Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1919-06-29
THE THREE OF THEM

tell me, for Gods sake, what Is mat!
And into Martha Foote's face there
came such "A look OF mingled compass
sion and mirth as to bring quick
fame Of fury into Geisha McCoy's
eyes.
Look here. you may think it's
funny. but
II don't l don't Wait minute.
Martha Foote turned and was gone.
An instant later the weird sounds
ceased The two women in the room
look ed toward the door. expectantly.
And through it came Martha Foote.
smiling She turned and beckoned to
some one without. Come on" she
said. Come on" She put out hand.
cncourag ngly. and brought forward
the shrinking. covering. timorous
figure of Anna Czarnik. scrub woman
on the sixth floor. Her hand still on
her shoulder, Martha Foote led her
to the center of the room. where she
stood gazing dumbly about She was
the scrub woman you've seen in every
hotel from San Francisco to Scituate.
A shapeless, moist, blue calico mass.
Her shoes turned up ludicrously at
the toes. as do the shoes of one who
crawls her way backward. crab-like.
on hands and knees. Her hands were
the shriveled. unlovely members that
bespeak long and daily immersion in
dirty water But even had those in
variable marks Of her trade been
lacking you could not have failed to
recognize her type by the large and
glittering mock diamond comb which
failed to catch up her dark and
stringy hair in the back.
One kindly hand on the womans
arm. Martha Foote performed the in
PRODUCTION.
This is Mrs Anna Czarnik, late of
Poland. Widowed. Likewise child
less. Also brotherless. Also many
other uncomfortable things. But the
life Of the crowd in the scrub girls
quarters on the top floor. Aren't you.
Anna? Mrs. Anna Czarnik, Pm sorry
to say. is the source of the blood
curdling moan. and the swishing and
the clanking. and the ghost raps
There is a service stairway just on
the other side of this wall. Anna
Czarnik was performing her morning
job Of scrubbing it. The swishing
was her wet rag. The clanking was
her pail. The dull raps her scrubbing
brush striking the stair corner just
behind your wall"
you're forgetting the wall" Geisha
Mccoy suggested, icily.
THAT was Anna Czarnik singing"
"singng?"
Martha Foote turned and spoke q
gibberish Of Polish and English to the
Eax.
Czarnik's dull face lighted up ever so
little.
She says the thing she was singing
is Polish folk song about death and
sorrow. and it's called a-what was
that Anna?"
"Dumka"
ITS called a dumka. It's a song Of
mourning. you see. OF grief And of
bitterness against the invaders who
have laid her country bare"
We'll, what's the idea" demanded
Geisha Mccoy. What kind of a hotel
is this anyway? Scrubgirls waking
people up in the middle Of the night
with Polish cabaret. If she wants
to sing her hymn Of hate why does
she have to pick on me"
I'm sorry. You can go. Anna. No
sing. remember. Sh-sh-sh!"
Anna Czarnik nodded and made her
unwieldy escape.
Geisha Mccoy waved a hand at the
mulatto maid. Go to your room,
Blanche. I'll ring when / need you"
The girl vanished. gratefully, without
backward glance at the disorderly
room. Martha Foote felt herself dis
missed. too. And yet she made no
move to go. She stood there in the
middle of the room, and every house
keeper inch of her yearned to tidy
the chaos all about her, and every
sympathetic impulse urged her to
comfort the rve-tortured woman
before her. Something Of this must
have shone in her face for Geisha
McCoy's tone was half pettish, half
apologize as she spoke.
you've no business allowing things
like that, you know. My nerves are
all shot to pieces, anyway. But even
If they weren't, who could stand that
kind Of torture? A woman like that
ought to lose her job for that One
word from me at the office and She"
Don't say it, then" interrupted
Martha Foote, and came over to the
bed Mechanically her fingers straight
ened the tumbled covers. removed a