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Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
Newspaper Page Text
We shrink from the criticism bf those who surround us. We look and long for their approval. We gain it, too, we girls of a great city who work, work, work and never play. Our mode of living is sanction ed by the masses, and therefore we should be content, they rea son. They never consider the price we pay for this hollow ap proval of -theirs. Our hands are calloused, our shoulders bent, our eyes are dim med. A dumb stupor envelopes us, and thus we work all day every day while the fine world spins around filled with splendor and luxury which we are too tired to observe. We grow to believe the glor ious green world is a gray work shop. We know nothing else. And as the neighbors ride by in their auto cars they cast their eyes in our direction and call us nice, conscientious little things. I have seen it and heard it for years. Aye, and believed it, too ! Then I was taken very ill. Oh, how could such a luxury as ill ness be granted a working girl? What a victorious day it was for me! But it was a fatal day, the world will say, for while I lay in my bed so weak I could scarcely raise my hand I beheld a beautiful vision. A visien of rest and ease, physical comfort and mental de velopment. I dreaded the time when I should be well again, and able to go back to the old work. But as my body grew stronger my mind grew stronger, too, and I resolv ed to make a bold, desperate strike for freedom. I was not the first, nor will I . be the last working girl who will , suddenly awaken to a, realization t of something better. Something better! Those words do not mean the same to all of us. To some girls fine clothes and costly jewels would suffice. To others "something better" would mean parties, lights and society. To me it means physical rest and mental development, unlim ited hours to lie on the green grass beneath the open sky, hours and hours and hours to dream beautiful poems and listen to songs sung by the angels. Every one of my ninety-five pounds of being is tired. Whether our great social system owes me a rest I know not nor care not.. I alone have called a strike. IqUiQf SHE KNEW Uncle Jack, who was visiting them for the holidays, wished to talk to Elizabeth's father at his office. He could not find the tele phone directory, and thus appeal ed to three-year-old Elizabeth for information regarding the tele phone number. "Elizabeth, what does mother ask for when she talks to daddy at his office?" he inquired. Elizabeth was wise for her days. "Money," she lisged. i i mwiiinnii'