The remark, and the matter of fact, decisive way she said it, was typical of Mabel Train. She knew the life of the East Side well enough to recognize Harry's unsavory profession at a glance, and she did not waste time beating about the bush of euphemisms. She never declared a heart or a club when she meant a spade.
Longman's eyebrows went up affirmatively, but he at once opposed the natural deduction from her observation.
"Now, don't you go butting in, Mabel, until you're asked."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"The girl's a stranger. I guess I've got a right to welcome her."
And with Longman lumbering behind her she crossed the hall.
"Good evening," she said to Yetta, elaborately ignoring Harry's existence. "I'm Miss Train, secretary of the League. What's your trade?"
But Yetta replied with a question.
"Didn't you talk to the girls at the Neighborhood House?"
"Yes. I gave them a talk on Trade Unions. Were you there? I don't remember your face."