"You no tellee onee me," he said significantly, with grimaces and gesticulations.
Going out through the back door, and down through a lane at the back of the house, I was soon on the street.
Taking the street-cars—in which Aunt Gwendolin thinks it is very plebeian to ride—I was soon whirled down in front of the "House of Jacob."
What a mercy it is, in this curious America, that so many people are plebeian and ride in street-cars that they do not pay any attention to one another. Nobody noticed my grandmotherly garb.
A woman reporter entered the front door of the synagogue along with me, and I imagined that I was regarded with some deference—grandmother's old skirt and shawl are made of rich material.
I followed the reporter around the room in which the classes were held, a few yards in the rear.
There they were, a hundred or more little Jewish children, red-headed, black-headed, blonde-headed, and Jewish women had them arranged in groups, and were teaching them to sew.
"These little red-heads are typical Russian Jews," I heard the director of the ceremonies say to the reporter, "only in this country a few months. There's one that has the marked Jewish features," she added, pointing to another type of child. "They are all fond of jewellery—an Oriental trait."
Dear, dear, I only stayed a short time looking at them. They are not much different from others, those people who struck rocks and water gushed out, had manna and quails rained down on them, and walked through a wilderness led by a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night. I have seen hundreds of Chinese who looked just as remarkable. I cannot understand why God showed partiality to Abraham's children.
I went out onto the street again, and wandered on till I came to what I recognized as Chinese quarters. There were the laundries of Hoy Jan, Lem Tong, Lee Ling, and the shops and warehouses of Moy Yen, Man Hing, and Cheng Key. The dear names; it did me almost as much good to look at them as it could to make a visit to my own country.