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exhibits for the World’s Columbian Exposition due to Chicago in a few short months, it was the perfect time to stage a strike.
    He dipped his pen in an inkwell.
Women of today have a perceptible restlessness for something which baffles this writer and others of the stronger sex. When asked, the New Woman can give no particular reason for her malcontent, though, in a rather mystical way, she expresses a desire to attain what she calls her “true place” in the social and economic world. Yet what could be a truer, more perfect place than the position which she currently holds?
    “Oh, dear. No, no,” Miss Jayne said. “This color is all wrong. Here, let’s try this one.”
    More rustling of clothing.
    “Mrs. Klausmeyer tells me you teach school,” Miss Jayne continued.
    “Yes, I teach the primary grades.”
    “Do you ever whip any of the children?”
    Reeve paused.
    “Goodness, yes,” Miss Love answered, her voice not the least bit repentant. “I’ve whipped lots of them. In my class right now I have a boy who last year put his master right out the window. So at the first sign of trouble, I had Georgie take off his coat, then I gave him a good whipping with a strong switch. He’s almost as large as me, but he’s behaved good as gold ever since.”
    Tightening his jaw, Reeve wondered if she’d be quite so quick to use the rod if she’d ever been subjected to such ignominious torturein front of all her peers. Trying to tune them out, he reread what he’d written, then again wet his pen with ink.
Everyone knows men were created to do the world’s hard work, to blaze a path for civilization, to strive, to battle, and to conquer. Everyone ought to know woman was created to make it possible for man to do this work. To ease his struggle with her sympathy, to keep him from faltering by her belief in him, to supply him with a love so great it inspires him to achieve. This, then, is a woman’s part in life.
    “Oh, Annie Belle, you look absolutely beautiful. This is the gown. You must wear this one. Now, what would you say to letting me style your hair? It’s such a beautiful shade—a mix of ochre and burnt sienna. I could fluff it up into the Gibson girl style everyone is wearing. I’m very good at it.”
    He listened to them chatter while he finished his piece. An hour later, all that was left was the last sentence, but everything he tried fell flat. Finally, it came to him. First, he jotted down two stanzas from a popular essay.
Why has not Man a microscopic eye?
For this plain reason—Man is not a Fly.
Why is not Man served up with sauce in dish?
For this plain reason—Man is not a Fish.
    Smiling to himself, he added a couplet of his own making.
Why has not Woman all jobs overran?
For this plain reason—Woman is not Man.
    He blotted the ink and reopened his door, having learned in the course of the afternoon that Miss Jayne had been attending the New York School of Applied Design when Tiffany acquired her—oil paint being her favorite medium. She was the apple of her parents’ eyes. And she could talk the ears off an elephant.
    He rubbed his eyes. For better or for worse, it seemed the serene life he’d known here in his room at Klausmeyer’s Boardinghouse had come to an unexpected and unwelcome end.

TIFFANY GLASS AND DECORATING COMPANY   4

“Tucking her head against the wind, she headed from the streetcar toward Tiffany’s grand four-story building on the corner.”

CHAPTER
    6

    J anuary’s wind caught the corners of Flossie’s midlength coat and flung it back to reveal a bluish-purple skirt with subtle stripes of mignon. She’d never had a first-day-of-work before and wanted to make a good impression. Picking a gown should have been a simple task. Heaven knew she had a gown for every occasion, or so she’d thought. Yet there was nothing in Harper’s Bazaar or The Ladies’ Home Journal that discussed the appropriate attire for a Tiffany Girl.
    At first she’d thought to wear a simple