"Here, Mrs. B.—your bank book. I am not from the Gerry Society. I am from the charities."
The woman trembled. The boy looked at me.
"When does your month finish here?"
"On the first."
"Move away from here, woman, move away. It's your last chance to save yourself. Move away and earn your living. You will not get a cent from the charities, and that boy must not be touched. You are to let him alone or I will take him away from you. Good-night."
I ran out. At home a party of friends awaited me. We were to go and hear music. I could not. I wanted to drink. I stayed at home and drank brandy until I fell asleep. I drank and swore until I slept.
The next morning when I had to make out my report I excused myself, saying that I had to continue my investigation as I had more information to gather. In reality it was to give me time to think out what to say and what not to say. The next day I made out a report, simply saying that I had found out the woman Mrs. B. had five hundred dollars in the German Bank, Book No. 8..., that she does business in curtains; and advised them to cut her off immediately. The Manager did not believe what I said and consequently 'phoned to the bank, which corroborated my statement. Immediately the investigators were called in, and in firm tones the Manager lectured them on their tender-heartedness with applicants. He told them that they must make their investigations in a more thorough manner, otherwise they would lose their positions. Stupid fool that I was. Whenever I wanted to do good I only made the poor suffer more.
Promptly on the first of the next month I was in 124th Street. Mrs. B. had moved a few days before. Through the Express Company I got her address, way up in the Bronx. I went there, on Washington Avenue. I saw the boy and girl in new clothes and on roller skates.
"Hullo," I greeted them. They both became pale.
"Where do you live now, children?"