A gas lamp stood on the walkway outside the apartment, casting a dim beam of light that enveloped the figures of the two people not far away.
She reached out to take the paper bag, smiled in thanks, then turned and stepped onto the carriage.
Zweit withdrew his gaze, tucked his bowler hat under his arm, reached into his briefcase, pulled out an old key, and unlocked the door of the apartment building in front of him.
The large house had not a single servant; the locks were already beginning to rust, and the hinges creaked as they moved.
Zweit didn't close the door. He felt his way through the dark hallway, carrying his bag to the dining room, struck a match, and lit a candle.
Finally, he sat at the table and pulled out several file folders from his bag, stuffed with old manuscript paper.
Outside, Benjamin unloaded two trunks from the carriage and instructed the driver on when to pick him up the next morning.
He turned and caught sight of Frank standing alone at the neighboring apartment building, watching another carriage slowly leave the street.
Frank saw Benjamin too. They had met at the company, and they nodded to each other.
…
The next day, it began to rain in New York, and the weather grew a bit warmer. Around the time for work, there was a loud clatter from downstairs and next door, making it impossible to sleep in.
After washing up, Jenny pulled open the curtains and looked at the rain outside. She shivered from the cold.
But the rain was good for her—at least there would be far fewer submissions coming in through the window than usual.
She went downstairs to the coffee shop for a leisurely meal, then took an umbrella and joined the dense crowd streaming into the ground floor of the building.
Things turned out just as Jenny expected. The lobby was dim, and only a few people sat scattered in the reception room.
Back upstairs, Jenny ran into Ronald walking out of the office carrying his bag.
When he saw her, he rarely looked up and nodded in her direction.
Jenny knew that he had probably heard about her daring deeds and had gained some respect from them.
She nodded back and moved aside, then entered the office to quickly organize her things.
Most of the office staff had already arrived. Jenny glanced around and noticed that Fujena looked especially grim.
Mr. Alpha's office door was open.
Jenny had a good idea what had happened: Fujena had gone ahead and fought for herself again.
Jenny felt inexplicably downcast. This path was blocked, and no one could do anything about it. She went down to the lobby to receive the few authors who had come by, then returned upstairs to sit in a corner and process the mail.
The authors' letters came from all over, and Jenny's usual practice was to reject and send them straight back.
But remembering Frank's warning the day before, and seeing Fujena like that today, she changed her approach.
To establish herself in the office, if she only relied on opportunities given by her superiors, she'd never get anywhere.
Jenny selected five or six manuscripts of mediocre quality from today's submissions and decided to write a detailed reply to each one.
She wrote about six or seven lines of critique and suggestions, signed her name, and sealed the letters back into their envelopes.
This action inexplicably made her feel like a fisherman casting a net into the sea—the odds of success were about the same as finding a needle in a haystack.
Jenny shook her head.
Polly finished typing a manuscript and happened to see Jenny still writing replies to the senders.
According to procedure, clerks were supposed to write a full reply to authors who submitted by mail, telling them the reason for rejection and offering suggestions for improvement.
But that was usually the practice of small publishing houses. Big companies like Dawling didn't need to nurture talent—there were always famous new writers coming in—so clerks weren't in the habit of writing long replies, just a polite phrase at most.
Her ability was obvious to all; she had already shown she could compete with Mr. Clare, yet she was still doing this kind of work.
Polly didn't understand what Jenny was after. She felt a strange sense of tension but didn't know what to do, so she simply typed a little louder, hinting that she too was working hard.
Three hours later, Jenny rubbed her dry eyes, sealed all the letters with wax, and sent them off to the shipping room.
Today was also payday for the week.
After the four o'clock bell rang, people in the office paired up to go downstairs to the accounting room to collect their envelopes.
The envelopes contained their weekly pay, roughly in two parts: one was the base salary for their position, and the other was a bonus issued individually by the department head.
The day before payday, full editors or secretaries received a score sheet with a list of their subordinates, on which they evaluated each employee, eventually compiling a table.
Employees with good evaluations would receive a small bonus from the supervisor, as a morale booster.
Monique and Polly were receiving their first salary from Dawling, and they were especially excited. They couldn't wait and opened their envelopes in the hallway.
Both envelopes contained the base clerk salary of twelve dollars. Although they were a bit disappointed, twelve dollars was already the highest salary for a clerk in the entire industry.
They were still happy, chatting about what to buy on their day off tomorrow, and it was clear that not a single cent of this salary would be saved.
Fujena opened her envelope and counted fourteen dollars, indicating that Frank had given her a fair evaluation.
Jenny walked behind them and observed. She felt the thickness of her envelope but held back her curiosity and didn't open it there. When she got back to the office, she secretly tore it open under the desk.
It was sixteen dollars total—one green bill and a handful of coins.
It seemed Mr. Eliot was indeed a results-oriented man, and being his whetstone came with pay.
No one in the office discussed salaries, but everyone talked about how to spend their money. Jenny locked her envelope in the drawer, sat in her chair, and propped her chin in her hands, thinking.
Having come into some unexpected wealth, she wanted to go to a clothing store in Midtown to get some new clothes.