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"In the middle, there—in the gray shawl."
All the shawls seemed gray or so faded they could pass for gray in the dim light of the hall, but he didn't want to ask again, so he nodded, pretending to know which of the women she meant. He turned back to catch her wiping her face again. The dirt on it was streaked.
"Hey, what's the matter, shoe girl?"
"Nothing." She sniffed and straightened her shoulders.
"Then why you bawling?"
"I'm not."
"Sure you are."
"You wouldn't understand."
"How do you know? You think I'm dumb?"
"No, I think you got a lot of nerve. You're probably dying to go."
"Go? Go where?"
"My card says I'm supposed to go to New York. All the children last week went to New York."
"New York City?" His eyes danced at the thought of going to such a magical place.
"Yes. But tomorrow it may be New York or it may be some other place—Vermont somewhere."
"Vermont? Is that in the Yew-nited States of America?"
"Since 1791," she said primly, then her lips began to tremble. "But it's a long way from here."
"New York. Wow, wee." His head was already calculating the riches of the place. And a guy like him could get ahead there, Jake was sure of it. No more shacks by the river, no more lint-filled, stinking, steaming mill work. "Well, I ain't going to no Vermont. No, sir, I'm going to go to New York City."
"I don't think the kids get to decide. It's the parents and the committee that decide."
"What committee? I don't know nothing about no committee."
"But isn't that why you're here? To have your examination?"
"No, I come for the soup. But if anyone's going to New York City, I aim to go, too."
"You have to have a card that says so."
"What you mean, 'card'?"
"Your parents have to fill out the card and sign it, saying they want you to go and where."
Hell's bells! He should have known there'd be a catch. "How do I get me a card?"
"They won't give you one. They just give them to the parents."
"But's'pose ... s'pose your ma is dead and your pa is too sick to come get a card?"
"I don't know. I wish they'd give you mine." She looked as though she might burst into tears again.
"C'mon now, c'mon. It would be great to go to New York City." The prospect of going to the city was suddenly the only thing in his life that rivaled the glamour of Mrs. Gurley Flynn. He was lost in a daydream of himself in the big city. He might have to start out small—selling papers, say—but it wouldn't be long before he'd be rich as Billy Wood, clever as he was. "Who gives out them cards?"
"I don't know—somebody from the union committee, I think. Mamma brought hers home from a meeting. She meant for me to go last week, but I got sick."
