In the office a few nondescript women sat scattered about on the long rows of chairs. Some were plainly uninterested, others wore an air of acute expectancy, which disturbed Helga. Behind a desk two alert young women, both wearing a superior air, were busy writing upon and filing countless white cards. Now and then one stopped to answer the telephone.

“Y. W. C. A. employment. . . . Yes. . . . Spell it, please. . . . Sleep in or out? Thirty dollars? . . . Thank you, I’ll send one right over.”

Or, “I’m awfully sorry, we haven’t anybody right now, but I’ll send you the first one that comes in.”

Their manners were obtrusively business-like, but they ignored the already embarrassed Helga. Diffidently she approached the desk. The darker of the two looked up and turned on a little smile.

“Yes?” she inquired.

“I wonder if you can help me? I want work,” Helga stated simply.

“Maybe. What kind? Have you references?”

Helga explained. She was a teacher. A graduate of Devon.3 Had been teaching in Naxos.

The girl was not interested. “Our kind of work wouldn’t do for you,” she kept repeating at the end of each of Helga’s statements. “Domestic mostly.”

When Helga said that she was willing to accept work of any kind, a slight, almost imperceptible change crept into her manner and her perfunctory smile disappeared. She repeated her question about the reference. On learning that Helga had none, she said sharply, finally: “I’m sorry, but we never send out help without references.”

With a feeling that she had been slapped, Helga Crane hurried out. After some lunch she sought out an employment agency on State Street.4 An hour passed in patient sitting. Then came her turn to be interviewed. She said, simply, that she wanted work, work of any kind. A competent young woman, whose eyes stared frog-like from great tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses, regarded her with an appraising look and asked for her history, past and present, not forgetting the “references.” Helga told her that she was a graduate of Devon, had taught in Naxos. But even before she arrived at the explanation of the lack of references, the other’s interest in her had faded.

“I’m sorry, but we have nothing that you would be interested in,” she said and motioned to the next seeker, who immediately came forward, proffering several much worn papers.

“References,” thought Helga, resentfully, bitterly, as she went out the door into the crowded garish street in search of another agency, where her visit was equally vain.

Days of this sort of thing. Weeks of it. And of the futile scanning and answering of newspaper advertisements. She traversed acres of streets, but it seemed that in that whole energetic place nobody wanted her services. At least not the kind that she offered. A few men, both white and black, offered her money, but the price of the money was too dear. Helga Crane did not feel inclined to pay it.