"You certainly plumbed mine this morning. Not that I have any great depths," he added, laughing; "but your line touched bottom, and gave me a new feeling which I think was good for me. Now, since we're going to know each other, I want to introduce myself. My name is Webster—named after the great Daniel, but called Dan so that future historians can distinguish between us—and I earn a precarious living by chasing news for a New York paper."
"And my name," she responded instantly, "is Kasia Vard; and I have earned a precarious living in many ways—I have worked in a factory, I have sold papers—I have even cleaned the streets."
"Cleaned the streets?" he repeated incredulously.
"Oh, that was not in America," she said. "It was at Warsaw. In Poland, just as in many other countries of Europe, the streets are cleaned by the women and children. The men, you see, are needed for the army."
There was a bitter irony in her voice which drew him closer.
"I have seen women and children working in the fields; in Holland I saw them helping tow the boats and working in the brickyards. That was bad enough. But I never have seen them cleaning the streets."
"Did you go to Munich?"
"You would have seen them doing it there—as they do it all over Germany. Had you gone to Chemnitz, you would have seen them carrying the hod."
She fell silent, and Dan leaned back, strangely moved. How young he was; how little he knew! Here was this girl, certainly not more than twenty, who had lived more, felt more, thought more than he had ever done; who had ideals....