“Make yourself comfortable. Take off your shawl,” urged Hanneh Breineh.
But Mrs. Pelz only drew her shawl more tightly around her, a keen sense of her poverty gripping her as she gazed, abashed by the luxurious wealth that shone from every corner.
“This shawl covers up my rags,” she said, trying to hide her shabby sweater.
“I’ll tell you what; come right into the kitchen,” suggested Hanneh Breineh. “The servant is away for this afternoon, and we can feel more comfortable there. I can breathe like a free person in my kitchen when the girl has her day out.”
Mrs. Pelz glanced about her in an excited daze. Never in her life had she seen anything so wonderful as a white-tiled kitchen, with its glistening porcelain sink and the aluminum pots and pans that shone like silver.
“Where are you staying now?” asked Hanneh Breineh, as she pinned an apron over her silk dress.
“I moved back to Delancey Street, where we used to live,” replied Mrs. Pelz, as she seated herself cautiously in a white enameled chair.
“Oi weh! What grand times we had in that old house when we were neighbors!” sighed Hanneh Breineh, looking at her old friend with misty eyes.
“You still think on Delancey Street? Haven’t you more high-class neighbors uptown here?”
“A good neighbor is not to be found every day,” deplored Hanneh Breineh. “Uptown here, where each lives in his own house, nobody cares if the person next door is dying or going crazy from loneliness. It ain’t anything like we used to have it in Delancey Street, when we could walk into one another’s rooms without knocking, and borrow a pinch of salt or a pot to cook in.”