"Don't tell her that, for goodness' sake," Mabel said.
But Yetta saw it herself. For the first time she had a sort of stage-fright as she peeked out at them. The people in the boxes irritated her. She had talked to that kind of women before, and they had only given a few dollars. She wondered how many of them had been to Bryn Mawr.
Mabel called Yetta from the doorway to introduce the Rev. Dunham Denning, the rector of Mrs. Van Cleave's church, who was to act as chairman. And then she was presented to an honorable gentleman named Crossman, who had once been a cabinet member and had gray hair, and a wart on his nose. These two elderly gentlemen embarrassed Yetta very much by their courtly attentions. She did not have the slightest idea what to say to them.
When at last the speakers stepped out on the platform, there was a break of polite hand-clapping from the auditorium and a perfect storm of applause from the back of the stage. Yetta turned in surprise to find that banks of seats had been put up and that they were closely packed with her own vest-makers. She had not seen them from the door of the dressing-room. She stopped stock-still with tears in her eyes. Mabel had to pull her sleeve to get her to come forward and acknowledge the greeting of the main audience.
But the noise behind her had shaken Yetta out of the lassitude which the sight of the well-dressed, complacent people of the boxes had given her. She must do her best. She felt herself very small and the thing she wanted to say very big. She pulled her chair close to Mabel's and slipped her hand into that of her friend.
The Rev. Dunham Denning in a very scholarly way reminded the audience of several things which the Christ had said about the neighbors and which he—the reverend gentleman—feared were too often forgot. He introduced the Honorable Mr. Crossman, who was known to all for his distinguished services in the nation's business, his justly famed philanthropies, and his active work in the Civic Federation, which was striving so efficiently to soften the bitterness of the industrial struggle. Mr. Crossman had very little to say, and said it in thundering periods. It took him nearly an hour.
Then it was Mabel's turn. She spoke, as was her wont, in an unimpassioned, businesslike way. She outlined the work of the organization which she represented and spoke of the vest-makers' strike as an example of what the league could do if it had sufficient means.
When she sat down, the chairman began to cast the flowers of his eloquence at Yetta's feet.
"If I may use such an expression," he said, "while Miss Train has been the brains of this strike, which we have gathered here to approve, the next speaker has been its very soul. My own acquaintance with her is of the slightest. But it has been sufficient to convince me past any doubt that the charge on which she was sent to the workhouse was an infamous libel. Who can look at her sweet face and believe her capable of vulgar assault? But you are to have the opportunity to judge for yourself. She will tell us of this victory to which she has so glowingly contributed, and it is my hope, as I am sure it is that of this vast assembly, that she will tell us about her own experiences.—Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Miss Yetta Rayefsky."
Yetta squeezed Mabel's hand and, getting up, walked down to the edge of the platform. She wanted to get near them so they could hear her.