is useful. We can wisely counsel her not to get a job there.”
“I thought you just said it burned down?”
“They rebuilt it, numbskull. Did you know that Lawrence has more immigrants per square mile, of which there are only six, than any other city in the world?”
“Six immigrants?”
“Six square miles.”
“Useful as evidence for committing you,” said Harry. “Are there any sanatoriums in Lawrence?”
“Immigrant girls from Ireland, France, Germany, Belgium, Poland”—Ben smiled—“and of course, Italy …”
Harry slunk down on his seat. “I will not come visit you in the pokey,” he muttered. “Not even at Christmas.”
“That’s the difference between you and me, old boy,” Ben said. “Because I will come and visit you in the pokey.”
“Why would I be up the river? Do you see me being threatened with certain prison or risking death at the hands of an irate Italian male? I don’t think so.”
“Harry!” Ben stopped with the books for a moment, looking wistful, softened, dream-like. “Did you see her?”
“I could hardly avoid it.”
“You have to admit … her mother trying to hide her under those awful clothes …”
“Not hide her, save her.”
“Nothing could hide that girl. That hair, that mouth.”
Harry leaned back, his hat over his inscrutable face.
“Well?” Ben nudged him. “Thomas Paine, or a nubile beauty from Sicily?”
“Clearly Thomas Paine. I’d be asleep now in my bed.”
“Do you remember the name of the street they live on?”
“Let’s see … Crazy Street? Cuckoo Street? Commitment Street? Cranial Injury Inflicted by Enraged Sibling Street?”
“Canal Street! Thank you.”
“I’m going to stop speaking.”
“Harry, admit it, if you weren’t so utterly uninterested in all women save Alice, you would be sitting on this train yourself.”
“Ben Shaw, I hate to point out the startlingly obvious, but I am sitting on this train myself.”
“Exactly!”
“Ugh.”
“I’m surprised to learn that Lawrence is the world leader in the production of cotton and woven textiles. Are you?”
“Stunned.”
They spent the rest of the ride bickering like this and alighted in Lawrence nearly an hour and a half later. After buying a quick bun at a local mart on Broadway, they walked to Essex Street, found an acceptably busy corner on Essex and Appleton, took out their clipboards and pamphlets, and began approaching anyone who was willing to stop and talk to them for a minute or two. After forty-five minutes of being cut off on, “Please can we have your signature to reopen the study on the advantages of building the Panama Canal to help American trade and the American economy”, after being ignored, insulted, pushed past, shouted at and misunderstood, they had collected six signatures.
“How many more?” Harry asked.
“Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-four. If you sign, then four thousand nine hundred and ninety-three.”
Harry put down his clipboard. “I’ll sign right now. Can we go home?”
“Yes—when we get a thousand signatures.”
“Ben!”
“You’re not even trying!”
“Can you do math? Are there even a thousand people in Lawrence?”
“A hundred thousand.”
“How many?”
“I thought you’d read the pamphlet I gave you.”
“I completely ignored it. Ben, you do understand, don’t you, that these people don’t speak English? They don’t understand when you say, ‘Study, advantages, Panama, canal, American, trade.’ You say the word ‘economy,’ they hear gibberish, gibberish, gibberish.”
“You’re giving up already?”
“Aren’t engineers required to do rudimentary math? If it took us nearly an hour to get five signatures …”
“Six with you.”
“How long will it take us to walk back and catch the 3:20 back to Boston?”
“Harry? Ben?”
The female voice came from behind them. When they turned around, Gina stood before them smiling broadly. To say she looked unreservedly pleased would be to under-define her expression. Ben smiled broadly back. She was dressed in a green skirt and a white high-necked lace blouse, and she carried a basket on her forearm. Her hair was properly tied up. Next to her stood a skinny homely girl.
“Hello, Miss Attaviano.” Ben was beaming. “And is this your cousin Angela?”
“No, this is Angela’s friend Verity. Verity, Ben, Harry. Harry, Ben, Verity. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your family names.” Gina smiled apologetically. “What are you two gentlemen doing here?”
“We are collecting signatures to open research on the construction of the Panama Canal,” Ben said. “What about you?”
Gina pointed. “I live just down the street on Canal,” she said.
“Oh, is that where you live?” said Ben. “So close. We had no idea.”
“We are doing a bit of shopping. Negotiating for some cheap fruit. Verity runs the mission bazaar table on Sundays and I’m helping her collect some things to sell to raise money for the poor.” She smiled. “Like me.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, poor like me, not sell like me.”
Ben laughed. Harry took a step back. Ben took a step forward. “How is your family?”
“Very good. Thank you.”
“Are you working?”
“More or less.” She nodded. “We’re doing okay. I’d invite you to the house, but it’s so small, you wouldn’t fit in our living room. We’re hoping to get a bigger place soon.”
“Are you going to go to school?” That was Harry. It was the first time he had spoken.
Verity
