Omaha daily bee., 1903-05-31

the supper which the steamship company
begins to serve at 4 o'clock.
The supper consists OF h~unks-not slices
of bread. and a dish OF stewed prunes
apiece. The emigrnnts eat Just where they
are sitting and presently the floor is a
shambles Of prune pits, and every step
brings forth a sound as OF the explosion
OF torpedoes.
Age and Patience.
On her two gunny sacks sits old Agats,
leaning against a wooden post. She is in
front Of the door and keeps her eyes fixed
upon II at all times. ARata is old, very
old. Her face looks like a piece of brown
leather, carved with countless wrinkles.
She is little and stopped. and her long,
gold earrings hang down TO her shoulders.
Her large shoes protrude from beneath
her short, scsnt skirt. and her withered
old hands are folded patiently on her lap.
Why should not Agata be patient? Has
she not had a hard life to make her so7
Did not her husband die? Did not her son
come away TO American Did she not pick
olives for 2 cents a day? Has she not
come all this way, imprisoned in that
penthouse of the waves because her son
sent her the ticket7 And now they will not
let her 60 to her son. All, all countries
are alike. All Cypress the poor and the
old, This new country, this America, will
not let her go TO her son. II will send her
back to Italy. Well. then, she will go back
to Italy and die.
Old Agata had only the address OF an
Italian banker to give when she reached
the island. They communicated with the
banker. He furnished the address OF the
son. But the son had moved, and has not
yet been found. The government will be
careful In this case; because IL the old
woman has not good friends she will be-
come an immediate public charge.
So old Agata sits and waits,
hendingly.
Among the hundreds of hatless, dropping
women sits one straight and slim as a
sapling, neatly gloved and booted. She
wears a neat little gray cloth gown and
a trig little sailor hat, draped with some
soft white stun. There is a bunch Of vio-
let's at her breast. At a little distance they
look real and give an indescribable touch
Of elegance in the midst OF all this frowsi-
ness. Every line of her figure, every mo-
ton of her body indicates a woman of
breeding and refinement. She is delicately
beautiful-more than beautiful-lnterestinR
Among the peasant women around her, her
face shines out like a star amid the
gloom" What is she, a gentlewoman, do
ing, sitting on her luggage on the floor of
the New York pen? And of what nation
ality is she? She is not Italian,
though she is dark enough. She is not
Irish; she is not German; she is not n
Jewess. She carries no hallmark. She is
cosmopolitan She Is weary, but not dis
gusted with her present company. 1t seems
to distress her not at all tina she is travel
ing Storage. Is she a Russian college stu
dent, fleeing persecution? In that case II
would be part OF her faith to make herself
one OF the lowly.
Suddenly she turns to old Agata. They
are calling her name at the door, but the
old woman does not hear. The fair un.
known lifts her to her feet, grasps her
bags. impels her gently toward the door.
Agata goes, not understanding. She does
not understand anything till she catches
) sight of a lean, black, wiry Calabrese, her
Pietro. and goes away with him to a safe
corner in his kitchen. where she will mind
the children while Pietro goes out with the
pushcort, and his wife finishes pants al
s cents the pair.
And as the observer follows q rich veil o,
human interest seems to linger behind over
the tired, dirty, frowsy New York pen
and through It shine the face OF the beau,
ttful. unknown, mysterious little princess OF
the steerage-New York Commercial Ad,
v~ertiser.