He hustled around to the spool shelves where I was working.
“_Ach_, boxes! Here are two boxes. What more you want?”
Majestically, energetically, he dumped my black spools out of one box, my white spools out of the other—dumped them back with a flourish into the mess of unassorted dust and colors.
“Here are two boxes! What more you want?”
What redress had I for such a grievance except to wail at him: “My Gawd! my Gawd! I jus' put those spools in them boxes!”
“_Ach_, so!” says the boss. “Vell, put um back in again.”
With the sweat of my life's blood I unearthed a ragged empty box here, another there, no two sizes the same. After three days of using every minute to be spared from other jobs on those shelves, I had every single spool where it belonged and each box labeled as to color. How wondrous grand it looked! How clean and dusted! I made the boss himself gaze upon the glory of it.
Two days later it was as if I had never touched a spool. The boxes were broken, the spools spilled all over—pawing was again in season. Not yet quite so much dust, but soon even the dust would be as of yore.
“One cause of labor unrest is undoubtedly the fact that the workers are aware that present management of industry is not always 100 per cent efficient.”
So then, I framed up. Nor was it merely that I worked under difficulties as to space. Another of the boss's ideas of scientific management seemed to be to employ as few bright and useful girls as possible. He started with three. He ended with just one. From dawn to dewy eve I tore. It was “Connie, come here!” (Ada, the beadwork forelady.) “Connie, come here!” (The cutter.) “Connie, thread, thread, yes? There's a good girl!” (The beaders.) “Connie, changeable beads, yes? That's the girl!” “Connie, unframe these two skirts quick as you can!” “Connie, never mind finishing those skirts; I got to get this 'special' framed up right away!” “Connie, didn't you finish unframing those skirts?” “Connie, tissue paper, yes? Thanks awfully.” “Connie, did you see that tag I laid here? Look for it, will you?”
But the choice and rare moment of my bright and useful career was when the boss himself called, “Oh, Miss Connie, come _mal_ here, yes?” And when I got _mal_ there he said, “I want you should take my shoes to the cobblers _so fort_ yes?... And be sure you get a check ... and go quick, yes.” Whereupon he removed his shoes and shuffled about in a pair of galoshes.