“But,” says I, “she's been a widow only three weeks and I'm terrible sorry for her.”
“How d'ya know she ever had a husband?” “How d'ya know he's dead?” “How'd ya....”
The skepticism of factory workers appals me. They suspect everybody and everything from the boss down. I believed almost everything about Mame, especially since she paid back all she ever borrowed. No one else in that factory believed a word she said. They couldn't “stand her round.”
“How d'ya know she lost her pocketbook?” (Later she advertised and got it back—a doctor's wife found it on the early Subway.)
“Doctor's wife,” sniffed Minnie. “Who ever heard of a doctor's wife up at seven o'clock in the mornin'?”
And now I have walked off and left Mame to that assemblage of unbelievers. At least Mame has a tongue of her own she is only too glad of a chance to use. It is meat and drink to Mame to have a man look her way. “Did you see that fella insult me?” and she calls back protective remarks for half a block. Sentiments that usually bring in mention of the entertained youth's mother and sisters, and wind up with allusions to a wife, which if he doesn't possess now, he may some day. Once I stopped with Mame while she and Irene phoned a “fella” of Irene's from a drug-store telephone booth. Such gigglings and goings on, especially since the “fella” was unknown to Mame at the time. Outside in the store a pompous, unromantic man grew more and more impatient for a turn at that booth. When Mame stepped out he remarked casually that he hoped she felt she'd gotten five cents' worth. The dressing down Mame then and there heaped upon that startled gentleman! Who was he to insult her? I grew uneasy and feared a scene, but the pompous party took hasty refuge in the telephone booth and closed the door. Mame was very satisfied with the impression she must have made. “The fresh old guy!”
Another time Mame sought me out in the factory, her eyes blazing. “Connie, I been insulted, horribly insulted, and I don't see how I can stay in this factory! You know that girl Irene? Irene she says to me, 'Mamie, you plannin' to get married again?'
“'I dunno,' I says to her, 'but if I do it'll be to some single fella.'
“'Huh!' Irene says to me, 'You won't get no single fella; you'll have to marry a widower with two or three children.' Think of her insultin' me like that! I could 'a' slapped her right in the face!”
I asked Mame one Saturday what she'd be doing Sunday. She sighed. “I'll be spendin' the day at the cemetery, I expect.”