Plain Jane and pretty Betty

Minutes, that seemed ages to Jane, passed.

Then the self-sufficient young person, who chewed gum so nonchalantly, returned and pointed with her thumb toward the open door.

“She’ll see you,” said the latter with a sigh of exquisite boredom. “Walk in!”

Jane was not sure she could walk. Her knees were feeling very wabbly.

She managed the distance to the door very creditably, however, pushed the door open, and stepped within the room beyond.

A gray-haired, bespectacled, sharp-nosed person sat very still in a chair near a desk. She looked up as Jane entered, frowned, and pointed toward the door.

“Shut it!” she commanded.

Hardly a very promising beginning, thought Jane.

Nevertheless, she obeyed the command and approached the desk with a firmer step.

She was about to speak when the grim-faced individual gave her a quick glance and said sharply:

“What is your business, young woman? Be quick, for I have a great deal to do.”

Jane had supposed the girl in the iron cage had explained her errand. It was a shock to find that she was to be forced to break the ice twice over.

“I’d like a position,” she said bravely. “I—I hope you have an opening. I’d try to be very careful and give good service.”

“Good gracious!” The spectacles glared at Jane as though she had committed some heinous offense. “Do I hear aright? Do you want to become a waitress—here?”

The emphasis on the “here” was so marked that Jane at once felt how presumptuous she had been even to think of such a thing! She faltered:

“I did hope that—that you might have an opening.”

“Well, I haven’t!” The words were snapped out smartly. “Next time please explain your business at the desk before you force your way in here and waste my time. It is valuable, young woman, though you may not know it.”

Jane did not stop to explain to this sharp-tongued woman that she had told her business to the girl at the desk and that the last thought in her mind was to force herself in anywhere.

She only wanted to get away from there.

She found her way blindly to the door, opened it, closed it, and stumbled through the store toward the entrance.

In passing the table where Betty Browning sat she stumbled over an uneven spot in the rug and lurched against the elbow of the pretty girl.

The latter cried out in annoyance as the coffee slopped over in her saucer. Instantly a waitress was at her side.

“I’ll get you a fresh cup, Miss,” said the girl, all solicitude for Betty and all hard looks for Jane. “It’s a pity some people can’t watch where they’re going!”

“Yes,” Jane heard Betty’s bored voice say as she opened the door, “isn’t it!”

Jane ran for two whole blocks and drew up at the corner of the second one rather out of breath but far more normal in mind.

“Well, I’ve got that out of my system,” she thought, trying to laugh and making a bad business of it. “Now I’ll try again. Better luck next time.”

But her confidence was severely shaken.

The attitude of the sharp woman with the spectacles was discouraging. She had not even given Jane a real answer to her request for a position. Of course what she had said was a plain enough refusal, but Jane’s sense of justice was outraged. The woman might at least have told her that she had no vacancy at the present but that she would keep her in mind and perhaps have a place for her at some future date.

As it was, she had been positively insulting. Hot color rushed to Jane’s face as she thought of the interview. And as though that were not enough, she had been awkward and gawkish before pretty Betty Browning again.

How quick the waitress had been to serve Betty—how quick to blame Jane!

Jane put a hand to her burning face and walked on swiftly.

There was all the difference in the world between Plain Jane and Pretty Betty. But she would show them—she would show them all yet!

She went to Greenville’s largest drygoods store then. She might be able to get a position there.

Mr. Grey, the proprietor, received her pleasantly enough but was discouraging when she mentioned her need of work.

“I’m sorry, my dear young lady,” he said. “But we have all the clerks we need. One of ’em might die and leave a vacancy, but that’s about the only chance there would be for you. And right now, they’re a pretty healthy lot.”

Jane understood that he meant this pleasantry in a kindly way, but it grated just the same. Jane was in no mood for pleasantries.

From this store she went to the Palace, Greenville’s one moving picture house.

“I thought you might need some one to give out tickets or to act as usher,” she said timidly to Max Rosenberg, the florid-faced, thick-lipped proprietor of the Palace.

Max Rosenberg was one of those men who think themselves charmingly humorous but are, in reality, only offensive. Jane left the place wearily, and without her position, feeling for the first time faintly apprehensive.

“Suppose I can’t get a job, after all?” she thought. “I always supposed any one could find work to do if they really wanted to do it badly enough. Now—where do I go?”

She went to many places during the remainder of that long afternoon and met with no success anywhere.

She was hot, tired, and hungry. Several times she had been on the point of returning home for a little rest and refreshment, but each time stopped herself with the thought that she would try one more place before giving up for the day.

“I won’t go home without something to do!” she told herself, and the more weary she became, the brighter burned her resolution.

At the corner of Cherry and Blossom Streets she paused for a moment to rest her feet. The afternoon was hot and she had walked a long way.

While she rested, a sign across the street caught her attention. She started and looked more closely.

This was Garwick’s Real Estate Agency. Jane had heard Mr. Powell speak of John Garwick as the most successful realtor in town.

She had not thought of applying to him for a position, principally because she had not thought of herself as being useful in a real estate office.

What made her think of it now was a feeling of desperation and a sign that had been inserted in one end of the street window. It was a large sign, blackly lettered. Jane had no difficulty in reading it from across the street. The sign said merely, “Clerk Wanted.” But that was enough for Jane.

Marshaling what was left of her courage and leaving herself no time for thought, Jane crossed the street and pushed open the door of Garwick’s Real Estate Agency.

Two men were in earnest conversation, heads close together, voices low.

Jane felt that she was interrupting and gasped an embarrassed apology.

The gray-haired man in the swivel chair near the desk glanced up at her and smiled pleasantly.

The black-haired man leaned back in the wicker chair and looked curious.

Jane’s face was red, but she could not back out now.

“What can I do for you?” asked the gray-haired man pleasantly.

“I—I saw your sign in the window,” Jane said. “I thought, perhaps——”

“It meant what it said and that I really wanted a clerk?” finished the gray-haired man, taking pity on her confusion. “Well, so I do. If you will be kind enough to take a seat while I finish my business with this gentleman, I will be very glad to talk to you.”

Jane sank down in one of the wicker chairs with a quick intake of breath that was almost a sob.

Here was something that seemed to hold out a little hope. She was grateful to John Garwick and loved him from that moment with the love of a child for the first person who has been truly kind.

If only she could suit him! If only she might be allowed to work for him!

Mr. Garwick’s business with the black-haired man was soon finished. The two seemed on the best of terms and parted in a very friendly manner.

When the door had closed upon his client, Mr. Garwick turned to Jane.

“Well, young lady,” he said, “so you saw my sign in the window. I presume you came in answer to it. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir!” Jane felt breathless. It was all she could do to speak at all. “I want a position so much, and when I saw your sign I thought—well, I thought maybe I might do your work. I’m willing to try very hard. Indeed I am!”

The half-bantering smile on Mr. Garwick’s face faded at the vehemence of her tone and his expression took on an answering earnestness.

“I believe you,” he said, and added slowly, as he continued to study Jane’s face: “I shouldn’t wonder if you are exactly the type of young person I want.”