Mairead had wandered all over lower Manhattan. She had slept in seven-cent lodging houses, stayed in all-night two-cent restaurants, and found refuge in doorways, churchyards, parks, and sewer grates in places like Blind Man's Alley, the Bend, Gotham Court, and Bottle Alley. She had encountered bandits, opium addicts, drunks, and all sorts of vermin dwelling in the slums of New York City, and had quickly realized that she might have been better off in Vermont.
Her knees knocking, Mairead stood, bracing herself against the wall. She'd had nothing to eat since two days before, since she was trying to save her money until she could find work. Several surrounding factories had turned her down for labor, the overseers insisting that they had more than enough help as it was. Mairead was afraid to ask strangers for advice on where she might find a job, so now she was awaiting her chance for something to just come along. To her luck, or so she thought, she was now directly across the street from a newsboys' lodging house, likely run by the Children's Aid Society.
Slowly, she began to make her way down the street, attempting to find some means of acquiring a disguise. A gust of wind blew a man's cabby hat off his head; before he could find it, Mairead had snatched it up, concealing it within the tattered remains of her traveling coat. When the man was gone, she stuffed it into her small bag.
Mairead walked several blocks over to the Roosevelt Street tenement, where the dwellers had hung their now sopping laundry out to dry on lines that crossed from one side of the alleyway to the other. A men's pair of pants that had been weighed down by the rain was lying in a muddy puddle on the street below; Mairead picked them up and bundled them in her arms. Then, she began to run, and as she ran, she reached up and snatched a shirt off the line. Angry yells followed as she ran as fast as her weak legs could carry her.
Finding a dark corner in an out-of-the-way alley, Mairead quickly changed into the sopping men's clothes, which turned out to be much too large for her form. She piled her long hair up into the cabby hat, but it barely stayed atop her head for the black strands threatening to push it off. Several stray curls escaped in the back, which she took no notice of as she tried to stuff her clothes into her small bag. However, she failed, and she angrily threw her soiled dress, stockings, and various pieces of clothing to the ground. Mairead then stuffed her traveling coat into the bag and set off toward Duane Street once again, the rain beating her face.
Meekly, the young woman climbed the stairs to the front door. Her hand shaking, she raised it to knock on the door. After a moment, it was answered by an elderly man who gave her a suspicious look as soon as he laid eyes on her. "Can I help ye?"
Mairead fought to lower her voice and replace her refined dialect with a New York accent. "I'se lookin' for a bunk."
The old man squinted at her and opened the door wider. "Come on in... sir."
Mairead swallowed hard and stepped inside. The room was drafty and dimly-lit, but it was warmer than the doorstep. Right away she took notice of several boys lounging around the lobby - one wearing an eyepatch, one smoking a cigar, and one with a red bandanna tied around his neck. The young man with the bandanna eyed her as she followed the elderly man to a desk, where he opened a ledger and slapped a pen down on the counter in front of her.
"'Fore ye sign, y'gotta give me proof of identity an' proof that'cha don't have anywhere else to live," the old man stated indifferently.
Mairead nearly forgot to cover her voice. "But I - What kind of proof do you mean?"
"Trouble Kloppman?"
The young man with the bandanna had seen fit to saunter up to the counter beside Mairead. She swallowed hard and tried not to look at him.
Kloppman, the old man, narrowed his eyes at the Mairead and looked up at Jack. "He wants to know what kind'a proof I need so he can live here, that's what."
Mairead flinched under Kloppman's emphasis on the word "he".
"Proof, eh?" the young man asked, his eyes glinting. With one swift motion, he lifted his hand and struck out at Mairead, knocking her hat off her head. It landed on the hard wooden floor without so much as a sound. The boy smirked and stuck his hands in his pockets.
She gasped, her lip trembling. Kloppman's face softened. "Girl, I know ya need someplace to stay. There's girls' boardin' houses all over th' city. Go find ya one. They got better beds there."
Mairead mustered up all her courage. "B-but please, can't I stay here? I wouldn't do any harm - "
"You heard the man, girl," the young man with the bandanna put in coldly. "Run on home t' yer ma."
"I can't," she whispered, a tear trailing down her cheek.
The other two young men had since joined the boy with the bandanna and were watching Mairead. Flipping his cigar, the short Italian interjected. "Y'need somebody to show ya outta here, girl, or can ya find the door on yer own?"
"I can't go back outside," she answered weakly. "I have no money and no food - "
"Well, you get a job to remedy that, ma'am," the young man with the bandanna cut in sharply. The corners of his eyes crinkled like he was going to laugh, but the Italian beat him to it, and soon the two were laughing at Mairead like she was only a pun in a dime novel.
The young man with the eyepatch, who had been silent until that point, asked, "What's ya name, girl?"
"Mairead. Mairead Stamboulos," she answered softly.
"What kind of a name is that?" the Italian laughed. He and his friend were getting quite the kick out of the young woman's plight.
"Greek - " she answered, but the young man wearing the eyepatch cut her off.
"Ain't no use in answerin'," he said. "Why don't ya mind Kloppman here and go your way? Find a girls' house or somethin'."
Mairead accepted defeat when the young man took her by the arms and gently led her toward the door. "There's houses for girls all over the city. You won't have no problem findin' a bed to sleep in."
But I have no money, Mairead thought as the boy left her on the doorstep of the lodging house, going back inside and closing the door behind him. She could still hear the other two young men inside laughing. A silent tear rolled down her cheek as she crossed the street and reclaimed her old spot huddled in the corner of the abandoned doorway.