Thus prodded, Yetta began. The many books which she had read to her father as a child had familiarized her with good English. But in the last four years she had fallen into the mixture of Yiddish and slipshod English which is the language of the sweat-shop. Now she felt that she must speak correctly, and the search for words added to her self-consciousness and ruined the effect of her story. Mabel was just beginning to regret that she had brought her in, when in some sudden, inexplicable way all the excitement of the last few days came over Yetta with a rush and stimulated her as the wine had on the night of the ball. She began to speak simply, straight out from her heart. It was not an economic exposition of the industrial conflict; not even a coherent explanation of the strike in her shop. It was a more personal story. She wandered off from her main subject, told them about her father and the book-store. She told them about Rachel and Mrs. Cohen. She told them about Jake Goldfogle and his offer of marriage. Now and then Mabel asked a question about the conditions in her trade. God knows they were bad enough, but to Yetta such things seemed insignificant details; she was concerned with the frightful implications of poverty. Long hours and poor food seemed of small moment to her compared to the miserable meagreness of the life of the girls. To be sure they were hungry, but more awful was the fact that they were starving for sunlight. More than once she came back to Rachel and how she had "wanted to be good." Suddenly she stopped and turned to Mabel. "Ought I to tell them about Harry Klein?" The roomful of women--ease-loving, worldly women--also turned to Mabel to catch her answer. They had fallen silent under the spell of Yetta's simple eloquence. Some of them Mabel detested. It seemed almost sacrilegious to let this unsophisticated girl strip her soul naked before them. But she saw that Yetta was moving them more deeply than she ever could. "It hasn't anything to do with the strike," she said after a slight hesitation. "You don't need to tell it--if you'd rather not." "Please tell us." It was Mrs. Karner who had spoken. Yetta had felt that she was the friendliest of all these fine ladies. She had found encouragement in her eyes whenever she had looked at her. So taking a deep breath, she plunged in. "You see, it was just luck--if it hadn't been for luck, I'd have gone wrong--just like Rachel."