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The first morning at the bleachery the foreman led me to the narrow space in the middle of three large heavy tables placed “U” shape, said, “Here's a girl to ticket,” and left me. The foreman knew who I was. Employment conditions at the bleachery were such that it was necessary to make sure of a job by arranging matters ahead of time with the manager.
In short, he was a nephew whose peer could not be found in all Sweden, and who knows whether the piece of linen he chose from the bleachery was the last he received from his indulgent aunt.
Everybody was pleased and satisfied. Charlie, the groom-to-be, got a friend with a Ford to take the shower home. The last night of all at the Falls I spent at my second Board of Operatives' meeting, held the first Friday night of each month. The Board of Operatives is intended to represent the interests of the workers in the bleachery.
Oh, it was too good to be true, after New York! Hall and I were talking about the bleachery on our way to work one morning. Mrs. Hall had been a forelady in a New York private dressmaking establishment. She had what is called “style and personality.” Her wages in New York had been thirty-five dollars a week, and she had much variety and responsibility, which she loved.
Nice girl, I was. Evidently he, too, had evolved a moral equivalent for a living wage. Little kindly personal attentions were his share for anything not adequately covered by twelve dollars and fifty-six cents. No. 536 Tickets Pillow Cases Ah, one should write of the bleachery via the medium of poetry!
Swift as a bleachery, and through her industry and carefulness she succeeded in making her linen snow-white, so that all the housewives of that village and neighboring town brought her their linens to bleach. In this way Joseph Swift and his good little wife earned their daily bread and a little more to lay by for time of need.
Trent knew to a certainty of Mr. Swift's honesty, he gave him the position of treasurer in his large business enterprises. This position was accepted, and Mr. Swift transferred his bleachery and vineyard to the care of his eldest son. With his wife and the other members of his family he then moved to a house adjacent to the Trents.
Sunday baseball—that day our bleachery team played the Keen Kutters—pained Mr. Welsh. The Methodist minister before this one had been a thorn in the flesh of his congregation. He frankly believed in amusements, disgraced them by saying out loud at a union service that he favored Sunday baseball. Another minister got up and “sure made a fool of him,” thank goodness. Where was the renegade now?
Mamie had been to the lake twice in all her life. It was good for canoeing, rowing, fishing, swimming, and, best of all, just for the eyesight. Yet to the great majority it did not exist. The bleachery, through its Partnership Plan, ran a village club house on Main Street. The younger boys, allowing only for school hours, worked the piano player from morn till night. There was a gymnasium.
It was explained that Vassar College and a woman's club were making it possible for two bleachery girls to go, with all expenses paid. Out of 184 eligible girls four signed up as being interested. One of those later withdrew her name. The two chosen were Bess and Margaret, as fine girls as ever went to any college.
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