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“So my papa he writes a letter on my uncle how he could to pay that thousen dollers. Goes months. Comes no thousen dollers. So my papa he goes on the lawyer und the lawyer he writes on my uncle a letter how he should to pay. Goes months. Comes no thousen dollers.” At each repetition of these fateful words Sadie shook her serious head, pursed up her rosy mouth, folded her hands resignedly, and sighed deeply. Clearly this was a tale more than twice told, for the voice and manner of Sadie were as the voice and manner of Mrs. Lazarus Gonorowsky, and the recital was plagiarism–masterly and complete.

“And then?” prompted Teacher, lest the conversation languish.

“Well, my papa writes some more a letter on mine uncle. Oh-o-oh, a awful bossy-und-mad letter. All the mad words what my papa knows he writes on mine uncle. Und my mamma she sets by my papa’s side und all the mad words what my mamma knows she tells on my papa und he writes them, too, on mine uncle. Mine uncle (that’s Eva’s papa) could to have a fierce mad sooner he seen that bossy letter. But goes two days. Comes no thousen dollers.”

Here ensued a long and dramatic pause.

“Well, comes no thousen dollers. Comes nothings. On’y by night my mamma she puts me on my bed; when comes my uncle! He comes und makes a knopping on our door. I couldn’t to tell even how he makes knopping. I had such a scare I was green on the face, und my heart was going so you could to hear. I’m a nervous child, Missis Bailey, und my face is all times green sooner I gets a scare.”

This last observation was a triumph of mimicry, and recalled Mrs. Gonorowsky so vividly as to make her atmosphere of garlic and old furniture quite perceptible. “So my mamma hears how my uncle knopps und says ‘Lemme in–lemme in.’ She says (‘scuse me, Teacher)–she says ‘he must be’ (‘scuse me) ‘drunk.’ That’s how my mamma says.

“So goes my papa by the door und says ‘Who stands?’ Und my uncle he says ‘Lemme in.’ So-o-oh my papa he opens the door. Stands my unclemit cheeky looks und he showed a fist on my papa. My papa has a fierce mad sooner he seen that fist–fists is awful cheeky when somebody ain’t paid. So my papa he says (‘scuse me)–it’s fierce how he says, on’y he had a mad over that fist. He says (‘scuse me), ‘Go to hell!’ und my uncle, what ain’t paid that thousen dollers, he says just like that to my papa. He says too (‘scuse me, Teacher), ‘Go to hell!’ So-o-oh then my papa hits my uncle (that’s Eva’s papa), und how my papa is strong I couldn’t to tell even. He pulls every morning by the extrasizer, und he’s got such a muscles! So he hits my uncle (that’s Eva’s papa), und my uncle he fall und he fall und he fall–we live by the third floor, und he fall off of the third floor by the street–und even in falling he says like that (‘scuse me, Teacher), ‘Go to hell! go to hell! go to hell!’ Ain’t it somethin’ fierce how he says? On all the steps he says, ‘Go to hell! go to hell! go to hell!'”

Miss Bailey had listened to authoritative lectures upon “The Place and Influence of the Teacher in Community Life,” and was debating as to whether she had better inflict her visit of remonstrance upon Mr. Lazarus Gonorowsky, of the powerful and cultivated muscle, or upon Mr. Nathan Gonorowsky, of the deplorable manners, when this opportunity to bring the higher standards of living into the home was taken from her. The house of Gonorowsky, in jagged fragments, was tested as by fire and came forth united.