a half-century in the service of Marshall Field & Co. A reception will be held in her honor in the rug department, where for the last forty-two years she has been in charge of the workroom sewers.

Miss McGurn was born in Chicago in 1850. She was thirteen years of age when she took her first position, with Allan & McKayan, an old carpet establishment, where she was employed for twelve years. On Oct. 7, 1876, she commenced work for Field, Palmer, Leiter & Co., sewing carpets together and mending rugs.

In her long experience with the firm. Miss McGurn has supervised the making of rugs purchased by many old and well known Chicago families, and one of her most interesting anecdotes concerns the mak- ing of a rug ordered by Mrs. WilHam McKinley, wife of the President, for her room in the White House.

A woman may be a successful saleswoman and at the same time run for political office.

MISS HELEN CALDWELL, SALES CLERK AND POLITICIAN^

To be a woman assemblyman in the State of New Jersey is quite an achievement in itself; to be a Democratic Assemblyman in a strong RepubHcan district is just that much more of an achievement, but to do this with one's left hand, as it were, and be an A-i Salesclerk in a busy store at the same time, takes, as the EngHsh say, a bit of doing! And yet Miss Helen E. Caldwell in the Fur Department is looking for- ward to just that.

She has been interested in politics for many years. She hves in Irvington, Essex County, and at present is serving as President of the Democratic Women's Unit of Irvington and Executive Vice-chairman of Essex County Women's Organization.

^ From the Chicago Tribune, October 9, 1926. ''Sparks, August, 1927.

WHAT BECOMES OF THE SALESLADY? 219

There is one other woman with her on the ticket of 12, and they are expecting a stiff but victorious fight.

Miss Caldwell outlined the situation and issues so simply and clearly that it seems a foregone conclusion that Essex County voters will want her to represent them. We wish her success at the polls and

in the Assembly.

MISS COVELL^

Since Miss Covell first went to work in the big Broadway depart- ment store back in 1899, she has seen more than 20,000 people hired and an almost equal number fired, or quit of their own accord. Many of those who quit did so because they believed there was nothing in department-store work, but INIiss Covell has found it a profitable pro- fession. She alludes to herself as General Factotum, because, she says, there is no precise title to fit her job. One of her duties is to see that the stocks of merchandise in the sixty departments keep moving. She tells the department managers how much they can buy. She looks out for the bank balances so there will always be cash on hand to pay bills and take the discoimts. Few know what salary Miss Covell draws, for she is also acting treasurer and makes out her own salary check. One can only judge of the amount by knowing what the cost of Hving is at the Park Avenue apartment hotel where Miss Covell makes her home.

Why has Miss Covell so definitely arrived when thousands of others have stayed in lower positions or given up the game altogether? Someone once told JMiss Covell she was successful because she has the poise of authority, but she takes little stock in such fancy phrases. Anyone can have authority, she says, who thinks out things in ad- vance and is careful never to show temper. If you tell a person to do something when you are angry or fussed, he suspects right away that you haven't given proper consideration to the order and he loses faith in your judgment. But you have got to show you mean business. You must be willing to go to the mat when occasion arises, no matter how much you dislike a row.

Miss Covell does not think she has any particular aptitude for the department-store business. She was hired at first as salesgirl in the underwear section, but only stayed behind the counter four months, which is all the actual selling experience she has ever had. Then,

^ Saturday Evening Post, September 3, 1927.

220 THE SALESLADY

because she was taller than average, she was made an usher, a job at which girls were often employed in those days instead of men floor- walkers. She wore a ribbon around her neck from which hung a metal badge with her title engraved on it. Then she was changed again, going to work in the restaurant department, where she had charge of the supplies.

Surely there was little in these jobs for Miss Covell to get excited about, and the next was worse. They put her in the delivery depart- ment, where she had to check up on all the packages that were sent out to customers not only in New York proper but in Brookl)ni and New Jersey.

Stores delivered more parcels then than now, because there was no parcel post; and it was a harder proposition, because deliveries were made with horses and wagons. Miss Covell says she had to use that poise-of-authority talent of hers to the limit on some of the East Side lads who drove the teams.

The store had a big trade in Brooklyn, and it became necessary to put on extra wagons and fix new routings. Anyone who has ever looked at the tangled map of Brooklyn will know what a job this was. Miss Covell had never been called on to do real brain work before. She fussed over the proposition several days and then decided tem- perishly to tell the management it would have to get someone else to do the job. She said this to an old Irishman named Flynn, who was a watchman around the place. Flynn asked her how old she was, and she said twenty-four.

"I see you're getting ready to join my gang," Flynn remarked.

Miss Covell asked him what he meant by that.

"Just look at the help in this store," Flynn said. "There are hun- dreds of people who do all right until they get into their forties. Then they begin to peter out. They have to quit or take jobs Uke mine. If you talk with them, you'll find it is because they have favored their brains too much. They will work five hours with their hands rather than five minutes with their brains. When you favor your brain a good many years it gets ossified, and then you can't use it if you want to."

Old Flynn laughed cynically and pointed at Miss Covell's map of Brooklyn.

"When I was twenty-four, I bet I could have charted out delivery

WHAT BECOMES OF THE SALESLADY? 221

routes; but I guess I was like you — it was easier to let my brain rest and use my arm muscles. Well, there's plenty of room at the bottom."

Miss Covell knew all about Flynn. He was past sixty and earn- ing ten dollars a week. She was scared for herself — enough so that she went at her Brooklyn job and finished it in spite of the wear and tear on her brain. After that, brain jobs lost their terrors. Somehow the management of the big store found it out, and her brain never had a chance to become ossified.

And so, though Miss Covell is Manhattan born and bred, when asked to explain her success in business life, she always replies it was Brooklyn that gave her her great opportunity.

Occasionally a girl rises to the top in a large department store without the long apprenticeship of years and hard work. In my experience I came across two such instances.

Mary Lee was born and brought up in Kentucky. There she attended high school and went for one year to the state university. At the end of that time Mary went home to find that a sudden reversal of fortune had made it impossible for her father to send her to the university for another year and, in fact, for him to continue to support her and her sister, a year and a half younger than herself.

Mary was eighteen and perhaps the blood of the old Kentucky pioneers ran in her veins, for she packed her own and her sister's suit case and set out with her to seek her fortune in New York City. Arriving there in December, the girls decided to take one walk up Fifth Avenue, the street that they had so often read about, before applying for the job that they so much needed.

They checked their baggage at the station and then be- gan their saunter up Fifth Avenue. To their inexperienced eyes it presented a gorgeous pageant that filled them with an almost overwhelming awe but they continued on their way, stopping constantly to look at the windows of this fairyland

222 THE SALESLADY

and then plunging again into the surging crowds. At noon they had reached Fiftieth Street, and there they stopped again to look at the windows of a huge department store.

''These are the most beautiful windows that we have seen among all these beautiful windows," said Mary to her sister, and added, ''I'd like to work here. Let's go in and ask for a job."

The sister was amazed at Mary's audacity but she was game. The girls entered the store and found their way to the employment office. Both were hired immediately. Dazed, they returned to the station for their baggage, secured tem- porary living accommodations at the Y.W.C.A., and the next morning reported for work.

Mary was placed in the glove department and her sister was given a position in the hosiery. Mary was pretty, she was courteous and charming, and soon she was recognized in the store as being a saleswoman of unusual merit. Up- stairs on the second floor there was a sports department for women only that specialized in such luxuries as dog toggery. The buyer of this department needed an assistant. She was told to go through the store and pick out any girl whom she thought desirable for the position. She chose Mary Lee.

In less than a year, then, Mary was an assistant buyer and at the end of two years, when Mary was just twenty, the buyer was moved to a larger department, and Mary be- came buyer and head of the smaller department. Now her salary is large enough so that she and her sister have a small kitchenette apartment near the store and live in a style be- fitting two bachelor maids who came to the city to seek their fortunes and found them.

I am told that Mary's sister is also in a fair way toward promotion. Meantime, however, she enters and leaves the store by the employees' entrance, but Mary goes and comes

THE STORE AND THE GIRL 223

through the big front doors sacred to customers and the high officials of the store. But that is after all a small matter, for the two girls ride down in the elevator together, then Mary waves her sister an airy good-bye, they go their ways, but they meet outside the store on Fiftieth Street and walk home arm in arm.

Another girl, Eleanor West, graduated from the home economics department of a university "upstate" and went hkewise to New York to seek her fortune. She became an usher in a fashionable tearoom just off Fifth Avenue. One morning the junior partner of a large store on the Avenue breakfasted at this tearoom. Eleanor was the usher in charge at the time. The waitress was slow in bringing Mr.

S his breakfast. He fussed and he fumed. Eleanor

charmingly quieted his irritation and then went to the kitch- en herself and brought in his order of pancakes.

The day after this episode Eleanor received a telephone

message from Mr. S 's secretary asking her to call at the

store. This she refused to do until the secretary explained

that Mr. S wished to offer her a position in his store.

Then she went and he offered her a place as buyer for the "bon voyage" and gift departments. She investigated the offer, found it desirable, and accepted it at a salary far above what she had expected to receive for many years in the field of home economics.

I heard this story before I met Eleanor and I, Uke most other people, supposed that it must be because Eleanor was a baby doll who had captured the young man's heart by her winning ways. But I found Eleanor an attractive but plain and sensible young woman who impresses one by her air of efficiency. She is doing splendidly as a buyer though she had had no previous experience.

Not every story in the department-store world is a happy

224 THE SALESLADY

one. There, as everywhere else, is found life's share of tragedy.

Anna is the best hosiery saleswoman in New York, ac- cording to the statements of her fellow- workers. She hves alone in a hotel where she pays twelve dollars a week for a room with a connecting bath and she eats her meals in a cafeteria in the building.

For twelve years she has sold hosiery in the one store but she has not always lived alone in a hotel. Until two years before I met her she had lived in a tiny flat with her daughter Beatrice. Then Beatrice had married, and Anna found hv- ing alone too desolate.

Anna had been left a widow when Beatrice was two years old. She had no money, so she had gone to work in one office after another, always ill-paid because she was un- educated and untrained. Then she got this job in the store where her salary and her commissions had enabled her to keep Beatrice in school until she had finished the commercial course at high school and could work as a stenographer. She had worked up until she handled all of her employer's cor- respondence in the office and was known there as his private secretary.

Beatrice had been a deUcate child, always ill with some childish disease. Anna had gone from free cUnic to free cHnic — car fare was cheaper than doctors' bills — and had paid out hard-earned dollars for medicine and milk. She had sat up night after night when Beatrice was sick and had gone to work each day with an anxious heart because the child must be left alone.

As Beatrice grew older she grew stronger and mother and daughter became great pals. Together they cooked, washed, ironed, and mended in the little flat and each evening shared

WHAT BECOMES OF THE SALESLADY? 225

the events of the day with each other. Then one day in September, two years before I met Anna, Beatrice had come home one day and told her mother she was married.

She had married a drug-store clerk whose salary was twenty dollars a week. Beatrice had to keep her job and they lived with his folks in a run-down old apartment house on the West Side.

To Anna this marriage of Beatrice's was a tragedy. For eighteen years she had worked and pinched and saved for Beatrice, and just when she was able to contribute some- thing to the family income she eloped with — in Anna's words — a ''soda jerker."

Anna had planned a far different marriage for Beatrice. She had not wanted her to come into the store because she beUeved that, as a stenographer, Beatrice would have a better opportunity to meet a desirable husband. She had even had hopes of Beatrice's employer, who was very kind to her and had once given them tickets for the opera. In the movies stenographers married rich men and Anna was sure that if Beatrice had waited she might have married her employer or some other man of standing. But Beatrice had married a boy poorer than herself.

At the time I met Anna she was worried about her job, too, though probably without cause. She was afraid that the time might come when she couldn't sell her quota and then might be transferred to the basement where the goods were so cheap that they sell themselves. She couldn't bear the idea nor the thought of selling in a store less smart. Beatrice's marriage and the loneliness of her life seemed to have taken the Hfe out of Anna.

The story of Elizabeth Farnsworth was the saddest one I heard during my sojourn in department stores. She was

226 THE SALESLADY

a fine-looking girl who secured a position in a fashionable store on Fifth Avenue and worked in the dress department. Her references stated that she had had previous experience in New York stores and that she had been educated at Goucher College. For two years she worked in the store and then suddenly one morning the personnel director received a telephone call from the landlady of the hotel where Eliza- beth lived saying that Elizabeth had been found dead in bed that morning.

The personnel director hurried out to the hotel and was taken up to Elizabeth's room where she was lying naked on the bed. Her mouth was burned with lysol and a gas heater had been turned on unlighted. The store examined her trunk and other personal effects for the address of her par- ents or friends and they found an address book with several names and addresses, but though they wired every one of these, all repHes stated that they had never heard of Eliza- beth Farnsworth. Then the store wired Goucher College, but the college rephed that no girl by that name had ever graduated from there.

Finally, after every resource was exhausted, the store arranged for the funeral, the buyer of the department do- nated a place in her family lot, and the girls of the depart- ment went as mourners to the funeral in the undertaking chapel. Her personal belongings were turned over to the public administrator for sale with directions to send a check for the proceeds to the store, to which she was in debt, and from that day to this no one has ever claimed the body of Elizabeth Farnsworth.

Daily Observation: It would seem that the fate of the department-store girl is like that of the rest of the world. She meets success or failure, good fortune or tragedy; in short, her fate is the common fate of all.

CHAPTER XXI DINNER WITH THE ELITE

''How would you like to meet a former school-teacher who is the best buyer in New York?" Miss Tanner, my friend the personnel manager, asked me one day. ''And an- other girl who has organized the training department in a big store who is a freak?"

"Why is she a freak?"

"Because she has had a wonderful success and yet she wants to give up the store to get married and have children without ever having found the man she would consider as a husband."

So it was arranged that I should dine with Miss Tanner and her friends in her apartment which, to use a phrase not unfamihar to lawyers, was "touching on and appertaining to" Greenwich Village.

After I left the bus at Fifth Avenue, I walked along one of those streets so numerous in New York where prosperous apartment houses and brown-stone fronts stand higgledy- piggledy among sagging business buildings and run-down di- lapidated old houses from the dark basements of which emerge the dirty and grimy poor. I saw an old woman with a face so deeply incrusted with dirt that it was difficult to beUeve at first sight that she belonged to the white race, the only white thing about her being the white cat that she was airing on the sidewalk in front of her basement. Behind a frame store building that threatened every minute to totter down upon the heads of the passersby was a dirty tramp so

227

228 THE SALESLADY

drunk that he could scarcely keep his feet, even with the sup- port of the brick wall against which he leaned.

The number which Miss Tanner had given me was above a two-story house that had been repaired and remodeled into two apartments. Miss Tanner Hved on the second floor, which I reached by cUmbing a short flight of stairs. She greeted me cordially and then introduced me to Mollie Trent, a plump, attractive girl with a boyish bob, and to Madge CUfton, a frigid, slender woman in a severe black frock, who shares the apartment with here, and to Polly Anna, a Maltese cat, whose tiny pointed face and slender body indicated that she was probably a New England spin- ster from Boston. Polly Anna stood up on her hind legs and planted two soft forepaws on my knee in welcome, sniffed superciliously, and bounded off to the kitchen.

"Look around, won't you," said Miss Tanner, "and talk to Mollie while Madge and I finish the dinner."

Mollie sat down on a low stool and I looked around. The apartment consisted of two unusually large rooms separated by a wide archway, a dressing-room and bath, and a sun parlor, with an improvised kitchenette at one end of it. There was a day-bed in each large room, its real purpose carefully concealed by a dark cover and many gay pillows, and there was a white mantled grate in each. There were large, comfortable chairs, tables with books and smoking ma- terials upon them, and bookcases filled with books, fiction, poetry, and non-fiction on a variety of subjects. The case- ment windows of the sun porch opened outward upon a back garden entered through a vine-covered gate and containing one stately green tree.

I talked to Mollie. She explained her job to me. "I in- struct the junior employees, the wrappers, the packers, and

DINNER WITH THE fiLITE 229

the inspectors. I follow them up, call them to account for the mistakes they make, see that these are corrected, and when a girl deserves promotion I see that she gets it.''

I asked a question and Mollie went on. *Tf a girl is a junior for ten months and still makes mistakes, I know that she can never be promoted, that she is junior material and nothing else, that she will have to go on wrapping or packing as long as she stays in the store."

Polly Anna sauntered in at this point and settled herself in Mollie's lap. Mollie stroked the cat as she continued. 'T have had this job two years; when I first took it there was no system of any sort; the girls had not been trained for their work and were not to blame for making mistakes. Neither was there any way of tracing the mistake back to the one who made it. I didn't have any predecessor who could train me either, so I went around from desk to desk and said to each girl, 'Show me what you do.' I watched them for weeks and then I mapped out a course of instruction to give them. I now not only tell them what to do but I show them what to do. I have the materials in my classroom and by actual demonstration I teach them."

Polly Anna, a restless woman, jumped from Mollie's lap and perching upon the ledge of the sun-porch window watched a sparrow twittering from limb to Hmb of the big tree. Mollie left the low stool and took a more comfortable seat in a lounging chair. "1 have a follow-up system now too, and I can trace every mistake back to its source. I am trying to insist upon hiring only girls who have had at least two years of high school, too. I want material that I can promote. It is too discouraging to work always with girls who can have no future."

"How long have you been in department-store work?"

230 THE SALESLADY

"Ten years. I am a war product. Before the war I was a music teacher, but through the Patriotic League and my war acti\dties I became interested in industry, I took a course at the Prince School in Boston and have been in department- store work ever since. I have held every sort of position, but this job in this store I have now I have held only two years. And that's long enough," with a little grimace; 'T want to get married now and have my own home but husbands are hard to find in New York."

We were called to dinner. We ate it from a table painted a shining green and covered with a blue-checked gingham cloth. Plates and cups of yellow pottery held the food, chicken roasted to a rich brown, glistening green peas, salad, golden coffee with thick cream floating over its surface and making a creamy ring around the edge of the cup. We talked constantly.

''Tell Miss Donovan how you got your first job as a teacher, Madge," chaffed Miss Tanner; ''tell her what a bad girl you were."

Madge grinned and then I saw that she had dimples, dehghtful ones in each cheek. They were especially fasci- nating because one didn't expect Madge to have anything so damning as dimples. She was so severe, so taciturn, so com- petent, this slender woman in the black dress with hair drawn back from her low forehead and coiled in a simple knot on her neck, her cold blue gray eyes defying one to find a weak spot in her makeup, her firm red lips, guiltless of rouge, so tight-clipped over her strong white teeth, the one spot of color in the cold, dead white of her face. But when she grinned, she became a mischievous imp capable of any deviltry.

"I was suspended from school for a week for playing

DINNER WITH THE ELITE 231

hookey," said Madge, and the dimples danced. 'Tt was my last year and just before examinations and they thought that if I lost a week I'd be unable to pass. I dressed up in my mother's clothes and bonnet to make me look old and dignified, went to the director of a country school in the neighborhood, and appHed for the job as teacher for the fol- lowing year. If I graduated I would be granted a certificate to teach a country school and I knew I would graduate. I wasn't afraid of the examinations. I graduated with my class in June and I got the school."

''I'm sure you did," I commented.

''Get down, Polly Anna," said Madge and brushed the cat from her lap. "You know you are not allowed at the table — when there's company."

Polly Anna thus reprimanded jumped down, leaped upon a chair in the doorway, and presented a humped and dis- dainful back to us. "She'll sulk awhile now," said Miss Tanner. "When she turns her back on us like that it means that she is deeply offended. She is really very sensitive."

I begged Madge to go on with her story.

"I taught two years; the first year my salary was ten dollars a week, and the second year it was raised to eleven dollars a week. I lived at home and rode back and forth to school on horseback. At the end of the second year I had saved six hundred dollars. I came down to New York and entered Columbia, the school of journalism. The second year I switched to commerce and administration. I had learned stenography and I earned considerable money by doing odd stenographic jobs for the professors, but at the end of the second year my money was all gone."

Polly Anna leaped from her chair. Her attention had been attracted by a bit of paper on the floor. Pouncing upon

232 THE SALESLADY

it she chased it madly from sun porch to living-room, worry- ing it, growling at it, poking it daintily with her lady-like paws. We watched her in amusement.

''And then?" I ventured to suggest to Madge.

''Then — well, I had a friend, a girl from home, who was secretary to Mr. Henley, the president of Henley and Com- pany on Fourteenth Street. It was and still is a department store that serves poor people who want cheap goods and it was the last place I had ever thought of working. But I needed the job, applied for it, and got it. I did secretarial work and a Uttle of everything else in the store, too. I wrote advertising, I managed sales, in fact, whenever a depart- ment needed anything that no one else could do Mr. Henley sent me to do it. I got acquainted with every detail of the store. I did everything except drive a delivery w^agon."

Madge paused here, shut her lips tight, and gave one the impression that she didn't intend to go on. Miss Tanner felt that it was time for her to step in. "And then," she prompted, "Mr. Henley came to you one day and said, 'How would you like to go to Paris?' Just like that."

Madge grinned again, that hard, tight Uttle grin of hers that, in spite of her, uncovered the dimples. "Not quite like that," she said, "but he did send me to Paris to open up a foreign office there. I didn't know the language, I hadn't a friend over there, not even business associates. Absolutely alone, I went over there, arranged every detail, and opened up an office. I stayed there two years and then came back here as buyer."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"Because we closed the office. The foreign producers found out that we were making too high a profit and they raised the price of their goods so that it no longer paid us to

DINNER WITH THE ELITE 233

buy over there. We could buy cheaper at home. A store that caters to a high-class trade can buy over there even now to advantage but we want cheap merchandise to sell at a low price. Our customers don't want individuahty of design. They want what everybody is wearing, not the exclusive or the ultra-fasionable. They see crowds in the street wearing a certain kind of coat, they come in and ask for that coat, and they will have no other. They don't want what Miss Park Avenue is wearing. But when every office girl and every shopgirl is wearing the model that Miss Park Avenue has sent to a rummage sale, then they want it and we give it to them, in quantity."

We moved into the living-room.

"It's not so difficult to buy for that kind of a trade, is it?" asked Molhe.

'^0, isn't it?" jeered Madge. ''That's just where you are mistaken. Do you remember last fall when coats with capes were the rage? I couldn't keep a coat with a cape on my racks for five minutes before it was sold. The manufacturers couldn't supply us with coats that had capes fast enough to meet the demand. I camped on their trails but I could get only a few dozen at a time. Then by a great stroke of luck I got hold of three hundred coats with capes. I staged a Satur- day sale with a big ad in the papers and [she paused im- pressively] I sold just four of those coats at the sale."

"How do you account for it?"

"I don't account for it; nobody could. My pubUc sud- denly, in a day, had reached the saturation point on coats with capes."

"What did you do?" I knew that two hundred and nine- ty-six coats couldn't be an insurmountable barrier to her.

"I kept them around a week or two and didn't sell one.

234 THE SALESLADY

I sent them up to the alteration room and had the capes taken off. Then I sold them," Madge clipped off the words grimly. "I had practically the same experience with those little blazer jackets that were so popular in the spring. Right now I've got three hundred thin summer dresses that I can't sell because this has been the coldest summer in the history of New York. I'll have to give them away."

"What happens when you make mistakes like this?" "Nothing happens. These things are the hazards of war to all buyers. You've made a flop, that's all, and you've got to think up a way to get out of it. If your department shows the requisite percentage of gain, an amount fixed by the merchandise manager as your quota of advancement over previous years, you keep your job." "And if it doesn't?"

"You lose your job unless all the departments in the store have fallen behind. Then it is admitted that your fail- ure is due to conditions outside yourself that you cannot control. You go on hoping for better luck next season." "Are there many women buyers in your store?" "The majority of the buyers are women." Madge crossed one slender silk-stockinged leg over the other, slouched back in her chair Hke a man, flipped the ash from her cigarette and added, "But only because they are better buyers than men. Store-owners have been forced by the quaHty of the mer- chandise and the character of the customers to let women buy for women. Men have no style sense; they are logical but they have no intuition. Intuition is a woman's most valuable asset when she is a buyer. Men can buy for men, and they can buy sheets and pillowcases — they buy them by the ton, you know, so many tons for 1927 — but they can't buy goods for women."

DINNER WITH THE ELITE 235

Polly Anna, tired of being ignored, leaped to the mantle of the living-room grate and began daintily picking her way among the photographs and bric-a-brac, her slender, pointed tail flicking girUshly at us. She was fully conscious of her audience. ''Get down, Polly Anna," commanded Madge peremptorily. Polly Anna simpered and cuddled down be- tween the objets d'art, yawned prodigiously, and settled herseK.

"The trouble with you, Polly Anna," said Madge, ''is that you are like most women; you depend on intuition rather than upon logic. Your intuition told you that we would notice you if you climbed upon that mantle, but if you had reasoned the matter out logically you would have known that it was no place for you and that you couldn't success- fully maintain your position there for any length of time. Scat!"

Polly Anna, realizing that Madge meant what she said, reluctantly scatted from mantlepiece to floor and, pouncing once more upon the piece of paper, began tossing it about with her flapperish paws.

"Women succeed only when they combine logic and in- tuition," resumed Madge. "Men have succeeded because of their logic, even though they have no intuition. With both intuition and logic a woman can outdistance any man. I ad- mit that there are positions peculiarly suited to men. For example, I think a man should be at the head of the delivery- room and possibly at the head of the accounting depart- ment. All other positions can be filled just as well by women."

"But women are never merchandise managers," pro- tested MoUie.

"They could be if it weren't for some silly conventions."

236 THE SALESLADY

"What?"

"Well, store-owners think they can't call women up in- formally as they can men and ask them over to their homes to discuss business. Wives have not yet learned that the women who work in the store for their husbands have no sex appeal. They are afraid of having a woman thrown into such intimate relation with their husbands as such a position would entail. That's one reason and here's another. Men think that they can't swear at a woman and tell her to get to hell out of here the way they can a man or kick her out when he's lost his temper. A woman weeps and quits — a man won't quit. He offers the owner a cigar."

Miss Tanner arose from her seat and passed a box of candy and salted nuts. "You will need something to give you strength for this earnest discussion," she laughed.

Madge gave that queer little grin of hers and, undaunted, went on with her dissertation. "The position of merchandise manager is one of great responsibility, and it must be con- fessed that in many ways it is better suited to a man than to a woman. Men plunge more than women and they take a flop better. A woman is so conscientious that she takes a flop to heart ; a man bluffs and blusters and blames it on conditions or on the other fellow."

"Just what would you say were the qualifications of a buyer?" I now asked.

"In the first place," answered Madge, as she leaned for- ward in her chair the better to emphasize her points, "she must be hard boiled and — she must have virgin habits. She can't let her emotions be upset about men — in fact, men can't enter her life at all; she has neither time nor energy to spend on them. In the second place she must have an iron constitution and an iron spirit, she must climb ovei every-

DINNER WITH THE ELITE 237

body, and she must understand Yiddish. She cannot pro- duce enough to satisfy a Jew — no Jew is ever satisfied. Her background, her education, her culture aren't worth a damn — what counts is her abihty to make money in the produc- tion end and to save money in the service end."

''Just what do you mean by virgin habits?"

"I mean that the work of a buyer is so exacting that you cannot afford recreations that make a further drain on your time or your energy. You cannot run around with men to theaters and night clubs; you can't do the things that men expect of you if you go out with them, you haven't the strength. You must put every ounce of yourself into your job if you expect to succeed and to go on succeeding. A buyer fights all day, her Kfe is one long battle with her sales force, her merchandise manager, her advertising manager and with the store-owners. When I get home at night I read or I go for a drive in our car. Most of the time I read — I get more pleasure out of reading than anything else."

''What do you read?"

"Everything — history, economics, philosophy, fiction, and detective stories. I read whatever my mood dictates. Often I spend hours before going to bed over a detective story; it rests me and relaxes the tension of the day."

I had seen through Madge's entire discussion a fierce loyalty to her store. I now asked her the reason for her loy- alty.

"Because the owners of my store are American gentle- men. Mr. Henley is fair and just. The smallest messenger girl in the store could go up to his office and he'd say, 'Sit down, kid. What's the matter?' He'd listen to her story and see that her grievance was settled. I get a square deal in that store — as square a deal as any woman could. I would hate

238 THE SALESLADY

to work for Jews, but it won't be long now before all depart- ment stores will be owned by Jews."

"But I have worked in stores owned by Jews where the working conditions were excellent."

"You did not come into contact with the Jews them- selves; you met only their lieutenants. Jews are smart busi- ness men and good merchants, but they are ruthless. They know, however, that they can't do business unless their em- ployees are contented, so they choose lieutenants who will act for them and keep good will in the estabhshment. They are very clever in choosing their lieutenants."

"What are your plans for the future?"

Madge grinned again before she replied. "I have that all arranged. No woman has ever been a merchandise man- ager but / am going to he one before my career is finished. I am thirty-one years old now and I'll be a merchandise man- ager before I'm forty. I may not make as much money as I do as a buyer — most merchandise managers do not — but I will satisfy my vanity."

"And after that?"

"I shall retire and do as I please. Ever since I started to work I have saved 10 per cent of my salary — I mean saved it, not for vacations or anything at all — it is put away in good safe investments for the Madge that I will be then. I shall live in France. I am not through with fantasy — I shall always find a life to interest me."

MoUie and Miss Tanner had sat silent during this long conversation, but MolUe had been bursting with a desire to talk. Now she saw her opportunity.

"Well, I want to tell you right here that that kind of a fife may be all right for you and Mary, but it isn't what I want at all. It will take more than a career, a car, and a cat

DINNER WITH THE ELITE 239

to satisfy me. I want to get married. I'm tired of always being the extra one at parties both in New York and when I go home. All my friends are married and when I go out with them they always have to say, 'Now who shall we get for Mollie? We must hnd an extra man for MoUie!' "

''Why go out with them at all?" asked Madge disdain- fully.

"Because I like the things they do; I like dancing and bridge and motor trips. I want the companionship and de- votion of a man. I want my own home where I can be host- ess and I want children. My friends are all happily mar- ried."

"You just think they are, dearie," said Madge laconi- cally. "You see only the bright side of the picture. You don't see the quarrels and the discord behind the scenes. You don't have to ask a man for money and have him ask you what you did with what he gave you last week."

"My friends have their little arguments, of course, but they are happy, lots happier than we are."

"Why don't you get married then? It's easy enough if you want to. Why, I have been engaged three times myself. All you have to do is to put as much thought into it as you do into evolving a new system to teach those kids of yours at the store and you can get married."

"But I never meet any men who want to get married for more than one night at a time."

"Why don't you do that, then, and see how you Hke it? I'm broad-minded — it won't make any difference in my friendship for you," Madge laughed.

"You know perfectly well that is not what I want. I want honorable marriage, love, companionship, and a home."

"I admit it's harder in New York where men are so so-

240 THE SALESLADY

phisticated and where there are so many diversions that they don't need a home. But go to some city in the Middle West, say a city of thirty to forty thousand, and you will find men there who want wives and homes. In fact, men in such communities require them ; the home is their only diver- sion. And, besides, they can't get away with what they do in New York. The small city, that's your field, Mollie."

MoUie threw up her hands in despair. 'T don't think I could ever save enough money for the trip," she said grimly.

"As far as I am concerned," continued Madge, "I want no men in my life. I have met and worked and fought with so many men that I have no illusions left. There isn't a man that I would trust except my father — there are no men Hke him nowadays — but I can trust my career and," with a glance at Polly Anna, who was rubbing herself ingratiatingly against Madge's knee, "a cat is a safer outlet for one's emo- tions."

"For you and Mary, perhaps, but not for me," protested Mollie. "You two are absolutely self-sufficient; you could live happily, I do beHeve, on separate desert islands. I'll never have a career as you have, I'll never be the best buyer in New York as you are, nor the best general manager as Mary could be if she weren't a woman and so never can have the name of being one though she knows more about the job than any man in New York. I don't want a career; I'd be glad to step out of a department store tomorrow, and never enter one again even to buy my own clothes."

It was late. I suggested that I should have to go home.

"How times have changed," continued Madge, disre- garding my suggestion. "Imagine a group of women twenty- five years ago spending an evening as we have spent this. A working-girl then was considered not a nice person; she

DINNER WITH THE ELITE 241

could never be received into society circles. Nowadays women of achievement are invited and welcomed because of what they have done. Formerly women who worked were disgraceful; now a woman's work will get her into social cir- cles that she could not otherwise hope to penetrate. Women can get drunk, smoke, do what they like, and as long as it doesn't interfere with their work it is passed over. Employ- ers don't want to know about it; production is what counts now with women just as it has always with men. In a feudal society woman was man's chattel and under existing condi- tions she needed to be, but now she doesn't and she isn't. Every walk in life is now open to her, and she has the same privileges, lives the same life as men."

The hands of the clock pointed to one. I walked with MolUe to the corner to take a bus. ''Those girls care nothing for men," she said; "they are honestly satisfied with their lives but I am different. It's funny how Madge opened up to you. I've never heard her talk that much before in all the time I've known her."

I should say that these three girls typify the triumph and the tragedy of a career for women. It seems to be true that those who go far have no time and no energy for love and marriage. MolKe had all the potentiaHties of the other two girls, but she had not reached their heights because to her a career was secondary. Madge is one of those buyers who are credited with making a salary of from ten to twenty-five thousand a year. She has accompHshed this by her intel- ligence, her energy, and especially by the hard work which means the elimination of the kinds of social recreation that form a large part of the Hfe of the average woman. Her rela- tions with men are confined mostly to the store and are much more impersonal than those which exist between men.

242 THE SALESLADY

It is perfectly true, as Madge said, that in business when a woman proves an abiHty that commands respect so that she can meet men on a common ground, either commercially or professionally, the sex attraction is eliminated. It cannot stand the attrition of business discussions, whether instruc- tive or disputatious.

Daily Observation: The department store is a community whose rules, regulations, beliefs, and conventions discipline and control those in the community in the same way that the small town controls its members, so that those who do not follow the norm are restrained and controlled. In the store the women who have risen to the higher places, and the men as well, do not meet as men and women but as common workers whose fundamental ideas are atavistically antagonistic. The woman executive in a department store is cut off from social intercourse in which sex is a factor. But this thing which works to the perfect satisfaction of Madge and Mary is a tragedy to MolUe.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY

THE MERRY HATTERS^

We are the merry hatters

For we crown from morn till night And try to fit our customers.

With Bonnets that are right. We meet the boys with long heads

And baldheads by the score, Round heads too come in for theirs

In our Department Store.

In picking out the proper style

To top our welcome patron We always try to sell the man

By appealing to the matron, Especially if she's with him

In making his selection. We say "Madam, it's just the thing

It becomes his complexion."

"I think it does," she says to him, "You'll Hke it John, I know Because it makes you look so young,

The Salesman will teU you so." So after all is said and done

SeUing is an art, In sizing up your customer

You must play an actor's part. But no deception must you see

To put the sale across, For at the time it may seem gain

But in the end it's loss.

^ M. J. Walker, men's hats, fifth floor, Sparks, August, 1927.

243

244 THE SALESLADY

SIGNS'

We pray for signs, in heaven, on earth,

And also in our store! 'Tis true, of signs there is no dearth,

And yet we pray for more.

The customers around us stray With twisted necks and head,

And in this labyrinth they pray For Ariadne's thread.

"Where are the drugs?" — "WTiere is the soap?"

"Cosmetics?"— 'Towder?"— "Paint?" The customers relinquish hope, They throw a fit or faint.

"Where are the pills?"— "Where are the pens?"

"I can not find the spot!" "Please, where can I find instruments?"

"Aw, — where can I get shot?"

"Where is the front?"— "Where is the rear?"

"And East and West is where?" The customer wipes off a tear, — "The elevators, — there?"

And one of them now wildly glares, — With threat'ning voice and mien: "The basement, — is it still downstairs? Where is the mezzanine?"

"Oh where, where is the second floor?"

Then with an awful shout: "Where is the street? Where is the door?

Oh, where can I get out?"

The salesclerk gasps, the salesclerk falls,

She lifts a waving hand; The rolling chair then gently rolls

Her to obHvion's land.

^ By Alice Bostroem, book department, Sparks, June, 1926.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 245

A kindly sign directs the way, —

The tale is strange, but true, — And now she lingers in her stay

In quiet Bellevue.

THE SONG OF THE RET-RAC RUG

0, summer's in the offing, and a magic's in the air. That's haunting me, and taunting me, to run away from where I must toil and sweat and suffer, and sink 'neath labor's load, When I might breathe the salt sea air, or walk the open road.

But what makes me ecstatic, and think that I'm in heaven, Though a lady takes an hour to spend $2.97, It's because, at any time of day, I may get a chance to hug And fondle, pet, and talk about my love, the Ret-Rac Rug.

0 the Ret-Rac Rug is beautiful, the Ret-Rac Rug is grand,

Its colors are delight to the eye, its softness to the hand,

It's strong, and firm, and faithful, of virtues it has all;

'TwUl stand up well, and serve you well, in bedroom, bath or hall.

(O salesman of the siren-song, how does the Ret-Rac wash? Or does it leave the basin looking like a dish of hash?) Madam, this rug is washed three times, before it's sent to us, And laundering it is simple, 'twill never make you cuss.

Or send it to the laundry, and have it "tumbled dried,"

(What this means I have never learned, tho' I have tried and tried).

Each time 'twill look more beautiful, this we can guarantee,

It will improve with age Hke wine, and cheese, and Lipton's Tea.

(0 salesman of the cute mustache, when on the floor 'tis laid, Does the Ret-Rac stay, or does it roll up like a window shade?)

The Ret-Rac is firm and strong, 'twill be so for all time; It grips the floor as firmly as a Scotchman grips a dime.

* By Clem Johnson, rug department, Sparks, June, 1926.

246 THE SALESLADY

(0 Salesclerk of the honeyed voice, consider thou the sun. Can the Ret-Rac Rug resist him, or will it fade and run?)

No, no, the Ret-Rac Rug is brave, it does not fear the sun, Not even rain, or snow, or hail, will make its colors run.

I like to sell the Ret-Rac rug, it fattens my commission, I'd like to sell it all day long, without an intermission.

THE "SWEETEST" SECTION^

As the parade reached the head of the stairs leading down to the Basement Store, it was joined by the members of the Book Depart- ment, wearing rose colored caps, and at the foot of the stairs the Soda Fountain group fell in line to march over to the Candy section, where "Miss Mirror" and a LoUipop girl waited with the others to give out abundant samples.

After circUng the Basement the whole cavalcade arrived at the Main Floor again, where Mr. Warner R. Heston made a brief but inspiring address and the entire group sang the following verses to the tune of "Reuben, Reuben."

WEST CENTRE PEP

Come good people, get together!

Make it snappy, move your feet! Rain or hail, or sunshine weather.

Last year's figures have gotta be beat!

S. B. Tily boldly wrote a

Great big sum for us to gain. But we're sure we'll make our quota —

We'll have nothing that we need explain!

We'll make June a real humdinger!

Looks that way, and that's our hunch; We will make this Sale a ringer —

Bet your life we're a skip-along bunch!

^ Store Chat, June, 1927, Strawbridge & Clothier, Philadelphia. ^ Store Chat, June, 1927.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 247

You will hear the business humming

In the old West Centre Store; Values that will keep them coming —

Make them buy and a-holler for more!

We'll remember Lindbergh's flying,

And we're sure to reach our goal; Have no fear and keep on trying —

Just go to it with our heart and soul!

Show our goods and keep on smiling —

Pledge ourselves that we'll not shirk! Up and up the sales keep piling —

That's our system and it's bound to work!

Silver, gold and rouge and powder.

Drugs and candy, books and bags; Yes, we'll make it — shout out louder,

Hip, hurrah! then wave your flags!

Many customers lingered to see the fun and those of the Store Family who were so unfortunate as to miss it were surely out of luck.

BETTY COHEN WAXED LYRICAL, TO WIT— ^

Less movement is our latest fad We practice this each day. Our movements used to be quite bad But now they're fine, I'U say.

Less movement is our slogan now Our salaries will increase We'll all be experts yet, I vow, 0, raise those wages, please.

Later Betty wrote some new verses to describe the state of affairs.

We started with less movements And we won in this campaign We got it dowTi to such extent That no move was made in vain.

^ Sparks, January, 1927.

248 THE SALESLADY

The letters they just seemed to fly And the averages sure did soar The salaries, they were all quite high But yet we tried for more. This bonus system is just great; It makes you really love your work And puts such spirit into it You'll never again want to shirk.

PRINCE HAMLET, THE CHINA PACKER^

You all know what the war has done:

Kings, Princes, and Dukes have lost their throne.

A Duke as a cook, a Prince as a hacker

I, Prince Hamlet, must work as a packer.

For I am a China Packer.

Forced to discard my uniform and sword. My outfit is now. Hammer, Hatchet, and Cord. I lost my audience, applause and laurels. Now I pack china, in baskets and barrels For I am a China Packer.

Gone is the fragrance my coiffure once bore, In its place have I naught but excelsior. From Prince to Pauper have I not gone. For only an actor have I been born. Yes, I played Hamlet to houses packed, Alas! I must see the china isn't cracked. For I am a China Packer.

To those who wish china packed in cases

By Hamlet, the actor, who once set the paces.

Let them come to R. H. Macy's,

Famed and renowned to all countries and races.

My name is N.B., my number twenty-three.

For I am a China Packer.

— N. B.

* Sparks, February, 1927.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 249

SONG OF THE SECTION MANAGER^

(by one of them)

There comes a day in Every May,

Quite different from all others,

A day the florists set aside,

And specify as "Mother's,"

A white carnation marks the spot

Of motherly affection —

But here's a bet they overlooked

To glance in my direction.

For every day is JVIother's day with me,

I'm a Macy Section Manager, you see,

My Httle white carnation.

Is the symbol of my station.

And the full of aggravation

Yet to me.

It shows the funny side of lots of folks,

The comic weekHes haven't all the jokes,

Ev'ry hour, ev'ry minutes.

Has a "kick" a-hiding in it.

While every day is Mother's day to me.

THE BUYER'S SONG'

0 the life of the buyer is sweet, ho ho! None other on earth would he choose. All he must do is to sign his consent On sheets of paper assistants resent, And crowds come in and goods go out. And monthly he gets a check that's stout, — O the life of the buyer is sweet, so sweet. The life of the buyer is sweet (ho ho!).

^Sparks, February, 1927.

^ Sparks, April, 1927. These lyrics, written by Mr. Bursten and sung in the Red Star Revue, were reprinted in the Banquet Edition of the Daily Moon.

250 THE SALESLADY

0 the life of the buyer is sweet, ho hoi And Monday for him is not blue (Red it may be or maybe it's black) What does he care if he have or he lack, If he finds he needs a very good rest He takes a ride o'er the ocean's crest, — O the life of a buyer is sweet, so sweet, The Ufe of a buyer is sweet (ho ho!).

O the Hfe of a buyer is sweet, ho ho! He Jacks up his Marks all the time. Gol Barnet, my sons, he'll never Katz'ell When, constantly striving to be a Dibrell, There Wells up within him so mighty a spout As to make him outdo his favorite Knauth! O the Hfe of a buyer is sweet, tis Treu, O the life of a buyer is sweet (hoo hoo!).

A GASP FROM THE B. OF A.^

Distress is on our noble brow

Our Ufe a nervous wreck

Our great complaining Public

Has got us by the neck.

Madam's eyelash curler

Got bent and wouldn't work

Our perfect percolator

Just simply would not perk.

And then that Non Break Mama doll

That got the broken leg

That dreadful "male" canary bird

That laid the tell-tale egg.

Miz' Goofy's unfilled orders

Should move the firm to tears

She, who has been our customer

For "fifty some odd" years.

Sparks, May, 1927.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 251

One wants The Hard Boiled Virgin And gets a yard of silk Another wants an overcoat And gets a can of milk. "Please charge my things to my D. A. And hold them there for me." They fiU the order P.D.Q. And send it C.O.D. And so we bow beneath the weight Of all the world's worst luck And bravely face our solemn task Of "Passing on the buck."

— Florence Jansson

The following was written by Miss Bella Smith in honor of Macy's Home Center.

(Sung to the tune of East Side, West Side) East Side, West Side, From aU round the town They all come to Macy's Where the prices keep falling down. Boys and girls together, Married and about to be, They get their houses furnished here And are suited to a "T."^

MARVELLE-OUS^

Hail to the Marvelle Misses, The leading ladies of style Whose uniforms so nice and new Make a picture well worth-while. Miss Getz came back from Paris With an idea in her head —

^Sparks, July, 1927.

^Sparks, March, 1927. The Marvelle Misses sell dresses on the third floor at R. H. Macy & Company. Smce March, 1927, they have all worn the uniform described in this verse.

252 THE SALESLADY

Look at the Marvelle Misses — and You'll know she was not misled. Each maiden — be she short or tall, Nicely slim, or fat, or thin. Finds this dress a huge success, One in which she looks her best.

THE PARTY

They told me the tale with a laugh in their eyes, And a smile on their lips that made me surmise The party had been a success.

For a Tracer named Mosher invited the bunch To come out to Elmhurst and share in a Lunch, A song, a dance, and no less.

There were eight or ten girls and three or four men, From a boy of, say, thirty, to a man about ten, Who started his date book with "Hogan."

The Hit of the evening, so they explain, Was a gay solo dance a la Mrs. Main, "I'll attend to adjustments," her slogan.

The dawn stars next morning saw a very rare sight, The knight of one Peggy saying "Good-night." A happy ending .... every thing was all right.'

Here's to our Shirley The hundred and forty-four vamp,

From each ear there dangles A man-sized parlor floor lamp !^

Who would think the people of the Fifth Floor were so poetically inclined?

Mr. Smith, 4695, says:

It's sweet to love, but oh, how bitter

To be stuck on a chicken and then not git 'er.

' Unsigned, Sparks, April, 1927. * Sparks, June, 1927.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 253

So says Bill Spinard:

It's hard to say goodbye, When your heart is full of hope, It's harder still to find a towel When your eyes are full of soap.'

Mr. Harold Halloway of the Sign Shop, who recently married, seems to have left a trail of broken hearts behind him, some of whom relieve their pent up emotions through the medium of Sparks. Read on :

It never mattered that my heart pitter pattered

Every time I looked at that sheik

But now since he's hooked up

My hash is cooked up

I wanna lay down and shriek.

ELLA-VATOR

I loved him, I loved him, Gosh how I loved him I loved him imtil it hurt, But how did I know That he'd up and go And marry another skirt?

SAL-VATION

He made a perfect sap of me And I hope he's satisfied So I guess I'll go to the river Where other poor saps have died, Or maybe I'll go on Fifth Avenue That road so stately and wide And I'U just lie down in the gutter And then commit sewer-cide.

— Mary-Christmas'

^ Sparks, December, 1926. ^ Sparks, June, 1927.

254 THE SALESLADY

FOURTH FLOOR NEWS

Here are a few lines written in appreciation of certain members of Department 88, with apologies to "That Certain Party."

MR. KRASS

Who is always here at five,

For large amounts he makes us strive,

That certain, that certain party.

Who always wears a frown,

When the folks don't shop downtown

That certain party of mine.

But when business is worthwhile

Always wears his broadest smile

And says, *'Go right ahead, this sure is fine,

If this keeps on without a stop,

We will go right o'er the top,

This shoe department of mine."

MISS SCHWARTZ

Who is always at her stand With a ready helping hand. That certain, that certain party. Who is always dressed in style. Always wears a ready smUe That certain party of mine. Who smooths all our cares away When we've had an awful day And says "tomorrow will be fine." With a customer she won't fight. Sometimes says the clerk is right. That certain party of mine.

MR. REGELMAN

Who always works so hard, Hands out pass and shopping card, That certain, that certain party. WTao, when some folks get rough, Has to listen to their "guff,"

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 255

That certain party of mine.

This shoe is short,

That one wide,

This one had a nail inside.

To these complaints they stand in line,

But at the close of every day

All these worries pass away,

That certain party of mine.

MR. KAPLAN

Who's always in ahead of time, Who keeps all our stock in Une, That certain, that certain party. WTio has to Hsten to our cries When we cannot find "that size" That certain party of mine. Have we this? Where is that? Tan or white? Brown or black? He gets these queries all the time. But when aU our stock's m place, Wears a smile upon his face. That certain party of mine.

MISS HUGHES AND SAM COHEN

Who welcome all new clerks,

Take them round, show them the works,

Those certain, those certain parties.

Who make you feel at ease

When you have those quaking knees,

Those certain parties of mine.

Tell you this, show you that,

These are white, those are black,

Just keep right on, you're doing fine.

Then when you sell on your first day

All this knowledge fades away,

Those certain parties of mine.

256 THE SALESLADY

MISS BERLIN

Who works so hard all day, Never has the time to play, That certain, that certain party. Who knows every shoe and last, Never lets a style get past, That certain party of mine. Each customer she tries to please; They ask for her on bended knees, Even when they have to stand in line. But when she cannot find a size, We can tell it by her cries. That certain party of mine.

— Sylvia Kurtz

In the third group are the poems of the intelligentzia of the store, many of whom are salespeople in the book de- partment.

FOR THREE LITERARY LADIES^

Oh, Lady, Lady, had I known

You were so hard to please, I would have let you walk alone

And left myself in ease.

"There is no book that satisfies! All novels are a pack of Hes! I don't want this; the hero dies! This author! God forbid!!" she cries, And then, — eventually — ^buys.

I often think — just half in fun —

To write a book and sell her one.

And prove (perhaps like this small verse)

That some are bad .... and some are worse!/

Sparks, July, 1926.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 257

Mona bought a book from me,

Purple eyes aglow, — It was yesterday at three,

And the hours were slow.

Mona's lips were soft and red,

Mona's skin was fair, And I wondered if her head

Cherished more than hair.

So I mused a little space, Thinking with surprise, "Should so beautiful a face Want a book so wise?"

3 Most every week she hurries through,

A little, white, unpretty thing, And fondles books, — the old — the new —

With hands that sing.

She never purchased, — only eyed

Them wistfully — a pat — a touch, — And only once looked up and sighed, "They cost so muchi"

— M. L. B.

DREAMS^

In bed I dream Of Kings And Queens.

One night

I dreamt

The Prince of Wales

Came up

' Sparks, June, 1926.

258 THE SALESLADY

And bowed. In his palm A bleeding heart —

"For you," He said. My heart Did stop.

Brrr Brrr Ding Ding Gosh darn That clock!

L. D. K. R., Book Department

REWARD^ Fate treated me meanly, but I looked at her and laughed. That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed. Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat, Saying, "I came to see what you were laughing at."

— Fellow Worker

Among the thousands of poems to Lindbergh, this one by a department-store worker, though lacking in meter is nevertheless warm in sentiment and appreciation.

TO COLONEL LINDBERGH^

The eagle is as naught to thee,

Oh Lindbergh, the man who flew over the sea.

Outstripping the fame of the mighty and great.

The pride and the joy of thy country and state.

The envy of all, both the great and the small.

Binding together the nations all,

In respect for him in whose heart there's no fear,

Whose purpose and courage all people cheer.

To Washington and Lincoln we now add thy name,

As one who should ever share in America's fame.

— c. o. w.

^ Store Chat, Strawb ridge & Clothier, Philadelphia, May, 1927. ^Sparks, July, 1927.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 259

In a fourth group are poems of recognition. The ap- preciation of fellow workers often takes this form of ex- pression.

HAPPY RETURNS^

June 6th was a memorable day for Mr. Edward P. Coursault, who celebrated his 43rd birthday in the Store Family and, though absent on account of illness, had ample proof of the affectionate regard in which he is held by his very many friends in the organization. The morning mail started the day by bringing him a shower of cards which kept up all day long until it proved a veritable storm of good wishes numbering almost two hundred.

Flowers, too, came until his room looked like a conservatory and in the evening some of his associates dropped in to bring all the good wishes in the world for his speedy recovery and quick return to his old place from which he is so much missed. One greeting caused him con- siderable amusement, verses, from which the following are extracted:

Hoary headed, eyes of blue, Loyal, faithful, always true; Features clearly cut and fine, Disposition most divine.

Can't you guess of whom we speak? 'Tis not hard the man to seek, The Main Desk well knows his fame, Eddie Coursault is his name.

His years of service forty-three With the firm of S. & C. Conscientious, courteous ever, "Checks to cash?" quick and clever.

Eddie we congratulate For such service, early, late; Many others do so too. Adding wishes not a few.

« Store Chat, Strawbridge & Clothier, Philadelphia, June, 1927.

26o THE SALESLADY

"Parcel Checking," "Lost and Found," All were duties of his round, And we'll bet a nice big quarter Ed did everything he oughter.

Dances, ball or musicale Eddie understood them all. And the tickets he could sell! Sure, we all know this full well.

Guess he misses all our jibs

And his office on the bridge.

So, here's wishing him soon back

To keep things on the same old track.

— The Whole Gang

Mr. Coursault was very much touched by this evidence of the universal regard in which he is held and has asked that Store Chat pubHsh his very deep appreciation and sincere thanks.

HERE'S TO JULIE CULLINAN!^

Oh! here's to JuHe Cullinan of Department Thirty-Three, The clerk who's always smiling and pleasant as can be. There are joyful hearts in Groceryland because she won the race And smiling Julie Cullinan is now our Fifth Floor Ace.

Oh! here's to JuHe Cullinan, who works in Groceryland, The clerk who's ever ready to lend a helping hand. And may she ever win the race that leads to joy and light Through paths of smiles and courteous words, and honor, truth, and might.

IN GRATEFUL APPRECIATION^

Here I am with the beautiful sterhng silver flower vase given to me when I retired, by the Elevator Department of R. H. Macy & Com- pany, Inc. A card, bearing the following inscription, accompanied the gift:

^ Sparks, July, 1926. '^'/'ar^^, June, 1926.

SONGS OF THE SALESLADY 261

It's queer how folks you'd never miss,

It seems, can always stay — And folks you like and want so much

Must always go away. Doesn't seem right to me, you know,

I guess it's 'cause I miss you so!

Mr. Arthur Love made the presentation, saying that as he and I had both worked in the old 14th Street Store, it was very fitting that he should be the one.

I cannot find words to express my appreciation of the sentiment and thought which prompted them in making this gift to me, and hope that each man will read these few lines to know how I feel and how pleased I am with the beautiful flower vase.

With kind thoughts and best wishes to all, I remain

Very sincerely,

Lena M. Rabenau

INDEX

"Ace," 199, 211; definition of, 30 Advancement, 191 f. See also

Awards; Promotions Ages of salesladies, 4, 28 Agnes, her story, 11 2-21 Amusements, 83 f., 104, 139 S. See

also Comedy; Recreation Appearance of the saleslady, 5, 85,

103, no, 150, 214 f. Awards and honors, 192, 200 f.,

208 ff. See also Promotions

"Boy friends," 32 f., 95, 129, 137.

See also Friend Buyers (department-store), 193-96,

213 f., 236 f.; home life of, 2, 237;

problems of, 233 f.; salary of, i, 2,

193

Cafeterias for employees, 22 f., 92. See also Restaurants

Carrol Club, the, 176

Celebrities, 95 f.

Character changes due to occupa- tion, vii, viii

Charity office, 201

Charge accounts for salesladies, 96

Children of working women, 31, 36, 120, 130 ff., 224 f.

Church-going, and the working girl, i6s

Class-consciousness, 79

College men and women in the stores, 195, 206 f.

Comedy, 39 f., 74 flf.

Commissions, 65, 83, 198

Comparison department, 197 f.

Customers, 46-59, 90 f., 95 ff., 203

Cost of Uving (an example), 180 ff.

Democracy in a department store, 171

Department store, the, and the indi- vidual employee, 70

Dinner with the ehte, 227-42

Discharges, 84, 191

Discount, employees', 182

Divorce, 166 f.

Donnelly, Antoinette, 214

Donovan, Frances R., 177

filite, dinner with the, 227-42 Employment department, 4 ff. Employment manager, 5, 6 ff., 196,

204, 205, 206 Examination: mental, 9 ff., 18;

physical, 10 ff. Extra sales force, 202 Errors in sales, 67 ff. See also Red

rubber bands

Feet of the saleslady, 12, 18, 19, 28,

41. See also Physical discomfort Fifth Avenue shops, 85 ff., 100 "Firing" of workers, 84. See also

Discharges Friend: a girl-, loi-ii, 125 ff.; a

man-, 32 f., 95, 104 f., 106, no,

120, 127, 129, 134

Getting a job, 4-18

"Girl," the name for every sales- woman, regardless of age or status, 4,28

Girl, the, and the store, 188-215

Girl friend, a, lol-ii, 125 ff.

Girls, personalities and problems of department-store workers, 29-45

Good Housekeeping, 203

265

266

THE SALESLADY

Hand bags: experiences of selling, 85-100; protection of employees', 20

Harper^s Bazaar, 203

Health, 199 f.

Henry, O., ix, 176

Home life, 31, 36, 106 ff., 112 ff., 176-87

Honors for conspicuous work, 192

Hotels for working girls, 176

House Beautiful, 203

House-organ, 151, 168, 171

Hungerford, Edward, 178

Independence of working-girl, 177 f. Instruction, 18, 60, 64. See also

Training Intelligence, ix, 189, 190, 191; tests

of, 9 ff., 18 Inventory, 71-79

Jews, 237, 238

Job: getting a, 4-18; quitting the,

80-84 Junior League, the, 176

Klara, a week-end with, 139-48

Labor troubles, 202 Labor turnover, 202, 204 Library, in store, 201 Life-history of a department-store

worker, 172-75 Living, girls' problem of earning, i f. Living-quarters, 3, 103, 107, 112,

179 ff. Loan fund, 201 Locker room, 19, 85 Lunches, 22 f., 72, 92, loi, 200

Macy & Company, R. H., 150, 154,

155, 251, 260 Make-believe drama, 74 ff. Marriage, ix, i, 2, 4, 83, 162-71, 177,

216

Medical examination, 10 ff. Mental strain, 21, 28 Model, the, 33 n. Mondays, 65 Mutual aid associations, 201

New York City, 3, 122-27, 171

Occupation and personality, vii

Part-time work, 8, 19 "Passes," 71, 92 Pencils, 93 Pension systems, 201 Personahties : and problems of sales- ladies, 29-45, 94 f., 112 ff., 122-38;

and shop talk, 128-38 Personality: definition of, vii; of the

saleslady, 197 ff. Personnel managers, 163 f., 204, 205,

206, 207 f. Physical discomfort, 18, 28, 41,

72 ff., 92. See also Feet Poems of the saleslady, 254-60 Policy, trade, 44 f . 'Tremiums," 25, 61, 63, 64 f., 192 f.;

definition of, 62 Price markdowns, 31, 42-44 Promotions, 191 f., 193, 196, 217,

221 ff. Psychological examinations, ix. See

also Examinations

Quitting the job, 80-84, 202

Reasons for this study of the sales- lady, 1-3

Receptionist, the, 12 ff., 190

Recreation, 149-61; rooms for, 200. See also Comedy

Red rubber bands, 25, 60-70, 192 f.

Reference works regarding the sales- lady, 3

Restaurants for employees, 200. See also Cafeterias

INDEX

267

Restroom, 82. See also Recreation;

Washroom Retirement, 217 f. Romance, 162-71, 172 ff. See also

"Boy friends" Romance of a Great Store, The, 178

Salary, 83, 103, 183, 193, 196, 197; of stenographer and saleslady con- trasted, 2 Sales procedure. See Training Saleslady: the new type of, ix; per- sonalities and problems of, 29-45, 94 f., 112 ff., 122-38; the ready-to- wear type, 68; what becomes of the saleslady, 216-26 Secretary, the, and marriage, i, 2 Section manager: duties of, 25, 27,

61, 65, 99; song of the, 249 SelHng Review Committee, 191 Selling temperament, the, 197 f. Shop talk and personalities, 128-38 "Shopgirl," an obsolete expression,

160 f. "Signs" (a song), 244 f. Smith, Adam, vii Songs of the saleslady, 243-61 Sparks, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 158, 164, 165, 168, 169, 170, 243, 244, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 256, 257, 258, 260 Stenography, i, 2, 205 Stock, care of, 88 f., 93 Store, the, and the girl, 188-215 Store Chat, 246, 258, 259, 260

Strawbridge & Clothier (Phila- delphia), 246, 258, 259 Style adviser, the, 36 f. Supervisor, the, 135 f. Survey, 183

Tenements, 3, 180, 184 ff.

Thomas, Dr. W. I., viii

Training, 19-28, 66, 91, 196. See also

Instruction Training-Squad, the, 20 Transfers from one department to

another, 37 ff., 66, 122 f., 126, 129,

191 f. "Twenty-one Years in a Department

Store," a life-history, 172-75

Vacations, 192, 200 f. Vogue, 203

Wages. See Salary

Wash day, the working girl's, 165,

184 f. Washroom, 86. See also Restroom Webster House, the, 176 Week-end with Klara, a, 139-48 What becomes of the saleslady?

216-26 Woman, a new type of, viii Woman Who Waits, The, ix, 177 Women in the various store posi- tions, 234, 235 f. Women's Wear, 208, 211, 213 Wren, Thomas, 178

Y.W.C.A., 176

IT printed"]!

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