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Updated: June 23, 2025
Not findin' me to home, ye were runnin' over to the grocery to find out from yer sister's husband's brother Bill whativer had become of the family!" The sharp Irish lady had hit it again, and Miss Ruth here interrupted to ask Miss Bonkowski if she could remember the date on which the child had been found in the vacant room.
With a sudden flash of intuition Norma Bonkowski flew to the manager. "Stop the music, make them stop," she begged.
"And what is the darling's name?" she repeated. The little one, her pitiful sobbing momentarily arrested, regarded Miss Bonkowski with grave wonder. "Didn't a know I are Angel?" she returned in egotistical surprise. "Sure an' it's the truth she's spakin', fer it's the picter of an angel she is," cried Mrs.
Miss Bonkowski turned from a partial view of herself such as the abbreviated glass to her bureau afforded.
Not that I mean, ma'am," and Miss Bonkowski spoke with quick pride, "that being in the profession need to make any body what they shouldn't be, for I know plenty of 'em of the best, and am one myself, though only a Chorus, but what with what's said about this one, even with her good heart and generous ways, she's not the one to have our Angel, though she meant it for the best."
They'd put her in a refuge or 'sylum, that's what they'd do, where, while maybe she'd have more to eat, she'd be enough worse off, a-starvin' for a motherin' word!" Miss Bonkowski, abashed at Mary's fierce attack, made an attempt to speak, but Mary, vehemently interrupting, hurried on: "I know whereas I speak, Norma Bonkowski, I know, I know. I've gone through it all myself.
"Don't you understand?" she said bluntly, "all the huntin' in the world ain't goin' to find a mother what don't mean to be found?" "But what makes you so sure she don't?" persisted Miss Bonkowski, letting the child take possession of spoon and cup, and quite revelling in the further touch of the dramatic developing in the situation. Unconsciously Mary pressed the child to her as she spoke.
Miss Bonkowski being, as she expressed it, "on in the first scene," Mary Carew had been obliged to forsake jean pantaloons for the time being and come to take charge of the child, who in her earnest, quick, enthusiastic little fashion had done her part and gone through the rehearsal better even than the sanguine Norma had hoped, and after considerable drilling had satisfied the authorities that she could fill the vacancy.
So saying, Miss Bonkowski gave a pull out and a last finishing pat to the strings of the embroidered muslin bonnet the child had worn on her first appearance, and taking her, clean, dainty, smiling and expectant, into her arms, Miss Norma plunged out of the comparative coolness of the Tenement hallway into the glare of the August sun. But all this while the little brain was at work.
Then grimly picking up child and bundle, with one guilty, frightened look about the room that for so many years had meant home to her, she went out the door and hurried cautiously down the steps and out into the snowy night. It was half-past twelve when Norma Bonkowski, returning, climbed the stairs of the Tenement wearily.
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