Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1889-03-16
TALE OF A PROOF READER


proof reader in a publishing house. That
may seem o small honor to the unini-
tiated, but my work is intellectual and
very comprehensive. That am capable
of doing it argues for me wide range of
information, q mind finely critical. If l
were not mentally superior to the masses
could derive comfortable income from
running down their mistakesl Would
not my own ignorance be apparent Oh
many printed page If I did not with
steady hand seize and thurst out of sight
the ignorance and carelessness of those
who write? / am closeted all day with
Webster and Worcester; I am familiar
with all books Of reference. / read
and write German and French, can
trace every English word to its root,
and translate Latin and Greek. am
not an egotist when l tell you these
things, for must take my place among
the workingwomen of Chicago as one
who is paid far less than the successful
dressmaker, milliner or cook. Indeed
have often envied my sisters who achieve
success in either of these lines. The
artist in dressmaking commands her
price; the milliner's taste and style render
her independent; the accomplished cook
whose faultless dinners lead her on to
fortune-all these create something that
can be appreciated, admired and weakly
initiated. Ny work is sadly negative.
Nv sins are those of omission, not of
commission. Who ever hears of the
errors eradicate, the thought / spend
upon the printed pager For the work
do win the cordial hatred of those who
work about me-the printer, the fore
man, even the nky boy who brings work
to my hands. These all hate me for the
things do, while AN in constant terror
from things do not do. What proof
reader has not stood aghast at some glar
ing error which he did not run to earth
on the first proof, but overlook by chance
on revise? What if his tired eyes had
missed it thenf 1t would have wrought
ruin to an entire volume-and to him.
How secured my position need not
relate. 1t was after long and hard fight
for it, which / began at nineteen years
Till then had been ward of charity,
wearing in my baby days the blue check
apron of the Foundlings' home. / was
educated at the expense of the church,
and when first tried my small strength
against the world it was as copyholder
in great publishing house in Chicago.
am able now to earn $15 per week
after seven years. am little Of pes
simist and my life has not been given
over to melancholy, but to work. give
ten hours of each day to my tasks. That
absorbs my energy, breaks my spirit and
will and leaves me tired and depressed.
/ have been employed on Monroe street,
in house that is old and well known.
Its air is full of foul odors, it is dark
and without ventilation. / climb five
flights of stairs to my work in the morn
ing, taking my way through rooms full
of human beings struggling for daily
bread against greater odds than I, and
who even envy me. All day / hear the
throbbing and beating of the great
presses, the click of the type in the
printers fingers. l see their faces about
me, anxious and poverty tried, and
have seen them SO for five years, and
sometimes hope dies within me.
Touch book with reverent fingers, We
who are ignorant of its mechanism.
Over its pages flows the life blood of
many an humble toiler. Mayhap its
fair, white leaves have been dampened
with women's tears, for so many work
ing women are heartsick and discour-
aged.
Five years of this life will render the
hopeful woman strong minded and cyni-
cal She will need the unlovely strength
she develops in city that harbors and
gives subsistence to 10000 bachelors.
Forty thousand strong men, who smoke
and eat, sleep and pursue their solitary
lives, spending yearly means enough to
keep up homes. And where every
morning 10000 women tramp hurriedly
through our streets, 4 terrible army, each
with her face set toward some store,
office or workshop. These women do
not seek health nor strength nor woman
liness-thev must lose these better ele-
ments. They will not win wages enough
to keep them through chance sickness
nor certain old age-not one in a thou
sand does that. They will not be
made better, mentally or morally, by
ceaseless toll. They will only clothe and
feed themselves, that they may come on
the morrow and again, till their faces
are pinched and bloodless and the grace
of youth has left them; till they are not
fit for wives and mothers, for they are
old and sad, and each of the 10000
bachelors wants wife whose temper Is
sunny and sweet and who does not know
the world so well as these working wo-
men of Chicago.
There was time in my life when
tried the nunlike life of a Young Wo-
mans home, q home reared and upheld
by good women for those who, like me,
are homeless, and 10! no soul could have
been more desolate than mine within its
walls. / ate and drank and slept and
went my daily round, made more
wretched at the sight of my struggling
sisters who were not SO well equipped
for the battle of life as /, and then fled
from the ''home" into the Chicago
boarding house. found one on Michi-
gan avenue, kept by Mrs. McGillicuddy
My home life was at least independent.
Mrs. McGillicuddy's heart was honest
and Kind, her little parlors were
tidy, her table bore wholesome
fare. There was only her daughter
Josie, who owned the piano, and Jack,
the McGillicuddy son and heir, who
troubled or annoyed me, and from the
son and daughter and piano l could al
ways retreat to my room. 1t was new to
me to take holiday but one morning l
slept till long after the whistles had
ceased to blow. l could not have
reached my proof room even at 8, SO l
wandered out lazily into the June sun,
over the city and toward the North side.
reached the bridge at State street and
stepped upon it just as it swung to give
passage to a painting little steamer. There
was only one person on the bridge,
gentleman. He stood quite near Inc as
we swung slowly out over the river. He
might have been thirty-five or so. He
was broad shouldered and jolly looking,
and q little sunbrowned. He looked at
me earnestly, and noticed that he had
keen, honest, hazel eyes. But, to my
aniazement, he pronounced my name
and held out his hand. Il am Wallace
Adams" he explained; ''you We're a
schoolmate of my sister Ida, at West
field. / met you there. l was sure
could not be mistaken"
That was ten years ago, / stammered,
feeling my years suddenly rising up be-
fore me.
you are not much changed, Miss
Hunter-you are very pale and thin, but
have always remembered you"
The bridge swung slowly round, re-