Mrs. Abrahams:

Come on, Sadie, come on, Rosie, come on.

What you want I should do now? [unintelligible] What you want I do? I always tell the truth, always. Good morning, Judge. Good morning.

Eh? My name? My name is Anna Abrahams. Anna Abrahams. I'm seventy-nine years old; seventy-nine. Why, wait till next week, I'm eighty, eighty years old, but now I'm seventy-nine years old.

I live at 164 Orchard Street, New York City; 164, that's right, Orchard Street. For twenty-five years I live there; that's my home—twenty-five years.

I come here this morning, Judge, please, to ask you to tell my granddaughter she got to stay home, and work.

Oh, she wants to marry. She wants to marry and go to the West and leave her mother and me to starvation. I'm an old woman; I'm eighty years old; you couldn't expect me to go work. And my daughter, she's got heart trouble; she couldn't work. No, she's too sick; she couldn't work, and . . . and we couldn't live without Rosie. She keep us now for . . . for two years, and now she want to go away and get married. We got a nice little home. Why she want to go 'way? She's too young to get married.

Ah, she got no heart. She go 'way to the West and she leave us in the street and starve, and she don't care. She's a bad girl. She need to be told by the judge; she got to mind me and her mother. We give her education; now she must keep us.

Eh? Oh.

Well, she's a bad girl, Judge, because she run around crazy, with all those wild girls and boys. She think only have a good time. She waste her time, she waste her strength, she waste her money, she buy all those silly things . . . Oh, and she buy silly things to go to the movies every day, and she go dance every night. She waste her strength, she waste everything, and she run around . . .

Eh? Oh.

Oh, that young man is no good. That's why I don't want she should get married, because that young man is no good. Oh, he don't work; how he keep a wife? He don't work, uh, and he drinks. Make a very bad husband.

If she wait she get a better man. I'm an old woman; I find her a good husband. Ah, when I go out there see a young man make her a good husband, I bring him to the house; we all be happy together.

Eh? She don't . . .

He don't listen to what I say.

It's the truth, what I tell you, Judge. I'm an old woman; I know what's right. Oh, she's too young to get married. She don't understand nothing. We got a nice little home. She should stay by us.

[unintelligible] nobody to listen to what I say.

They don't pay no attention to me.

Mrs. Greenman:

Good morning, your Honor.

My name? My name is Sadie Greenman. Sadie Greenman. Yes, sir.

I'm forty-seven years old. I'm twenty-five years married. I have three children. Two sons and one daughter. Yes, sir.

Well, one son, he has got tuberculosis. Yes, sir. And he couldn't work; he's in the sanitarium. Yes, sir. And my other son, he ran away. I don't know where he is; he ran away. He doesn't write, and I don't know where he is.

Yes, sir, my daughter Rosie supports me and my mother. For two years now she has kept us. Yes, sir.

My husband? Oh, he's dead. Oh, my husband is dead, now, fourteen years—dead.

Yes, sir.

Me? Work? Oh, yes, sir, I did work. I worked for twelve years, in a box factory, but now I couldn't work no more. Oh, I've got very bad heart trouble. Yes, sir, I am very weak from my heart, and my arm is paralyzed. I couldn't work no more.

Yes, sir, I came here this morning, please, Judge, to ask you to tell my girl, please, to stay home. Well, she wants to marry. Yes, sir, she wants to marry and go to the West, and then my mother and I, we would have to go to a home for old people.

Well, I don't want she should leave us. We have a nice little home. I did all I could for my children. I sent Rosie to a business college when she finished public school, so she should have a profession.

She has a wonderful job, she's gets a nice salary, and she likes her work; she's doing so well. But now she only wants to go.

Oh, no, sir, I have no money saved. No, sir, we couldn't live without Rosie.

Well, I don't like this young man. No, sir, I don't like him. Well, he don't work; he don't seem to try to work. He has no job. And he drinks. Yes, sir, he drinks. I'm afraid he would make a very bad husband.

Well, I know it's hard for Rosie, but I think it's worse if she marries this fellow. Yes, sir, that's right; you should speak to her, but please, Judge, tell my girl she should wait only. She's so young! She don't understand what is life. And she owes me something after all I have done for her. Thank you.

Rosie Greenman:

Good morning, your Honor, good morning. My name? Rosie. Rosie . . . Oh, I beg your pardon. My name is Rose Elizabeth Greenman. I always forget because everybody calls me Rosie. Generally when anyone asks me my name all I say is ``Rosie.'' Yes, sir, everybody calls me Rosie. I'm nineteen years old, but I'm going to be twenty next week. Yes, sir, I . . . I'm going to be twenty the very same day that my grandmother is going to be eighty I am going to be twenty. Yes, sir, seems funny. We always celebrate together. My grandmother is exactly sixty years older than I am, and we always have a party every year. Yes, sir.

We do, we live together—yes, sir, the three of us—we live together at 164 Orchard Street, New York City. Yes, sir, it's a very nice little flat. I do, I support them. For two years now, I have kept them. Yes, sir.

I am a stenographer. I have, I got a very good job. Yes, sir, I've been very lucky. Yes, I do, I get a very nice salary. Yes, sir, my boss is very nice. Oh, I love my work. Yes, sir, I . . . I certainly do; I enjoy it. I think it is very interesting work.

Pardon me? Happy? You mean, ``happy home''? Oh, yes, sure, I'm always happy. Yes, sir, indeed, we get along fine. Oh, I am; I am devoted to my mother. Yes, sir, and my . . . yes, my grandmother, too. Ah, we got a lot of fun. Yes, sir, we get along fine together.

Pardon me? Oh . . . yes, sir, I do. That's true too. Yes, sir. I do, I want to go 'way from here and get married. And you see, I want that my mother and my grandmother should go to this home for old people, and they do not care to go. Well, you see, I took a lot of trouble. My young man has got a wonderful chance to go to the West, and of course I got to go with him. And so I want that my mother and my grandmother should go to this home. And . . . I was looking for a nice place, and I didn't like a lot of the places I seen I didn't like. But then I was very lucky; I found this place, and it . . . really, it's beautiful. And I think they'll enjoy it when they get used to it. Well, it's not so very far away. Of course, my grandmother, she don't want to go anywhere, only Orchard Street. She never lived anywhere but Orchard Street, and she don't like the idea of going away, but you can get up there in about forty minutes. It don't seem so far. And you can go three ways: you can go on the sub, on the el, on the bus. And when you get up there it's beautiful because the house has got four sides to it. Yes, sir, you know, sun seems to come in all round. And it's got a little grass in front, and it's got a couple of trees. And the room they're going to give my mother and my grandmother, the window looks right straight into a tree. Yes, sir, you can see the sky through the branches. Oh, it's pretty, I imagine like it is in the country. And it's quiet up there, you know. The house is just beautiful.

Well, it's beautifully decorated, you know. Yes, sir, they have got very pretty cretonne drapes, and they got cretonne sofas, cretonne chairs, rattan chairs, and stuffed chairs, and they got a lot of cushions in the chairs, and they got rugs on the floor, and they got a lot of magazines and books laying around, you know; it's homelike. And they've got a piano, and they got a radio, and they got a Victor and a lot of records. Uh, somebody give 'em a lot of records, and . . .

How, many old ladies? There's about thirty. Oh, they seem to be very contented. Well, they was sittin' around, you know, the way old ladies do, and they was talkin', knittin', crochetin'; one of them was singin'—singin' at the piano. Yes, sir.

And I think my mother will enjoy it because my mother, she likes beautiful things the way I do, and the house has got a lot of pictures on the walls, and I was . . . Pardon me? What kind of pictures? Oh, they got a big variety. Somebody give 'em a gift of pictures, and they hung 'em all over the house, and it's very interesting when every room you go in there's beautiful pictures. You want me to tell you? About the pictures? Oh, yes, sir, if you would be interested I would be pleased.

Well, I was lookin' at 'em, and the lady who showed me around, she was telling me about them, and unh, and unh, they're very wonderful. In the front hall when you go in, the first thing you see is Niagara Falls, and really you'd think it was there. The water appears to be comin' down from the ceiling to the floor, and it's just very realistic, you know; the falls is all around the hall.

And then in the dining room they have got a picture of George Washington, and he is in a boat. Well, he's goin' somewhere with a lot of fellows pullin' on the oars, and there's ice in the water, and he's standin' up, the General, with a three-cornered hat, and he . . . Pardon me? Where was he goin'? Ah, I guess you got me there, Judge. I don't know where he was goin'. Crossing the Delaware River? Goin' over to the Battle of Trenton? Oh, thank you. I'm glad you asked me; now I will remember. And did he win the battle? Oh good! He looked so worried!

And then, in the sittin' room they have got a picture of a cathedral, and that is in France, and the . . . I thought it seemed kind of funny: the two spires is different, and . . . one is very fancy, and one is very plain. And the lady was tellin' me that it is one of the most famous cathedrals in the world. And she says the walls is mostly glass. And it was built nearly a thousand years ago and never fell down yet. No, she says it's wonderful. She says when you go inside and you look through them windows that it seems you was lookin' through jewels. Yes, sir, I'd like to go over there. It's all carved, you know, by hand, out of stone, the saints and angels walkin' all over the doors, and . . . it's beautiful work.

And then in another room they got a picture of a garden, and that's in England. It's all in color. Oh, it's so beautiful! It's just a mass of flowers on the sides of a grass path goin' down the middle. And there's a little house on the hill with some sheep, and it's awfully pretty, I guess, over there. Am I fond of flowers? Oh, I am! Yes, sir, I often go uptown to see 'em in the florists' shops, but all those flowers, they grows under glass, you know, in them glass houses, and I guess in England the flowers all grows outdoors. No, sir, I was never in the country. I was down to Coney Island, but you don't see no flowers goin' down there.

Well, you see, Judge, I can't give him up. I got to go. Because he has a wonderful job out there. Well, my grandmother didn't mention it because she don't want that I should go, and my mother don't seem to think it's a very good plan, but I think it's a wonderful opportunity. Yes, sir, I'll tell you about it.

Well, you see, my young man, he has got an uncle, and he is not personally acquainted with the uncle, but he's got a beautiful letter from him. Well, when he heard we was going to get married, you see, he wrote him a letter, and he says he'd like to have him come out there and bring me and make our home with him. He's got a ranch. I guess it's like a big farm. 'Way out in the West. I don't know just where it is, but it's all wrote out in the letter. Yes, sir, it's very very far. He says he is going to send us the money for the ticket, and then all we got to do is to go to the Grand Central Station, buy the ticket, get on the train, and go. Oh, you go for two days and two nights, steady goin', and then you get somewhere, but that ain't it. No, sir, but you get out, and you go to another train, another part of the city, and you get in another train, and you go for two more days and two more nights. Altogether it's four days, four nights, steady goin'. Yes, sir, but in the end you get there. Oh, he says it's beautiful, only he says when you get out, there's nothing to see, only just land and sky. He says you can see very very far, but you can't see nothin' but land and sky.

Oh, we're lookin' forward to it. No, sir, we don't know nothin' about it, but we can learn. Well, we're both young, and my young man's very bright. Yes, sir, he's very ambitious. Afraid? No, why would we be afraid? Ah, no, we ain't afraid. No, we'll be together, and it'll be very interesting. No, it won't be much use bein' a stenographer, but I can cook pretty good. Yes, sir, my mother taught me. Well, I'm glad now. Yes, 'cause I think when men works hard all day they like to come home and find a girl waitin' for 'em with a nice hot supper ready. I'm going to do my best. And I'm going to try and fix the place up, you know, because I think if I take out some cretonne, and I'm going to try and get a few pictures, and it'll make the place look a little more homelike, you know. I'm going to fix it up . . . like that home I was tellin' you about.

Yes, sir. Pardon me? Oh, I will; I'll miss my mother something terrible. I never left my mother before. I know I will miss her. I'd take my mother with me if she'd go, but you see, she won't leave my grandmother. No, sir, no, sir, she won't leave her, and I couldn't take the two of them. I don't think it'd be right to take the two because the . . . No, sir, there's just a little bitty house, and they couldn't sleep outdoors, and I don't think it's right to take three where they're lookin' for one, you know.

Well, you see, Judge, there's not a word of truth in what my grandmother says. Well, it's not true because . . . He's a very fine fellow; that's why it's not true. He's a very fine fellow. He's 23 years old—23, yes, sir. Well, he ain't always had work. He was very unlucky. He never could seem to land a job, and . . and . . . but there's a lot of fellows ain't had work. No, sir, he don't drink. He does not drink; he . . . Well, he only drunk some because he was so discouraged. You know how it is, Judge. You must have seen a lot of boys like that. Oh, they go to look for work, and they can't get work, and it seems that nobody wants them, and then they get so discouraged, and then they get drinkin'. Of course they shouldn't, but that's what happens, I know, sometimes.

Anyhow, I know he's not going to drink when we get married. He told me. He told me he was never going to drink once we was married. Well, he'll be workin', you see, and he'll be happy. It's true, ain't it, that men don't drink so bad when they're workin' and when they're happy?

Well, that's not true, either. Because I'm not that kind of girl. I do not run around and waste my time and think only of myself. They got every single penny I earned for the last two years, only just what I had to have to put on myself to keep myself respectable for my work and to get my meals, my lunch, every day. No, sir, I give my mother everything every Saturday. Yes, sir, they know it, too.

Well, I . . . I do go out sometimes. I . . . I am very fond of dancing. I . . . I go out maybe once or twice a week, but that's all. Mostly I'm so tired I come home and go to bed. No, sir, I ain't had no holidays. Aw, I never bother with them holidays; they . . . only them legal ones. Well, I'd rather get extra work. I always was lucky, you see, and I could get extra work. I'd rather make the money.

No, sir, I have not.

No, sir, never.

No, sir, I do not.

No, sir.

No, sir!

Please, Judge, I guess you think I'm terrible selfish and ungrateful, and all that kind of stuff, but I can't seem to explain and make you understand, but, you see, the trouble is they'll never understand, and you can't make 'em understand, and I want to get out of this; I want my own life, and I . . . I beg your pardon.

Wednesday? You want I should come back on Wednesday . . . yes, sir . . . and bring him? Oh! Oh, yes, sir, he'd be pleased to come. Oh, sure, he'll come and . . . yes, my boss will let me off. You want to see the two of us together. Yes, sir. And to be sure and bring the letter. Oh, yes, sir, we'll bring the letter. Then we can talk it over, and you'll tell us then? Thank you. Yes, sir, we'll be here—Wednesday morning at ten o'clock. Thank you.

Come on, Grandma, come on home. Come on, Mama. Oh, what's the use of talkin' now? We got to wait until Wednesday, anyhow. Come on home.

Ruth Draper, in her own person: Judge.