A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [167]
Just before Labor Day, the boss called Francie into his private office and informed her that Miss Armstrong was leaving to be married. He cleared his throat and added that Miss Armstrong was marrying him, in fact.
Francie’s conception of a mistress broke and scattered. She had believed that men never married their mistresses—that they cast them aside like worn-out gloves. So Miss Armstrong was to become a wife instead of a worn-out glove. Well!
“So we’ll need a new city reader,” the boss was saying. “Miss Armstrong herself suggested that we…ah…try you out, Miss Nolan.”
Francie’s heart jumped. She, city reader! The most coveted job in the Bureau! There had been truth, then, in The Club’s rumors. Another preconceived idea gone. She had always assumed that all rumors were false.
The boss planned to offer her fifteen a week, figuring he’d get as good a reader as his future wife at half the salary. The girl should be tickled to death, too—a youngster like that…fifteen a week. She said she was past sixteen. She looked thirteen. Of course her age was none of his business as long as she was competent. The law couldn’t touch him—hiring someone under age. All he’d have to say was that she deceived him as to her true age.
“There’s a little raise along with the job,” he said benignly. Francie smiled happily and he worried. “Have I put my foot in it?” he thought. “Maybe she didn’t expect a raise.” He covered his blunder hastily. “…a small raise after we see how you work out.”
“I don’t know…” began Francie doubtfully.
“She’s over sixteen,” decided the boss, “and she’s going to hold me up for a big raise.” To forestall her, he said, “We’ll give you fifteen a week, starting…” He hesitated. No use being too good-natured. “…starting the first of October.” He leaned back in his chair feeling as gracious as God Himself.
“I mean, I don’t think I’ll be here much longer.”
“She’s working me for more money,” he thought. Aloud, he asked, “Why not?”
“I’m going back to school after Labor Day, I think. I meant to tell you as soon as my plans were settled.”
“College?”
“High school.”
“I’ll have to put Pinski on city,” he thought. “She’s getting twenty-five now, she’ll expect thirty and I’m right back where I started. This Nolan is better than Pinski, too. Damn Irma! Where does she get the idea that a woman shouldn’t work after marriage? She could keep right on…keep the money in the family…buy a home with it.” He spoke to Francie.
“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that. Not that I don’t approve of higher education. But I consider newspaper reading a darn fine education. It’s a good live ever-growing contemporary education. While in school…it’s merely books. Dead books,” he said contemptuously.
“I’ll…I’ll have to talk it over with my mother.”
“By all means. Tell her what your boss said about education. And tell her I said,” he closed his eyes and took the plunge, “that we’ll pay you twenty dollars a week. Starting the first of November,” he shaved off a month.
“That’s an awful lot of money,” she said in all honesty.
“We believe in paying our workers well so they stick with us. And…ah…Miss Nolan, please don’t mention your future salary. It’s more than anyone else is getting,” he lied, “and if they found out…” he spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “You understand? No washroom gossip.”
Francie felt gracious as she set his mind at ease by assuring him that she’d never betray him in the washroom. The boss started to sign letters, indicating that the interview was over.
“That’s all, Miss Nolan. And we must have your decision the day after Labor Day.”
“Yes, sir.”
Twenty dollars a week! Francie was stunned. Two months ago, she was