He looked at her and she blushed. She'd faked it. Why, the little trickster! But now she was caught. She was going to have to go whether she wanted to or not. "You lied, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"It takes one to know one. You faked sick last week."
She tossed her head defiantly. "So?"
"So, you can help me get one of them cards now or I'm telling on you."
She bit her lip. "You're a—a—"
"Regular old bully?"
She just sighed and went over to speak to one of the gray-shawled women. The woman was holding the hand of a tiny boy, but she put her free arm around the girl's shoulders. They both turned and looked at Jake, so they were talking about him, talking about getting him one of those precious cards that would be his ticket out of Lawrence and into the greatest city in America. He knew that the streets of New York City weren't paved with gold—that was just one of those lies the foreign workers believed—but there would be chances there for a boy, and opportunity was as good as gold, now, wasn't it?
Eventually, the woman came over to where he stood, a child on each side staring at him. The little boy had eyes big as plates and a skinny little stick of a body—it was a wonder he could stand, much less walk.
"Rosa tell me your papa need a card."
"Yes, ma'am. He wou
lda come, but he's down real sick."
"Lotsa sick ones." The woman nodded sympathetically. "I ask for you. Go ahead, get your exam, eh? Then bring your card to the hall first thing in the morning. Okay?"
"Thank you, Mrs.—?"
"Serutti. I'm Rosa's mamma." She stroked the girl's hair. "You be good to Rosa on the train, okay? She's a little worried—go so far from home."
He promised to look after Rosa, "like a brother," he said.
After the soup, they divided the children, boys on one side of the hall, girls on the other. The woman with Mrs. Gurley Flynn examined the girls; to Jake's relief, it was a man doctor who examined the boys. The worst part was taking off his shirt and having the doctor cluck about his sunken chest and prominent ribs and then sigh deeply at the sight of his scarred back. "You do need a vacation, don't you, son?" he said.
Mrs. Serutti brought him the precious card as he was rebuttoning his shirt. "Here, boy, have your papa do it and bring it back first thing in the morning, okay? Else you can't get on the train, you understand?"
He understood. But he had no intention of taking it to his pa. He'd just scribble something on it that would look like a signature. How would anyone know it wasn't? But then he looked at the card. It was filled with words. There were lots of dotted lines that looked as though you were meant to write things down. Maybe he could scribble something that looked like somebody's name and get away with it, but all these lines? Jake couldn't read. He didn't even know what the card was asking for, much less how to write it in.
The shoe girl? Rosa? Where was she? He had to get help. He made his way to where the girls who had finished their examinations were standing and motioned her over.
She came. "Mamma got you a card, I see."
"Yeah, thanks. But could you help me? My eyes ain't too good in this light. Would you read it for me?"
She gave him a look that assured him that she knew that this time he was the faker. But she didn't say anything, she just began to read, stumbling a bit over words like "imperative" and "facilitate" that totally mystified Jake.
STRIKE COMMITTEE.
Lawrence Textile Workers.
9 Mason Street.
IDENTIFICATION CARD.
It is imperative that the parents of a child, or of children, who wish to go on a vacation, during the strike of mill workers at Lawrence, Mass., give their consent in writing, and to facilitate matters they are requested to sign this identification card. No children will be accepted except the parents, father and mother, sign such a card.
Name of child............................................................
Age of child...............................................................