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She seemed to be a personage. In her office she had a secretary who spoke of her with adoring awe, and when Una said that she was a personal friend of Miss Magen the secretary cried: "Oh, then perhaps you'd like to go to her apartment, at Washington Place. She's almost always home for tea at five."
He was followed by M. Magen, Secretary to the same society. The troops fired a salute over the grave, and took leave of the poet's remains with military honours. The immense crowd of mourners then slowly departed from the cemetery. Another public meeting took place on the 12th of May, 1870, on the inauguration of the bronze statue of Jasmin in the Place Saint Antoine, now called the Place Jasmin.
Una was finding not only her lost boarding-school days, but her second youth perhaps her first real youth. Though the questions inspired by the exceptional Miss Magen and the defiant Mrs.
Mamie Magen was the most highly evolved person Una had ever known. Una had, from books and newspapers and Walter Babson, learned that there were such things as socialists and earnest pessimists, and the race sketchily called "Bohemians" writers and artists and social workers, who drank claret and made love and talked about the free theater, all on behalf of the brotherhood of man.
"Good work, Golden. You're admitted!" "Say, Magen," said Mrs. Lawrence, "Golden agrees with me about offices no chance for women "
So might a freshman wonder, or the guest of a club; always the amiable and vulgar Lawrences are most doubted when they are best-intentioned. Una was relieved when she was welcomed by the four: Mamie Magen, the lame Jewess, in whose big brown eyes was an eternal prayer for all of harassed humanity.
"Magen admits that the world in general is a muddle, and she thinks offices are heaven because by comparison with sweat-shops they are half-way decent." The universal discussion was on. Everybody but Una and the nun of business threw everything from facts to bread pills about the table, and they enjoyed themselves in as unfeminized and brutal a manner as men in a café.
Her chief quarrels were with Mr. Truax in regard to raising the salaries and commissions of her assistant saleswomen. Behind all these discoveries regarding the state of being an executive, behind her day's work and the evenings at her flat when Mamie Magen and Mr.
Various were the Home Club women in training and work and ways; they were awkward stenographers and dependable secretaries; fashion artists and department-store clerks; telephone girls and clever college-bred persons who actually read manuscripts and proof, and wrote captions or household-department squibs for women's magazines real editors, or at least real assistant editors; persons who knew authors and illustrators, as did the great Magen.
As an East Side child she had grown up in the classes and parties of the University Settlement; she had been held upon the then juvenile knees of half the distinguished writers and fighters for reform, who had begun their careers as settlement workers; she, who was still unknown, a clerk and a nobody, and who wasn't always syntactical, was accustomed to people whose names had been made large and sonorous by newspaper publicity; and at the age when ambitious lady artists and derailed Walter Babsons came to New York and determinedly seized on Bohemia, Mamie Magen had outgrown Bohemia and become a worker.
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