The younger children, who appeared for the meal, were right from the street where they had been playing, or from work in neighboring factories, and were more than a little grimy. But they were not clamorous and they ate with due regard to “manners.”
“Ve haf nine, Mees,” said Mrs. Goronsky, proudly. “Undt they all are healt’y—ach! so healt’y. It takes mooch to feed them yet.”
“Don’t tell about it, Mommer” cried Sadie. “It aint stylish to have big fam’lies no more. Don’t I tell you?”
“What about that Preesident we hadt—that Teddy Sullivan—what said big fam’lies was a good d’ing? Aindt that enough? Sure, Sarah, a Preesident iss stylish.”
“Oh, Mommer!” screamed Sadie. “You gotcher politics mixed. ‘Sullivan’ is the district leader wot gifs popper a job; but ‘Teddy’ was the President yet. You ain’t never goin’ to be real American.”
But her mother only laughed. Indeed, the light-heartedness of these poor people was a revelation to Helen. She had supposed vaguely that very poor people must be all the time serious, if not actually in tears.
“Now, Helen, we’ll rush right back to the shop and I’ll make Old Yawcob sell you a bargain. She’s goin’ to get her new dress, Mommer. Ain’t that fine?”
“Sure it iss,” declared the good woman. “Undt you get her a bargain, Sarah.”
“Don’t call me ‘Sarah,’ Mommer!” cried the daughter. “It ain’t stylish, I tell you. Call me ‘Sadie.’”
Her mother kissed her on both plump cheeks. “What matters it, my little lamb?” she said, in their own tongue. “Mother love makes any name sweet.”