I heard her slam the front door." "And a good job, too," Mrs.Fitzgerald armed.

"We don't want any of her sort here--not those who've got things of value about them.

I bet she didn't leave America for nothing." A little gray-haired lady, who had not as yet spoken, and who very seldom took part in any discussion at all, looked up from her knitting.
She was desperately poor but she had charitable instincts.
"I wonder what made her want to steal," she remarked quietly.
"A born thief," Mrs.Fitzgerald declared with conviction,--"a real bad lot.

One of your sly-looking ones, I call her." The little lady sighed.
"When I was better off," she continued, "I used to help at a soup kitchen in Poplar.

I have never forgotten a certain look we used to see occasionally in the faces of some of the men and women.