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miserable orphans again,” she said. “Mrs. Carillon’s been arrested for inciting a riot. She’s in jail.”
    “Poor Mrs. Carillon. Maybe we can bail her out.”
    “It’s no use. Today is Saturday. We can’t reach Mr. Banks until Monday, and all I’ve got is eight cents.”
    Tony had five cents. “Where’s the jail?”
    “Greenwich Avenue and Eighth Street. We don’t even have enough money for the subway.”
    “Maybe we can borrow the money. Start crying so somebody will feel sorry for us.”
    Tina screwed up her face; nothing happened. “I’m too miserable to cry.”
    “Then stop making faces. No one will give us even two cents if you look like that. Hey, look at that guy!” Tony pointed to a barefoot young man with long hair and a straggly beard who was holding out his hand to a matronly shopper.
    “I need $2.50 to get to New Jersey,” he said.
    “Get a haircut,” the woman replied.
    “I need $2.50 to get to New Jersey,” he said to a passing secretary. She opened her purse and gave him 50 cents.
    “Let’s try it,” Tony said. They approached an old woman. “We need some money to get to jail.”
    The old woman walked on. They tried a younger woman, then a man. No one took any notice of them.
    “Get a job like everybody else,” someone said to the bearded young man, but the next woman gave him a dollar.
    “Did you see that?” Tony said. “A dollar!”
    “I’ve been counting how much he’s made,” Tina said, “and it’s more than $2.50. Let’s ask him for money.”
    Tony shyly approached the barefoot beggar, taking care not to step on his toes. “Please, sir, could we have a dollar?”
    “Hey, that’s beautiful,” laughed the hairy young man, whose name was Harry. “But you’re not playing the game right. First off, you’re too well dressed. Now if....”
    This was too much for Tina. She had no trouble crying this time.
    “I’m sorry, kids. Are you in some kind of trouble?” Harry put his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “I’ll give you a dollar. Just tell me what you need it for.”
    “To see our mother in jail.”
    “In jail? Where’s your dad?”
    “We’re orphans,” Tina blurted out.
    “You kids need more than a dollar, you need real help. We’ll stop off and see some friends of mine on the way to the prison.”
    Harry took the twins by the hands and led them down the subway stairs. On the ride to Astor Place, Tony told him the story of Mrs. Carillon’s arrest.
    Friends in Need
    Tina and Tony followed Harry up five flights of dingy stairs to a large loft. “Hold everything,” he shouted over the din of a sculptor hammering on a rusty piece of iron. The four artists in the room looked up from their work and saw the unhappy twins.
    “This is Tina and this is Tony. Their mother was arrested in Bloomingdale’s for inciting a riot,” Harry explained.
    “What was she protesting?” asked Joel, a tall man with a large puff of black hair.
    “She just tripped and fell and that made other people fall,” Tina said, afraid to admit that she was the one who had incited the riot by yelling “Fire,” not Mrs. Carillon.
    “Injustice!” proclaimed a girl with long brown hair and red beads. The others agreed.
    “She’s locked up in the Women’s House of Detention,” Harry added.
    “That pest-hole!”
    Tears started in Tina’s eyes as she pictured poor Mrs. Carillon in a pest-hole. She decided to give herself up to the police as soon as they reached the jail.
    “Don’t worry, kids, we’ll get your mother out of there,” Joel promised. “Everybody, find some poster board and start making signs. We’re going to march on the prison.”
    “What’s your mother’s name?” asked the girl with the beads, brush in hand.
    “Mrs. Carillon. C-a-r-i-l-l-o-n.”
    The artists worked quickly. Tina watched with awe as the bold brushstrokes formed letters, then words. Tony walked from easel to easel, reading the signs aloud:
FREE MRS. CARILLON
FREE THE ORPHANS’