Carmella Commands
Always, moreover, there was some one who knew—if only that some one could be induced to tell.
“Miss Sargle!” she called as the new superintendent of Hope House passed the door.
“Yes, Mrs. Barrington!”
Miss Sargle entered briskly, confident and smiling, as any graduate of any social service institute should do.
“What,” demanded the sponsor of the sewing class, “is the matter?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Miss Sargle calmly.
To her, as it happened, the sewing class for Italian mothers was one of the least of the Hope House interests. For years it had been the institution’s ugly duckling, kept alive only because Mrs. Russell, the president, insisted.
Although she was a recent comer to the house, Miss Sargle had quickly imbibed all the managerial prejudices against the sewing class, which undoubtedly a graduate of a social service school should not do.
She could not be expected to know, moreover, its importance to Mrs. Barrington, sponsoring it at Mrs. Whitman Russell’s request.
“Why don’t the women come?” insisted Mrs. Barrington.
“I wish I could tell,” said the superintendent. “It’s hard to understand these foreigners, you know. And remember that the Italians in this district are not the
[2]
