How curious! Two such cruel beings in one charitable institution! I wondered.
My next case proved a very interesting one. It was in Monroe Street, on the fifth floor of a yard-house—Mrs. Miriam D.
As nobody around the neighbourhood wanted to tell me anything beyond the fact that Mrs. D. was a very honest women, I went up to the applicant at once. The mother was not at home: only her three children, a girl of twelve, another one of ten and a boy of seven years old were in the house. They sat, all three, around a table, and worked at their lessons. The kitchen was very clean and warm. The children were tidy, and everything was in order. But the poor girls were as pale as death. A single glance was enough to know that they were starved out. Only in their big, moist, Jewish eyes was there life. I asked the children where the mother was. "We don't know," was the response of all three, and they looked at one another as though to say, "I wish she were here."
From my talk with the children I learned that they were expecting a cousin by the name of Leb from the old country, so I decided to impersonate an agent of Ellis Island and get all the information I wanted in that way. I asked the girls how they were living; whether they had things to eat every day.
"Yep," the boy of seven said, with pride. "But not enough," added the oldest sister.
"From where does your mother get money to buy food?" I queried.
"From the Charities," the second girl explained, while the older sister kicked her in the shins as punishment for her frankness.
"Have you no relatives?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, we have," all three again answered.
"Who are they?"