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Updated: September 18, 2025
I stood you as long as it was my job to do it. God! what jobs we women have in this chivalrous world that honors women so much! but now that you can take care of yourself, I'll do the same." "What d' yuh mean?" "I mean this." She darted at the bed, yanked from beneath it her suit-case, and into it began to throw her toilet articles. Mr. Schwirtz sat upon the bed and laughed enormously.
She crept to an old family doctor and had a fainting joy to find that she had escaped contamination. "Though," said the doctor, "I doubt if it would be wise to have a child of his." "I won't!" she said, grimly. She knew the ways of not having children. The practical Mr. Schwirtz had seen to that.
Sixty or seventy salesmen, clerks, girls these Una was beginning to know. Finally, there was a keen, wide-awake woman, willing to do anything for anybody, not forward, but not to be overridden a woman with a slight knowledge of architecture and a larger knowledge of the way of promotion; a woman whom Una took seriously; and the name of this paragon was Mrs. Una Golden Schwirtz.
She discovered that an old acquaintance of his had offered him an eighteen-dollar-a-week job as a clerk in a retail paint-shop, till he should find something better. Mr. Schwirtz was scornful about it, and his scorn, which had once intimidated Una, became grotesquely absurd to her. Then the hotel-manager came with a curt ultimatum: "Pay up or get out," he said. Mr.
Hunt-that-is I've forgotten what her name was before Sandy married her why, I thought she'd split, laughing. She admired you a whole pile, lemme tell you; I could see that." Not unwelcome to the ears of Una was this praise, but she was properly deprecatory: "Why, she probably thought I was just a stuffy, stupid, ugly old thing, as old as " "As old as Eddie Schwirtz, heh? Go on, insult me!
Julius Edward Schwirtz, and all of them, except Una herself, had cigarettes and highballs, and Una confusedly felt that she was getting to be an Independent Woman. Then, in January, 1909, she left the stiff, gray scrub-rag which symbolized the routine of Mr. Troy Wilkins's office. In a magazine devoted to advertising she had read that Mr.
Ross in his mighty labors, yet at heart she was a shawled Irish peasant, or a muzhik lost in the vastness of the steppes; a creature elemental and despairing, facing mysterious powers of nature human nature. Mr. Julius Edward Schwirtz was a regular visitant at the flat of Mrs. Lawrence and Una. Mrs.
She found herself enthusiastic about most of the people she met at Truax & Fein's; she was glad to talk with them, to work with them, to be taken seriously as a brain, a loyalty, a woman. By contrast with two years of hours either empty or filled with Schwirtz, the office-world was of the loftiest dignity.
Una was sufficiently desirous of avoiding contention to keep to novels which portrayed life offices and family hotels and perspiratory husbands as all for the best. But now and then she doubted, and looked up from the pile of her husband's white-footed black-cotton socks to question whether life need be confined to Panama and Pemberton and Schwirtz. In deference to Mr.
Truax's tendency to courteous whining, it was doing its work squarely and quietly. That was fortunate. Offices differ as much as office-managers, and had chance condemned Una to another nerve-twanging Pemberton's her slight strength might have broken. She might have fallen back to Schwirtz and the gutter.
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