In the six days which were left of her sentence, Yetta had time to read and reread all the books Walter had sent her, and to think her way to a surer footing in Life.

CHAPTER XVI

CARNEGIE HALL

The ten days when Yetta had nominally been in prison, but was really resting her body and improving her mind on the warden's pleasant lawn, had been great days for the vest-makers.

The sudden publicity which her arrest had given their Cause turned the tide in their favor. None of the English papers gave an accurate nor intelligent account of the struggle, but in a vague way the generally listless public came to realize that a picturesque conflict was raging on the East Side between hundreds of half-starved women and the Powers of Greed. One could hardly call it sympathy, for sympathy requires some degree of understanding. But the conviction became widespread that it was not a "fair fight." The pathos writers were daily turning out miniature _Uncle Tom's Cabins_. And the society writers continued to give s.p.a.ce to the new fad.

The strikers might have won considerable concessions without this fortuitous aid. They had tied up their trade for five weeks at the height of the rush season. Their enthusiasm and _esprit du corps_ had grown with hunger and persecution. Even the biggest bosses had begun to wonder if it would not be cheaper to make some compromise. But certainly the strikers would not have won so quickly nor so largely if this unexpected force had not come to their a.s.sistance. The judge in Ess.e.x Market Court no longer dared to be so high-handed. The hired thugs were afraid that every pa.s.ser-by was a reporter, every picket a society pet. The second day two of the bosses deserted the a.s.sociation of Vest Manufacturers and settled with their forces. Once started, the stampede became general; every day more shops settled, and by the time Yetta was discharged the strike was practically over.

It was four o'clock of a Thursday afternoon when she was given back her own clothes and told that she was free. As she waited on the Island dock for the ferry to carry her across an unexpected wave of fear came over her. The city beyond the river looked hostile to her. Sooner or later the vest strike would end. What should she do then? She knew that the "strike" would not be over for her--it would last as long as she lived.

But where was she to live, how was she to gain a living? How could she get the chance to study, which she felt to be her greatest need? This last was what troubled her most. It did not matter where she slept nor what she ate, but she needed the knowledge which is power. As the tug fought its way against the current and the city came closer and closer, it looked to her like some jealous monster which stood guard over a great treasure. Somehow she must do battle with it, for the prize must be hers. She felt herself very weak, and her armament seemed pitiable.

On the New York dock she found Mabel and Walter and Mrs. Karner waiting for her.

"Yetta, Yetta," Mabel laughed and cried, with her arms about her.

"Remember what a crowd of girls came up to welcome the first ones who came out? Why do you suppose they're not here to welcome you? They're back at work. We've won! We've won!"

Yetta opened her big eyes very wide, but her heart was too jerky for her to speak. Over and above the joy of the dear victory was the exhilaration of friendship. It seemed as though these three friends had come down to meet and arm her for the fight for the treasure. Mabel's embrace was like armor, Mrs. Karner's kiss was a helmet, and in Longman's frank grip she felt a sword placed in her hand.

"Come on," Mrs. Karner said. "Climb into the motor. You're all going to have dinner with me. You've got to speak to-night, child--the biggest audience you ever saw--Carnegie Hall. They had lots of foolish plans to bother you, but I said 'No! I'll take her in hand and see that she gets a bath and clean clothes and a good meal and a little quiet to think out her speech.' Climb in."

As the car sped across the city, they explained to Yetta that Mrs. Van Cleave had donated the rent of Carnegie Hall--this before the strike had been won--and that, as all the arrangements were made, they had to have the meeting anyhow. It promised to be a big thing, as all those who were Mrs. Van Cleave's friends, or wanted to be, had scrambled for boxes, and all the two and one dollar seats had been sold.

Mrs. Karner was as good as her word. Once in the imposing house on Riverside Drive, she left Longman uncomfortably balanced on a Gothic chair in the library, and she and Mabel rushed Yetta into a bath even more dazzling than that which had so impressed her in the Washington Square flat.

"When any one gets herself arrested and wins a strike all by herself, and is going to make a speech to the Four Hundred, she has to let other people do things for her. So I got you some clothes."

At one of the meetings of the Advisory Council Mrs. Van Cleave had said, "Of course some one must see to it that she is decently dressed." Mrs.

Karner had volunteered to attend to that, and, talking it over with Mabel, who brought some of Yetta's scanty wardrobe as a model, they had arranged a simple, becoming suit of soft brown corduroy.

"If you're tired, you can take a nap. We'll wake you for dinner."

"No," Yetta said. "I ain't sleepy. I want to hear about the strike."

So they arrayed her in the new dress and fussed around with her hair and at last brought her out into the library. For a while the four of them discussed the strike.

"Yetta," Mabel asked, changing the subject abruptly, "what are you going to do now?"

They had to wait several minutes before she answered.

"I don't know. I've been trying to think about that. There'll be more strikes, and I want to help in them. When there ain't nothing like that to do, I want to study. I've got to study a lot. You see I ain't been to school since I was fifteen, and you've all been to college. Of course I can't never go to college, but I'd like to learn all I can.

"I don't know what I'll do. I'd like to keep on being business agent of my union, if they ain't elected n.o.body else. But they can't pay me nothing. I suppose I'll go back to the trade. I don't know no other way to earn money. But I'd like to get out of it so I could study. I want to know more, so I can be of more use. Yes. I've got to study. I'll have to think about it."

"Well, there are two things we've got to suggest," Mrs. Karner said. "I suppose I'd better tell her Mrs. Van Cleave's offer first. You see, Yetta, you've made a great hit with her, and she's got oodles of money.

She thinks you're very wonderful, just the way the rest of us do"--somehow Mrs. Karner's flattery was so kindly and laughing that it hardly made Yetta feel uncomfortable--"and she thinks you ought to have a college education. Look at the child's eyes open! Yes. It's true. She wants to pay all your expenses in preparatory school and Bryn Mawr. If you worked very hard, you could graduate in six or seven years. Mrs. Van Cleave really wants you to do it. n.o.body asked her to nor suggested it.

And she's very generous when she gets started. She'll give you a fat allowance, and you can dress just as well as the other girls. Miss Train and I have both been to college and we know what fun it is. Dances and all that. And it's nice to have good clothes. It's a great chance.

You've got brains and lots of common sense, and you don't have to worry about any of the other girls being better looking than you are. You'll probably spend your vacations with Mrs. Van Cleave. You'll like as not marry a mil--"

Yetta knew that Mrs. Karner was mocking.

"Is it a good college to study?" she asked.

The two women were silent. Mabel was from Wisconsin and Mrs. Karner had gone to Mount Holyoke. Neither thought very highly of the college of Mrs. Van Cleave's choice. Longman answered the question.

"There isn't any woman's college in the country which has a higher standard of scholarship. It is one of the best there is in that way. If you want to be a 'scholar,' if you want to go in for Greek or mathematics or one of the sciences, a degree from Bryn Mawr is something to be proud of. But most of the girls are rich. I don't mean that they would be unkind to you. With Mrs. Van Cleave back of you, you don't need to worry--they'd probably go to the other extreme. But I don't believe you'd find many of the girls--or many of the faculty--interested in the problems of working people. Mrs. Van Cleave is very kind, but I think even she is more interested in you than in 'strikes.' As I say, if you want to be a 'scholar,' it's a good place. But if you want to be a labor agitator, if you want to fight for freedom, I don't think Bryn Mawr would help you much."

The excited glow in Yetta's eyes, the heightened color of her cheeks, died out.

"What's the other offer?" she asked. "You said there were two."

"Oh, it isn't any fairy G.o.dmother proposition, my dear Cinderella," Mrs.

Karner said. "It's just everyday work. Nothing so fine as a college degree. It's in Miss Train's line, so she'd better tell you."

"No, Yetta," Mabel said. "This other offer is a pretty drab-colored affair. You know my old plan to try to ally all the garment workers, vests and coats and pants and cloaks and overalls, all in one big federated union like the building trades. Well, this vest strike has been so successful, I've been able to interest some of the ladies in my bigger scheme and they've put up the money so the league can hire a new organizer. It isn't as much as you could earn at the machine, but it is enough to live on. We all think you'd be the ideal person. You could keep on as business agent for the vest-makers. I know they want you, and even if they can't pay you anything, it would give you a standing with the Central Federated Union and even among the unorganized workers. They all know about how this strike won, and there's sure to be others soon.

Of course there would be lots of work, but the ladies would be willing to let you have your mornings free to study. It isn't like going to college. But if you really want to educate yourself, you could do it.

We'll all help you. I don't want to urge you. I want you to do the thing you think is best for yourself. And Mrs. Van Cleave's offer is very generous. But you know how much I would like to have you working with me in the League."

Yetta got up and went to the window. She knew that all the eyes were fixed on her back. She knew what they were thinking, and she resented it. They had all had a college education given them as a matter of course. They could not know what it meant to her. She could not get her wits together under their silent regard.

"I guess I'll go and lie down till dinner," she said. "I must think--about to-night's speech."

When she had disappeared, Longman broke out.

"Why can't you women be frank and say what you think? Mrs. Karner's proposal is better than Mrs. Van Cleave's. She'll make a horrible mistake if she ties up with a lot of millionnaire sn.o.bs."

"Mabel," Mrs. Karner said solemnly, "let us keep perfectly still and listen to some man-wisdom."

In the face of this jibe, Longman had nothing more to say.

"Does the lord of creation think," Mrs. Karner went on, "that little Yetta Rayefsky is only deciding whether she'll go to college or not?"

"Well, for G.o.d's sake, why don't you try to help her instead of making it harder for her?"

"Has the philosopher not yet discovered that some things are not decided until one decides them alone? Saint Paul had to go off to Arabia.

Yetta's gone to my guest-room. You can help a person pay her rent and, if you've lots of tact and taste and insight, you can help her choose a becoming hat, but you can't help a person to do the brave thing."

"That's witty," Longman said sourly. "But I didn't happen to be joking."

"When we want to vote, Mabel, the men say we have no sense of humor. But now he accuses me of joking--and apparently," she said after a pause,--"he thinks Yetta doesn't know just how we feel."

The subject of their conversation had not lain down, she had curled up in a big chair drawn up before the window, looking out across the Hudson to the setting sun over the Palisades. She was trying desperately to understand the fable of the fox and the grapes after it is turned inside out. The enticing bunch was in easy reach. Were the grapes really sour?

It was nearly an hour before they called her, but she had not yet begun to think out what she should say at Carnegie Hall.