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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Yes you know I used to be in Newark I was the president of the Newark Hat-Trimmers' Union." "And now?" "I'm trying to organize the girls here." "Well," he muttered, grimly. "I wouldn't like to be your boss, Miss Heffer." She laughed in her low voice. "Let me tell you what sort I am!" And she sat down, crossed her legs, and clasped her hands on her raised knee.
And so the Stove Circle was founded with Sally Heffer, Michael Dunan, Oscar Heming, Nathan Latsky, Salvatore Giotto, and Jacob Izon. Its members met together a fortnight later on a cold wintry night. The stove was red-hot, the circle drew about it on their kitchen chairs, and Joe spent the first meeting in going over his plans for the paper.
It was all at once, as if only in this way could he go on living, that otherwise he would end in the insanity of the mad-house or the insanity of suicide. He was walking down the stairs with Fannie, and he was trembling. "Do you know this Sally Heffer?" "Know her? We all do!" she cried, with all a young girl's enthusiasm. "I want to see her, Fannie. Where does she live?"
He had fallen in love with Greenwich Village from the first day he had explored it for a promising dwelling-place. Here, he knew, lived Sally Heffer, and here doubtless he would meet her and she would help shape his fight, perhaps be the woman to gird on his armor, put sword in his hand, and send him forth.
There was a pause; then Joe and his mother looked at each other with queer expressions on their faces, and suddenly their mellow laughter filled the room. "Isn't it great, mother? That's what we get!" "Well, Joe," said his mother, "what do you expect?" Suddenly then another stood before him bowed, remorseful, humble. It was Sally Heffer, the tears trickling down her face.
In an agony of guilt again he felt what he had said to Myra: "From now on I belong to those dead girls" yes, and to their fellow-workers. Suddenly it seemed to him that he must see Sally Heffer that to her he must carry the burden of his guilt to her he must personally make answer to the terrible accusations she had voiced.
Just beyond, Sally Heffer was writing at a little table, and the globed gas burned above her, lighting the thin gold of her sparse hair. She turned her face to him quite casually, the same pallid, rounded face, the same broad forehead and gray eyes, of remarkable clarity eyes that were as clear windows allowing one to peer in.
And then one evening in the Park like a flash came the plan. He must go among the poor, he must get to know them not in this neighborhood, "a prophet is not without honor, etc." but in some new place where he was unknown. He thought of Greenwich Village. Did not Fannie Lemick tell him that Sally Heffer lived in Greenwich Village? Well, he would look into the matter.
"After the fire " his voice snapped, and it was a space before he went on, "I felt I was guilty.... I went to a mass-meeting and one of the speakers accused the ... class I belong to ... of failing in their duty.... She said ..." Myra spoke sharply: "Who said?" "Miss Heffer." "Oh!" Joe felt suddenly silenced. Something unpleasant was creeping in between them.
"Oh, somewhere in Greenwich Village. But she'll be up at the Woman's League after the meeting." He went up to the Woman's League and found the office crowded with women and men. He asked for Miss Heffer. "I'll take your name," said the young woman, and then came back with the answer that "he'd have to wait." So he took a seat and waited.
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