In Line with the ‘Spug’ Movement

— In Line with the ^Spug" Movement By Bertha A. Kleinmann Adelaide was a "spug," and this Christmas, if never before, was to be a safe and sane one. Time had been when Adelaide had lain awake nights wondering what and where and whom to "cut" in order to foot her Christmas lists and pay her obligations. This year she meant to give where she wished to give, and to pay her obligations on some other day in the year. It was not altogether that strenuous times at home had made her economical. It was not entirely that her father's bankruptcy and death the summer previous, placing upon her young shoulders the burden of a family to support, a mother and two hustling youngsters who must be kept in school, that had made her unselfish. These had much to do with it, but Adelaide was a girl of rare good sense and, moreover, she was a gamester. She had early announced to her little circle that she was remembering only her nearest and dearest-^her own dear self very much included. For Adelaide needed things. If only high — school had spelled out this, that happy time when, in a little spurt of family prosperity, she had pinnacled her ambitions away up in stardom, she would surely have lain in a supply of serviceables such as warmclads and sensible shoes. But her father's ruin had crashed out of a clear sky, and Adelaide found her reserve fund consisted chiefly of a few frumped up growns and a little battalion of satin dancing pumps. Great backing they for her strong resolution to put trifles behind her, and face at once the stern problem of bread-winning. She looked them — — over carefully, tearfully all the gauzy, lacy things trophies of her fox-trot days, and at once pronounced them quite as flimsy as her own mental attainments if kneaded into good hard motor value. High school days had given her a smattering of many things, but the whole category fell sadly out of alignment when it came to an adjustment of grocery bills and handling the family wash. It took some persuasion —it was triumph personified to win over her mother to the idea of all-day, every-day work. Why, Adelaide's mother would make you think that Adelaide's anatomy was slightly different from the anatomies of other girls, her corpuscles a litle bluer, her heart-strings tuned to a slightly higher key.

22 IMPROVEMENT ERA But the very zest and impetus of necessity kept Adelaide a-tingle and surcharged her head with plans. "Only let me land something worth while, mother, and who knows, —we may be spending Christmas in Arizona next year. Think of a Christmas without snow, where you can swing your hammock out under the peppers, and forget all about such things as a diminishing coal-bin and a chest protector." Adelaide's mother, whose failing health had begun to demand some such Mecca, smiled wanly as Adelaide chatted on. "You shall yet have your chicken ranch, mother, with great flocks of white turkeys on the side, with young calves feeding out of your hand and lambs bleating after you, and I shall buy me a real live Jersey and be the milk-station for all the hungry babies in the state." Yes, it read like a fairy tale, and it tided Adelaide bravely through those never-to-be-forgotten days when she tramped mile after mile of slushy pavements along with the legion and throngs of girls who go to make up the working fabric of a big city. Many of them were shockingly lacking in culture, many had never seen a high school, many were crass and crude, but Adelaide grew to envy them their very nimbleness of finger, their sprightliness of step, for only by dint of stress and strain had each become a factor, a cog, a spindle, in the great revolving loom of industry. She had dreamed of sumptuous office quarters where princely syndicates often employed girls at tempting salaries; of cloak room models, trailing their gorgeous finery for the admiration of wealthy patrons who came to fit and pad up and envy; she came to realize that smattering was over-crowded; that technique, skill and par-excellence only need apply. She was glad at the end of two weeks to take her place behind a ribbon counter in the big department store of Carter-Sells. It offered a brief respite, it would tide her through the holidays. Better things would come. The department head looked her over critically, much as she might have looked over a Christmas package whose bows and trappings needed prompt adjustment. "Wear only black. Keep your collars and cuffs immaculate, wear sensible shoes, register in at 8 a. m. Be quick, alert, polite, — patient, untiring, withal, 'make good.' It may lead to some- — thing permanent perhaps in the gloves or notions." Adelaide flushed. That would be nice. The store was magnificent.To be steadily employed there seemed suddenly to be the long-dreamed-for opportunity. She would "make good," and the resolution kept her unfagged through that first week when each day brought ever-increasing crowds with whom she must be patient and alert. If only her meager salary would

! IN LINE WITH THE "SPUG" MOVEMENT 23 have permitted of a slight margin, sufficient to have purchased some sensible shoes, she felt certain nothing could daunt her. But the long-drawn-out hours, eight of them, every day, and her feet fairly killing her every minute, and never a chance to rest. As the Christmas shoppers increased, the hours were increased, and she began to wonder if the general run of shopgirls were not made of different tether. Surely her mother was right. It was her anatomy that was at fault, at least the pedal action of it, for never were feet in such a plight She snipped off ribbon, yards, miles, of it, and tied bows and tucked in "Merry Christmas" cards till the very words became hateful to her. She breathed in the stifling reek of dense, congested throngs, till her head throbbed and a nausea crept over her that made food objectionable and sleep hard to coax. One night she dreamed all night of hospitals and operations, and in the morning awoke to a real sense of dull lassitude and dull ache, that resolved themselves into real suffering before the day was over, and that day was Christmas eve. The crowds came early. It seemed they swarmed to the ribbon counter. If they moved at all it was only to make room for more. Everyone in creation seemed crazy over Christmas ribbon, with "Merry Christmas" spelled all over it, everyone tying up senseless bundles that nobody wanted, till the very sound and savor of the words became a mockery and a hubbub. Once a senior girl interrupted her. "You look tired to death. We all know the feeling. Brace up. It can't last forever." Then she told her how the department was making up a present for the madam. "Something we always do," she said. "This time it is to be a punch bowl. Yes, she's an old cat, and has about as much use for a punch bowl as I have for a rabbit! Lives alone, and will never see forty again. But Christmas cus- — tom, you know yes, a dollar will do." Adelaide gave it cheerfully. Had not the madam spoken about something permanent? Perhaps when the rush was over and she had taken a little time to rest that steady place would seem very tempting again. Then came the madam herself "We are making up a pres- : ent for the department manager. Yes, Mr. Glass. A leather Morris, I believe. He's an old grouch, and doesn't even own a home, but Christinas custom, you know. Yes, a dollar will do." Adelaide winced at the mere mention of Mr. Glass and his Christmas gift. Only once had he spoken to her, and that was while flecking an imaginary dust-moat from her show-case. He had smirked and suggested that such laborious tasks were not for his manicured finger-nails. But Adelaide gave up another hard-earned dollar. It seemed to be part of the process of "making good."

2i IMPROVEMENT ERA He came, himself, Mr. Glass, smirk and suave, as usual, bringing greetings from the senior proprietor who had just returned from Europe. Yes, Adelaide had seen him, too, as he flung into his limousine that morning, with never a thought for the line of tired-faced girls who made up his working asset. A present for him! It was preposterous! A leather Davenette to cost $200, a lumbersome piece of uselessness to gorge into his already gorgeous home. "And," Mr. Glass was telling her, "we always remember the rest-room maid, the janitor, the furnace man." Rest room! She had scarcely peeped inside of it. Janitor, indeed! who had never brushed up so much as a crumb of hers. Fire-stoker! who never kept her corner warm. Hadn't she shivered all day, and longed for her sweater, and dare not put it on because it would spoil the color scheme of things! The day wore on with its crush and cram. Women jostled and elbowed and pushed and chortled over "Merry Christmas," women with heavy purses, scrupling over lengths and prices, women with Chow dogs tossing back a ten cent package to be delivered. How she longed to get away, somewhere, where Christmas had never been heard of, a place where tired feet might walk into their reward, and a worn, weary shop-girl be something better than a Christmas spindle. But it was over at last. Eleven o'clock came, and the last shopper trailed out. The last delivery truck had clanged through the rear grill when Adelaide went wearily to the desk. She was "all in," but tomorrow she would rest, and try to think kindly of the permanent position she would take. What was it the cashier was saying? "Do not report on the morning of the 26th. Extra help laid off tonight." "But I am not extra; at least, the madam said if I 'made good'—" "Yes, yes, I know. House policy. The madam is an adept. Girls must have some incentive to keep them alive through the crush. Good-night. Merry Christmas!" So that was it. She took her check, minus the gift money that would have purchased those never-to-be-forgotten shoes. But what did it matter? Her job was gone and with it went her grit and game. Next morning found Adelaide stretched on a little white cot in the hospital, another victim to the demands of an insane Christmas. And that day a woman pased quietly down the girls' ward, a woman robed in velvets and furs who laid her Christmas offering of roses upon each snowy bed. She paused by Adelaide, waiting for the customary smile and "thank you," but Adelaide turned away.

IN LINE WITH THE "SPUG" MOVEMENT 25 "If it's 'Merry Christmas,' please take it away," she said, and the woman bent anxiously over her. "Poor child, you are very ill, too ill to enjoy anything. I understand." "No, indeed, you could never understand. I am not very ill, but I am much disgusted with Christmas. I think I hate it. I know I hate Carter-Sells for the burlesque they — have made out of such a day. John Carter the old miser! A two hundred dollars davenette for that old bald-head! Why, that much money would set my mother up in the chicken business, and buy me a cow to start a milk station. I have only one wish at this moment, and that is some day to get my hands on that davenette. I'd fill it full of porcupine quills, and then wish him 'Merry Christmas!'" A merry twinkle had dawned in the woman's eyes, and she carefully withdrew the card that had lain among the roses. It was a very merry woman who carried that joke straight home — to headquarters straight to its proper subject, who laughed long and heartily at the rendition, accepting it at its face value. "That girl's a 'spug' and I'm another!" said John Carter. "Tomorrow we send that davenette back. There's only two more somewhere in this great wilderness of a house, and no one but the angora cat to care what becomes of it. We'll send it back, and that girl's mother shall have her chickens. And when she's well enough, I'm going to see that girl and employ her right. Beginning with the new year, Carter-Sells install a "spug department," and that girl shall have the managership." Mesa, Arizona. A Private Residence in Nauvoo, Illinois located on the lot, Built from stone taken from the Nauvoo temple. It is Latter-day Saints on which the temple was erected in 184146, by the