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Lubin had a guilty conscience. There was something else on his mind that he wasn't telling me. I said, “Who is it that wants to go?”

He said, “It's Mrs. Rosenberg.”

I said, “Who's Mrs. Rosenberg?”

He said, “You know, that woman who's in the Social Security office in New York. She used to be in the NRA. Don't you remember?”

I said, “I think I know who you mean now. She's the one we had so much trouble about in the Social Security office because she had a job at Macy's at the same time.” It was a question of dual jobs, which is against the law, but she'd gotten herself some kind of an engagement with Macy's, whom she'd made a great hit with during the NRA days.

I said, “What utter nonsense! I never heard anything like that. What does she know about these matters?”

“Well,” he said, “during the NRA she got to know a good deal about labor matters in New York.”

“Why,” I said, “she knew Joe Ryan and the dock workers and George Meany and the plumbers, but what does she know about these things? What earthly sense is there in it? This is not in her line at all. No, I won't think of it.”

That was that. I said, “Who put you up to this? Who wants her to go?”