Indianapolis Times, Volume 42, Number 107, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 September 1930 — Page 20

PAGE 20

c Tle<\r I jTlundPv &/ O 1950 >6y NEA^RVICE /\UC

(Continued from Page 1) •he Big Chance, but so far none of them had been. So far Celia Rogers, who was 17 (going to be 18 next month), a graduate of Western high school, possessor of a two weeks’ old diploma and recommendations from her commercial instructor, had visited one business place after another without avail. That was why she was spending the afternoon of this “hottest July day on record’’ tramping the downtown streets of Baltimore answering advertisements. Celia looked out of place in such surroundings. Her flushed cheeks were slightly moist, but the little silver vanity case which had been ripened a dozen times, could not repair the damage of burning sunshine, heat waves reflected from cc-

Gone, but Not Forgotten

Automoblles reported to police as stolen blonz to; Lynn Atkinson. 1454 Blaine avenue. Chrysler coach. 736-743. from in Iront of O. and J. Tire Company. Otto Nater. 117 Eazle drive. Overland aedan. 765-718. from Sorinz and St. Clair afreets. Charles R Woods. 4312 Oraceland. Bulck sedan. 61-052, from St. Clair and Meridian streets. B. W. Nichols. 21 North Tremont avenue. Ford coupe. 762-793. from rear of 21 North Tremont avenue. Grey Green. 635 East McCarty street. Ford coupe, 81-950. from South East street In front of Van Camp Packinz Company. James E. Babcock. 5508 Carrollton avenue. Bulck sedan. 65-380. from zarage In rear of 5506 Carrollton avenue. Fent-A-Car Corporation. 25 Kentucky avenue. Ford roadster. 334-315. from Washtnzton street and Senate avenue.

BACK HOME AGAIN

Stolen automobiles recovered by police belonz to; lewis Jones, 601 Exter avenue. Whippet coach, found at 1033 North Pershinz avenue. Clarence Zintel. Carmel. Ind.. Ford coach, found at 700 North Talbott street. Henry Loschkv. 2214 Union street. Ford coune. found at Pennsylvania and Washlnzton street. James Swaney. 1327 Mansfield avenue. Auburn coupe, found at St. Clair and Meridian streets. CLOSE IN ON REBELS Turkish Troops Corner Kurdish Tribesmen Near Mt. Ararat. By United Press ISTANBUL, Turkey, Sept. 12. Turkish troops battling Kurd tribesmen on the Persian frontier closed in on the last band of rebels today in a snow-bound region near Mount Ararat.

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ment pavements arid the torturing' still air. The brown hair which should have been a soft, waving frame about her young face, was curled into damp wisps, showing below the brim of her cheap straw hat. The blue linen suit, so fresh and crisp that morning, was limp and crumpled. Worst of all (Celia had not noticed this; was a runner all of three inches long down the back of one of her precious silk hose. Celia turned a corner, pausing beneath an awning to wipe trickling beads of perspiration from her neck. “Whew!” she sighed, and seemed to And relief in the sigh. In the window before her were pasted half a dozen stickers: “Try Our Special Sundae,” “Cool Off With Clover Club,” “Fresh Fruit Freeze,” and others. Through the door an electric breeze came, blowing Celia’s skirt back. Girls in pretty pastel dresses stood inside, laughing with a young man clad in white. Celia knew the young man. Her small chin lifted and her shoulders straightened. She walked away rapidly. The girl’s brown eyes, which were nearly as large, nearly as deeply expressive as Margaret Rogers’ own, betrayed the effort at determination. Margaret Rogers was Celia’s mother. To Margaret her daughter’s fresh loveliness was beauty of the rarest order. This was an exaggeration, of course. The mother’s eyes, tired by hours and hours of sewing, saw the piquant nose and well-molded chin, the softly curved figure and the girl's slim grace and saw them all through the eyes of love. She thought her daughter beautiful. There were others, though, who would have agreed readily that Celia Rogers, away from the broiling sidewalks, was attractive enough to be singled out in almost any gathering. It was Celia's pretty face which had led Helen Spencer to treat her as r confidante, though the two never met except In classrooms. For tyo years “Spencer” had followed directly after “Rogers” on high school class rolls, and an odd sort of intimacy had developed between the two girls. Helen’s father was a member of the city’s most important financial group. Celia was the daughter of a fitter in a Charles street dress

shop. Celia’s mother had earned those few coins remaining in the girl’s purse. For a long time now Mrs. Rogers had earned every cent which had paid for food and lodging for herself and her daughter. b a a SO, though Celia and Helen Spencer had sat side by side in French classes and during ordeals of mathematics and chemistry, and though Celia could describe all of Helen’s party dresses and most of the parties at which they had been worn, she had not been invited to the Spencer home. She had not even expected such an invitation. Both girls were graduated now—i Helen setting off for Europe and Celia hunting work. If there was a trace of bitterness in the girl’s face as she hurried along the hot street, it should be forgiven. Bitterness comes so easily to those for whom the chance to work is an unobtainable luxury. Celia Rogers’ lunch had been a glass of milk and sandwich eaten at a soda fountain counter. The three little coins in her purse would have totaled less than the price of the rich mixture of fruits and cream which Helen Spencer was consuming at that moment. Celia turned again into a side l street. Half way down the block I she hesitated before a brick office J building, glancing up at the number over the doorway. Yes, this was the place. She entered. “Watkins Letter Company” was the name Celia hunted for on the office directory board in the lobby. She found it. The Watkins Letter Company was located, according to the directory, on the fourth floor of the building. The girl signaled for the elevator and a few seconds later stepped into the fourth floor corridor. “Third door to your left, ma'am,’’ the languid, dark skinned elevator operator volunteered, pointing toward an open door Celia nodded. Suddenly there was something tight in her throat and she felt her temples bounding. The feeling was familiar. It was always this way just before screwing up courage to step out bodly before the unknown person who would be waiting on the other side of the threshold and make the familiar little speech. It was all wrong. Celia knew that perfectly well. She had been told dozens of times about the value

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

of confidence, the importance of the “approach” in asking for employment. At school the commercial Instructor regularly coached her classes on these subjects. Celia had learned the lessons, but * lw 'v wouldn’t work. j popped back the lid of her silver vanity case, dabbed at her gleaming nose with the tiny powder puff and tried ineffectually to rearrange the straggling wisps of hair. No use! She looked a wreck and knew it. Suddenly her lips set in a firm line and she hurried down the hall. Celia paused in the open doorway. She saw' a large room before her, light though the shades were pulled at one side. Beyond a wooden railing several girls worked at typewriters. Inside the railing at a desk facing the entrance sat a girl with red hair. She was reading a book. Four feet away an electric fan buzzed loudly, drowning out the sound of Celia's footsteps. B tt B NO one took any notice of the girl in the doorway. Celia cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Excuse me. Is this the office of the Watkins Letter Company?” The red-haired girl raised her eyes. “This is it. Who’d you want to see?” Celia's coaching in business approach was corain back to her. “Why—l—is the manager in?” A cold, gray stare countered this. The girl at the desk smoothed back a stray tendril of carefully marceled hair before she answered. She eyed Celia impersonally. A dress of vivid green georgette seemed to make her all the more formidable. “Mr. Norton’s busy,” she said. “What you want to see him about?” There was no help for it. It would have to come out. “I wanted to ask about a position. I'm a stenographer,” Celia blurted out. Her cheeks burned. She didn’t like the woman in green. “Oh, you want a job!” The woman shifted to a tone of snappy efficiency. “Mr. Norton isn’t the one to see about that. Sit down in that chair there and I’ll give you a blank to fill in.” It didn’t sound promising. Celia Rogers had filled in employment blanks before.

“But—there is a vacancy here, isn’t there?” she persisted. The red-headed one nodded. She handed Celia a sheet of paper bearing a printed form and continued to study the girl openly. “Yeah, there’s a vacancy. The job’s takin’ letters and some office work. There’s been several in ahead of you, though. Fill in the blank and put down your telephone number. They’ll call you if they want you.” Celia looked at the blank, moved uncomfortably. “But couldn’t I see the man who hires people?” “Sorry,” the other shook her head firmly. “Just fill in the blank. They’ll let you know if they want you.” It didn't seem fair. She wasn’t even being given a chance! With careful penmanship Celia filled in the card before her, since there seemed nothing else to do. She was not helped by the knowledge that the young woman at the nearby desk continued to eye her curiously. “Name," “Parent or Guardian,” "Education,” “Place Where Last Employed.” These were some of the words printed on the card. They were all answered quickly except the last one. In more than one office lack of experience had cost Celia a job. She had thought these last desperate days of inventing names of past employers. She gave up the idea because, after all, Celia Rogers was well equipped with common sense. Now she stared at that blank line and then wrote in her neat hand, “No previous experience.”

CELIA had received high grades in the commercial classes at Western. She had won honors at speed tests and practiced hour after hour at home. Miss Willis, the instructor, had said there was no question that she was qualified for a commercial position. ‘ When do you think I may hear?” she asked the girl at the desk as she returned the sheet of paper. “Oh, tomorrow —maybe next day.” The older woman was reading what Celia had written. Suddenly she pounced cn the line headed “Experience.” “No experience, huh! Well, why didn’t you say so? • This office is only for very experienced, highspeed workers. They won’t have any other kind. No need of your leaving this here!” “You mean—l haven’t got a chance?” Suddenly Celia Rogers saw red. “The ad in the paper didn’t say that,” she answered hotly. “The ad said this office wanted a stenographer. I can work as fast as lots of girls who’ve been out of school two years. If I could only see the man and show him how fast I can type ” It was without effect. The redhaired young woman smiled perfunctorily and with an air of aloofness returned to her book. Celia started to leave, then turned back. “Will you see that that blank I

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filled in goes to the manager—or whoever does the hiring?” "Why, of course, dearie.” The green goddess’ second smile was even more devastating. Seven-teen-year-old Celia departed in haste. When she was again in the lobby, which was shadowy, the girl brushed her hand against smarting eyelids. She had to do this a second time before she felt ready to step into the street.

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A clock on the big tower a block away gave the hour as ten minutes of 4. It would be no use to hunt further that afternoon. Celia turned her steps homeward. BUM IT was nearly two hours later that Margaret Rogers climbed the two flights of stairs leading to the third floor rear rooms which she and her daughter occupied. She climbed slowly, stopping on the

second floor landing to rest before starting up the last flight. The stairway was dark. It was

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_SEPT. 12,-1930

hotter than the street had been, and the air reeked of a dozen fetid (Turn to Page 21)