At this time I happened to apply to the Greek newspaper for a position, not because I thought there was any chance for me, but because it was so interesting to apply for work. Every time I applied to a new person, it was a new adventure; and I had applied so many times, and been rejected so often, that I did not mind it any more. I knew that if the worst came to the worst I could for a time become a servant. I was well trained in domestic work and could cook pretty well; for, when we Greek girls are not at school, a competent person is engaged to come into the house and train us systematically in all branches of housekeeping. The idea of becoming a servant, of entering an American home and obtaining a nearer view of my half-breeds within their own walls appealed to me. What I objected to, was being hired as a governess and treated as a servant.
To my surprise, the Greek newspaper, a weekly then, took me at once on its staff. I was delirious with joy, not so much because I was going to earn money as at the idea of working on a newspaper. It seemed so glorious, so at the top of everything.
Just at this time—at the agency, I think—I heard of a French home, far out on the West Side in the vicinity of Twenty-third Street, where French working girls stayed while seeking positions. I went there, and made arrangements
