It was amongst these women that Norah started work.
“A new start!” exclaimed one, a little sallow-faced thing who looked as if she had been gradually drying up for several years, on seeing the new-comer. “Ye’ll soon get the blush oot o’ yer cheeks here, lass!”
“D’ye know that there are only three people in the worl’ when all is said and done?” another woman called to Norah. “The rag-picker, the scavenger, and the grave-digger are the three folk who count most in the long run.”
Everybody but Norah laughed at this remark, though all, save Norah, had heard it made a thousand times before.
“Ah! lass, ye’ve the red cheek,” said a bow-legged girl of seventeen.
“They’ll soon be pale enough,” another interrupted.
But they said no more, perhaps because Norah was so beautiful, and beauty calls forth respect in even the coarsest people.
The new start had many troubles at first. Being new to the work and unable to do as much as the other women, she was paid only five shillings a week. After a while the natural dexterity of her fingers stood her in good stead, and she became more adept at the rag-picking than anyone in the basement. Therefore her companions who had before laughed at her inexperience became jealous of Norah and accused her of trying to find favour with the boss.
But the girl did not mind much what they said; her one great regret was in being separated from her boy for the whole livelong day. Her breasts were full of the milk of motherhood, and severance from the little child was one of the greatest crosses which she had to bear.
The master seldom came near the place; it didn’t agree with his health, he said. He was a stout, well-built man with small, glistening eyes overhung with heavy red brows. The hairs of his nostrils reached half-way down his upper lip and he was very bald. When the women saw the bald head appear at the foot of the basement stairs, shining a little as the gaslight caught it, they whispered:
“There’s the full moon; turn yer money!” and one of the workers who was very fond of swearing would invariably answer: “There’s not much money in the pockets o’ them that’s workin’ in this damned hole!”
Whenever he came down into the rag-store he took the bow-legged girl to one side and spoke to her about something. The two seemed to be on very familiar terms and it was stated that the girl got a far higher wage than any of the other workers; ten shillings a week was paid to her, some hinted. Suddenly, however, she left the place and did not come back again: but now the master came down the stairs oftener than ever before. One evening just as work was stopping the moon-head appeared, shone for a moment under the gaslight, then came forward.