For the Advertiser.
LOCKED
OUT; OR A GLIMPSE AT
FACTORY
LIFE.
_________
BY JOE CONE.
________
It was seven o’clock
in the morning, and a grand, almost deafening chime of whistles filled the keen
frosty air in one of the manufacturing sections of Cambridge. Girls were
hurrying along the streets to reach the yard ere the large gates were closed.
The ponderous engine
in one of the large factories began to move; slowly at first, then faster and
faster till the flying shafting and the clatter of the machines told of another
day’s toil commenced. Hardly was the gatekeeper’s back turned when a neatly
dressed girl hastened down the street and stopped before the closed entrance.
Realizing the
situation a look of surprise followed by disappointment swept o’er her fair
young face. Locked out, on this her first day. “O dear,” murmured she; “what if
I should lose my place,” and she looked around in every direction to see if
there was no other way by which she could gain admittance, but none presented
itself.
Nothing save
disappointment and a row of tall pickets stared her in the face.
Henry Lamont, a
clever, easy going young mechanic, had slept a trifle later than usual that
morning, and, just as the girl was about to turn away, drew near to where she
stood. As soon as he was within speaking distance she looked at him appealingly
and said: “Is there no other way by which I may find my way into the factory,
sir? I promised the foreman that I would surely be on hand at seven,” and her
clear frank eyes rested innocently upon his face. “Whew!” ejaculated Lamont to
himself, “here is something out of the usual line;” then his ever mirthful
nature took possession of him; but he turned to her with a grave and earnest
countenance and asked: “Can you not climb over?” She glanced at the high fence,
then at him, as if half doubting his seriousness, then dropped her eyes to the
ground while the faint pink spot on either cheek deepened. To Lamont this was
something unusual and it immediately awoke his curiosity and imagination. He
took a key from his pocket and in an instant the large gate swung open and
allowed her to pass in. “Oh thank you,” said she, “how can I ever pay you for
your kindness?”
“By being late some
more,” answered he with a comical smile; then after directing her to a side
door by which she could ascend to the room where she was to work, without being
obliged to pass the office window, he stopped to exchange a few words with the
engineer. With a much lighter heart the girl hurried up the long flight of
stairs and stood half hesitatingly, gazing in through the doorway. “A bad
beginin’ miss,” said the foreman approaching her, “you’ll have to do better
here-after. “I’ll try to, sir,” answered she earnestly; “but I never worked in
a factory before and so did not understand about the gates.” He muttered
something about it being an old excuse, then directed her to where she was to
work. Many pairs of curious eyes followed her as she stepped gracefully across
the oil soaked floor and removed her outer clothing, but her whole attitude was
one of quiet and lady like refinement, and, tho’ attired in the plainest of
wearing apparel, her straight and willowy figure was admired by many and envied
by a few. Even the stern countenanced foreman allowed himself to glance at her
several times. But the work which she was about to learn was of a difficult
nature and demanded her closest attention, so she paid little or no heed to
what was going on around her. Nearly two hours had slipped by but she was so
occupied with her new duties that it seemed but a few moments since she had
entered the room, then, as if influenced by the workings of that strange, and
as yet unexplained mysterious impulse which actuates nearly every human being,
she glanced up suddenly and beheld Henry Lamont gazing at her admirably from
beside a large machine where he was seated.
Tho’ careless in
attitude, and clad in blue over-alls and jumper, with an old straw hat tilted
backward on his head, he made a picture that a woman would not refrain from
glancing upon a second time.
The moment their eyes
met a comical look stole into his face, which at the time was ornamented by a
wide smutch of machine dirt across the forehead. But the only sign of
recognition made by her was the dropping of her pretty head while that deep
flush again stole into her cheeks. “No doubt he is thinking of my friendly
suggestion to climb over,” said Lamont to himself; “it beats all how she has
kind of stirred me up anyway, but I suppose it’s
owing to the peculiar way that I came across her. But, my! she is pretty tho’,”
concluded he with several more furtive glances in her direction.
This little incident
had occupied but a moment’s time but it did not escape the notice of Jennie
Mix, with whom the new comer was learning. Lamont was a native of St. John’s,
N.B., but had left home in early youth to seek his fortune in Boston. He had
learned the machinists trade, and, as his habits were of the best, had
accumulated considerable money. This was suspected by many of the girls in the
shop with whom he was acquainted, and they, human like, considered him a good
catch. Jennie Mix was the foremost one to exert her wiles, but even she often
became nearly discouraged because of his lack of interest of being caught.
Several days went by
with nothing special taking place. Lamont was on the alert for any excuse to
approach the object of his thoughts, but none came.
He even allowed himself to be late on several occasions hoping to meet
her that way, but she was always on time. He dared not address her openly for
something in her manner forbade that; but each day it became more unbearable.
In a roundabout way he had learned her name; it was Christine Reid; she had
lately come from Yarmouth, N.S., with her widowed mother, and was living in a
poor but respectable part of Cambridge. They were very poor; the mother might
have earned a little at cloak making, but was in poor health, besides being a
stranger. This bit if information, which came from the foreman, was eagerly
drunk in by the young mechanic, and only increased his interest and admiration
for the young girl.
Christine, the quiet
and retiring, wasn’t proof against seeing some of his interest manifested
toward herself, and it gave her a slight sense of pleasure, though of course
she couldn’t have shown it; no, not for the world, and she glanced at him only
when quite sure that he wasn’t looking at her.
One morning, as
Lamont was seated by his machine, trying to think of some way to bring about an
acquaintance with Christine, an opportunity came in a most unexpected manner.
The work that the
girls did required the use of scissors, and he was called upon many times each
day to sharpen or repair them, and some of the older hands brought them in from
their homes to be put in order. In fact the young mechanic was in great demand
for things in that line, and was often called upon, no doubt, when they
required no repairing whatever. Christine, through seeing that it was the
custom of others, brought in a pair belonging to her mother and was trying to
persuade Jennie Mix to carry them to Lamont for her. Ordinarily this would have
been a great pleasure for her, but, upon a second thought, she concluded to oblige
Christine to carry them herself, while she would watch their actions. “If I’m
not mistaken, said she to herself, “they have met before.” “No,” said she, in
answer to her companion’s request; “each girl must take her own; you’ve no reason
to fear Mr. Lamont, I assure you; for he is an old friend of mine.” Christine
made no reply to this, but walked slowly down the room, and thought she dreaded
to approach him, she would hesitate no longer after what she had heard; besides
they were the only pair that her mother possessed and she wished to use them in
the afternoon. There was no help for it – go she must. Lamont saw her coming,
scissors in hand, and he knew her mission. Clutching a lever, he tried to look
intently at his work; but the warm blood surged to his face and left its
tell-tale mark; then, to, his hand trembled in a most provoking manner.
“Mr. Lamont,” said a
sweet voice at his elbow, “will you please sharpen these scissors? I brought
them from home; they are my mother’s.”
“I – why certainly,
with pleasure. I – “ but she was gone, and he stood – looking first at the
scissors, then at the retreating figure, and Jennie Mix saw, to her intense
displeasure, that both were covered with confusion and blushes.
“Aha,” muttered she, “it’s
worse than I thought, but I’ll see that she doesn’t stay here long,” and
Christine wondered why her companion had so suddenly changed in manner toward
herself. In a short time the scissors were splendidly ground, and Lamont
discovered that they were slightly bent and set about to straighten them.
“Her ma is very woman
like,” chuckled he, “and no doubt tried to pry open a barrel, or maybe tried to
split some kindling wood with them.” Then, was it the mysterious workings of
fate again, or because of his nervousness, that snap went the scissors in
twain?
“Well, I’ll be
hanged!” exclaimed he, “I’m in it now, sure. That means a new pair; well, so
much the better. I’m kind of glad it happened, after all.”
When Christine saw
them her chin dropped immediately. They were very poor and could ill afford to
spare the money for a new pair.
“Come, Miss Reid, don’t
look like that,” said the good-natured mechanic, with some of his embarrassment
removed, “I shall certainly procure some new ones this afternoon, and, if you
will allow me, I will bring them to you to-night.”
She did not exhibit
any objections; in fact, she hardly knew what to say; so she thanked him for
his trouble and he returned to his work. Jennie Mix, with eyes and ears alert,
drank in all that she could, which was enough to increase her determination to
be the means of getting Christine discharged, and from that time she made
continuous complaints to the foreman about the “green hands,” and tried
effectively to make the work doubly difficult.
True to his word,
Lamont journeyed to Boston that afternoon and purchased a new pair. Then came a
season of the most impatient waiting that he had ever experienced.
Already he had
learned the street and number, so when the hour dragged slowly round, he set
forth. Reaching the house, he entered the side door and ascended a dark and
narrow stairway. A tall, rather pleasant, thin-faced woman, of about middle
age, responded to his nervous rap. “You are Mrs. Reid, I presume,” said he,
raising his hat politely. “I have brought
you a pair of new scissors, in place of the ones I so awkwardly broke this forenoon.”
“You are very kind,
sir, I’m sure,” said she. “My daughter told me all about it when she came home,
and we are very sorry to have caused you so much trouble; but come in a moment,
sir; I wish to pay you for them.”
He accepted the
invitation with surprising quickness, but not for a moment would he think of
receiving any pay for the scissors. Christine was seated by a table reading a
volume of Dickens, in which she delighted, but immediately rose upon his
entering.
“Good evening, Mr.
Lamont,” said she; “I see you have kept your promise.”
“Oh yes, Miss Reid; I
always do that; but, you see, I’m very careful usually about the kind of
promises I make, however. In a case like this I make some very rash ones
sometimes.”
The three chatted on pleasantly
and in a short time felt quite well acquainted. Lamont proved to be an
interesting conversationalist, and he soon discovered that Christine was not
lacking in intelligence. The evening was far gone before he realized that he
had come merely to hand in a pair of scissors. But Christine did so much
resemble his ideal in her plain, well fitting black dress, and the genial
manner in which he was entertained was some homelike and welcome to him, that
he was oblivious to all, save his present and long-wished for situation. Before
he took his leave they had many laughs over their first meeting, and before he
had an opportunity to ask permission to call again, he received a cordial
invitation from both to do so. This he did, early and often, and, as a natural
result, in a week’s time they were head over ears in love with each other. At
the shop, however, they scarcely noticed one another, and Jennie Mix began to
wonder if she hadn’t been unnecessarily alarmed. But the mischief was already
done. The foreman had found much fault with Christine and she had begun to
despair of ever learning to do the work. Finally one day she did not put in an
appearance, and it was generally believed that she had given up the job. Lamont
said nothing, though he knew wherein the fault lay, and smiled to himself as he
saw how easily the man in charge was deceived.
One day, when Lamont
had occasion to pass the machine where Jennie Mix was at work, she stopped him
and said in tones calculated to melt an iceberg: “I see that the little beauty
whom we had here has left us.”
“I understand that
she has secured a position more suited to her taste,” said he.
“Well, I’m real glad,”
answered the fair schemer, with ill concealed earnestness. “I hope she will do
well.”
Lamont passed on with his large mirthful eyes full of fun, but it did not occur to Jennie Mix what the young mechanic meant till she missed him a few days later and learned that he was on his way to St. Johns on a blissful wedding trip.
East Cambridge, Mass.
Mar.
14, ’91.
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