Sophie tore off her apron, and thrust it at the man.
To the cheapest part of the East Side she went in her search for a room. Through the back alleys and yards she sought for a place that promised to be within her means. And then a smeared square of cardboard held between the iron grating of a basement window caught her eye. “Room to let—a bargain—cheap!”
“Only three dollars a month,” said the woman in answer to Sophie’s inquiry.
The girl opened a grimy window that faced a blank wall.
“Oi, weh! not a bit of air!”
“What do you need yet air for the winter?” cried Hanneh Breineh. “When the cold comes, the less air that blows into your room, the warmer you can keep yourself. And when it gets hot in summer you can take your mattress up on the roof. Everybody sleeps on the roof in summer.”
“But there’s so little light,” said Sophie.
“What more light do you yet need? A room is only for to sleep by night. When you come home from work, it’s dark, anyway. Gottuniu! it’s so dark on my heart with trouble, what difference does it make a little darkness in the room?”
“But I have to work in my room all day. I must have it light.”
“Nu, I’ll let you keep the gas lighted all day long,” Hanneh Breineh promised.