Was I a seamstress? No, but I wished to become one. Had I aiver vorked on vaistcoats? I hadn't, but I could do anything with my needle.
Perhaps the urgency of my appeal, and more probably the pressure of her own need, weighed with the Jewess, for after reflection, and an eager whisper from her daughter (who was looking at me with kindling eyes), she said,
"Very vell, ve'll see what she can do."
I was then taken into a close and stuffy room where a number of girls (all Jewish as I could see) were working on sections of waistcoats which, lying about on every side, looked like patterns for legs of mutton. One girl was basting, another was pressing, and a third was sewing button-holes with a fine silk twist round bars of gimp.
This last was the work which was required of me, and I was told to look and see if I could do it. I watched the girl for a moment and then said:
"Let me try."
Needle and twist and one of the half vests were then given to me, and after ten minutes I had worked my first button-hole and handed it back.
The daughter praised it warmly, but the mother said:
"Very fair, but a leedle slow."
"Let me try again," I said, and my trembling fingers were so eager to please that my next button-hole was not only better but more quickly made.