benches of those of the men who had gone out.She saw no place which did not hold a couple or a group of girls, and being too timid to think of intruding herself, she sought out her machine and, seated upon her stool, opened her lunch on her lap.There she sat listening to the chatter and comment about her.It was, for the most part, silly and graced by the current slang.
Several of the men in the room exchanged compliments with the girls at long range.
"Say, Kitty," called one to a girl who was doing a waltz step in a few feet of space near one of the windows, "are you going to the ball with me?"
"Look out, Kitty," called another, "you'll jar your back hair."
"Go on, Rubber," was her only comment.
As Carrie listened to this and much more of similar familiar badinage among the men and girls, she instinctively withdrew into herself.She was not used to this type, and felt that there was something hard and low about it all.She feared that the young boys about would address such remarks to her--boys who, beside Drouet, seemed uncouth and ridiculous.She made the average feminine distinction between clothes, putting worth, goodness, and distinction in a dress suit, and leaving all the unlovely qualities and those beneath notice in overalls and jumper.
She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels began to whirr again.Though wearied, she would be inconspicuous.This illusion ended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked her indifferently in the ribs with his thumb.She turned about, indignation leaping to her eyes, but he had gone on and only once turned to grin.She found it difficult to conquer an inclination to cry.
The girl next her noticed her state of mind."Don't you mind,"
she said."He's too fresh."
Carrie said nothing, but bent over her work.She felt as though she could hardly endure such a life.Her idea of work had been so entirely different.All during the long afternoon she thought of the city outside and its imposing show, crowds, and fine buildings.Columbia City and the better side of her home life came back.By three o'clock she was sure it must be six, and by four it seemed as if they had forgotten to note the hour and were letting all work overtime.The foreman became a true ogre, prowling constantly about, keeping her tied down to her miserable task.What she heard of the conversation about her only made her feel sure that she did not want to make friends with any of these.When six o'clock came she hurried eagerly away, her arms aching and her limbs stiff from sitting in one position.
As she passed out along the hall after getting her hat, a young machine hand, attracted by her looks, made bold to jest with her.
"Say, Maggie," he called, "if you wait, I'll walk with you."
It was thrown so straight in her direction that she knew who was meant, but never turned to look.
In the crowded elevator, another dusty, toil-stained youth tried to make an impression on her by leering in her face.
One young man, waiting on the walk outside for the appearance of another, grinned at her as she passed.
"Ain't going my way, are you?" he called jocosely.
Carrie turned her face to the west with a subdued heart.As she turned the corner, she saw through the great shiny window the small desk at which she had applied.There were the crowds, hurrying with the same buzz and energy-yielding enthusiasm.She felt a slight relief, but it was only at her escape.She felt ashamed in the face of better dressed girls who went by.She felt as though she should be better served, and her heart revolted.