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Despite the fact that, with the support of Mr. Schwirtz as her chief luxury, she had only sixteen dollars in the world, she had faith that she would sometime take a woman's delight in dress, and a business woman's interest in it.... This had been an important hour for her, though it cannot be authoritatively stated which was the more important learning to dress, or learning not to be in awe of a Joline of Gramercy Park.
Schwirtz of the Lowry Paint Company, who had lunch with us and told me about the paint company Mr. Julius Schwirtz."
A sudden, frightened query as to what scornful disdain Walter Babson would fling at her if he saw her glorying in this Broadway circus with the heavy Mr. Schwirtz. A ghostly night-born feeling that she still belonged to Walter, living or dead, and a wonder as to where in all the world he might be.
Una was of neither sort for him, though for Walter Babson she might have been quite of the latter kind. Mr. Schwirtz could not understand her, and she was as sorry for him as was compatible with a decided desire to divorce him and wash off the stain of his damp, pulpy fingers with the water of life.
She was a "quitter." For half an hour she remained in the office, but she left promptly at five-thirty, though her desk was choked with work and though Mr. Ross telephoned that he would be back before six, which was his chivalrous way of demanding that she stay till seven. Mr. Schwirtz was coming to see her that evening. He had suggested vaudeville. She dressed very carefully.
As she lay awake, her job-branded mind could not keep entirely away from the office, the work she would have to do when she returned, the familiar series of indefinite worries and disconnected office pictures. But mostly she let the rustle of the breathing land inspirit her while she thought of Mr. Julius Edward Schwirtz. She knew that he was ungrammatical, but she denied that he was uncouth.
A defiant protest that she idealized Walter, that he wasn't so awfully superior to the Champs du Pom-Pom as this astral body of his was pretending, and a still more defiant gratitude to Mr. Schwirtz as she crawled into the tousled bed and Mrs. Lawrence half woke to yawn, "Oh, that you Gold'n? Gawd! I'm sleepy. Wha' time is 't?" §
I ain't got the pep I used to have. Not but what J. Eddie Schwirtz can still sell goods, but I can't talk up to the boss like I could once. I gotta feel some sympathy at the home office. And I by God deserve it way I've worked and slaved for that bunch of cutthroats, and now Sure, that's the way it goes in this world. I tell you, I'm gonna turn socialist!" "Ed listen, Ed.
Schwirtz, "but to-day, up here with you, I feel so darn good that I almost think I'm a decent citizen. Honest, little sister, I haven't felt so bully for a blue moon." "Yes, and I " she said. He smoked, while she almost drowsed into slumber to the lullaby of the afternoon. When a blackbird chased a crow above her, and she sat up to watch the aerial privateering, Mr. Schwirtz began to talk.
Without knowing precisely what she was trying to do, Una was testing Mr. Schwirtz according to the somewhat contradictory standards of culture which she had acquired from Walter Babson, Mamie Magen, Esther Lawrence, Mr.
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