“I left Stanton the week after,” Harriett said, “and haven’t been back since. Had hard times, too, but we’re kinder lucky now, Billy and me—got some dates booked over the Orpheum circuit soon. Liable to get wind of us at the Palace on Broadway one o’ these days. Can’t tell! Things are breakin’ pretty good for spade acts— since Jews are not like the rest of the white folks. They will give you a break if you’ve got some hot numbers to show ’em, whether you’re colored or not. And Jews control the theatres.”

But the conversation went back to Stanton, when Hager and Jimboy and all of them had lived together, laughing and quarrelling and playing the guitar—while the tea got cold and the chop suey hardened to a sticky mess as the sisters wept. Billy marked busily on the table-cloth meanwhile with a stubby pencil, explaining to Sandy a new and intricate system he had found for betting on the numbers.

“Harrie and me plays every day. Won a hundred forty dollars last week in Cleveland,” he said.

“Gee! I ought to start playing,” Sandy exclaimed. “How much do you put on each number?”

“Well, for a nickel you can win . . .”

“No, you oughtn’t,” checked Harriett, suddenly conscious of Billy’s conversation, turning towards Sandy with a handkerchief to her eyes. “Don’t you fool with those numbers, honey! . . . What are you trying to do, Billy, start the boy off on your track? . . . You’ve got to get your education, Sandy, and amount to something.... Guess you’re in high school now, aren’t you, kid?”

“Third year,” said Sandy slowly, dreading a new argument with his mother.

“And determined to keep on going here this fall, in spite o’ my telling him I don’t see how,” put in Annjee. “Jimboy’s over yonder, Lord knows where, and I certainly can’t take care of Sandy and send him to school, too. No need of my trying—since he’s big enough and old enough to hold a job and make his own living. He ought to be wanting to help me, anyway. Instead of that, he’s determined to go back to school.”

“Make his own living!” Harriett exclaimed, looking at Annjee in astonishment. “You mean you want Sandy to stay out of school to help you? What good is his little money to you?”

“Well, he helps with the room rent,” his mother said. “And gets his meals where he works. That’s better’n we’d be doing with him studying and depending on me to keep things up.”

“What do you mean better?” Harriett cried, glaring at her sister excitedly, forgetting they had been weeping together five minutes before. “For crying out loud—better? Why, Aunt Hager’d turn over in her grave if she heard you talking so calmly about Sandy leaving school—the way she wanted to make something out of this kid. . . . How much do you earn a week?” Harriett asked suddenly, looking at her nephew across the table.