Part 35 (1/2)
”Over there!” the girl pointed.
But all Myra saw was a black semicircle of girls leaning over some one invisible near the window.
”He's at his desk, and he's talking with a committee. You'd better wait till he's finished!”
This news choked Myra. Wait? Wait here? Be shut out like this? She was as petulant as a child; she felt like shedding tears.
But the girl at her side seemed to be playing the part of hostess, and she had to speak.
”What strike is this?”
The girl was amazed.
”_What strike_! Don't you know?”
Myra smiled.
”No--I don't. I've been out of the city.”
”It's the s.h.i.+rtwaist-makers' strike.”
”Oh! I see!” said Myra, mechanically.
”It's the biggest woman's strike that ever was. Thirty thousand out--Italians, Jews, and Americans.”
”Yes?” Myra was not listening.
Suddenly then the door was flung open and a well-dressed girl rushed in, crying shrilly:
”Say, girls, what do you think?”
A group gathered about her.
”What's up? What's the news? Don't stand there all day!”
The girl spoke with exultant indignation.
”I've been arrested!”
”Arrested! _You_!”
”And I didn't do nothing, either--I was good. What do you think of this?
The judge fined me ten dollars. Well, let me tell you, I'm going to _get something_ for those ten dollars! I'm going to raise--h.e.l.l!”
”You bet! Ain't it a shame?”
And the group swallowed her up.
Myra wondered why the girl had been arrested, and was surprised at her lack of shame and humiliation.