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Frances PerkinsFrances Perkins
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rustling around. As the door was opened, you could see one man in the back hall getting into his coat, and the man that opened the door was just settling himself into his coat. They didn't seem to be servants, exactly. In an ordinary Embassy, you would have had some kind of a steward or something opening the door. They were not quite ready, you know-- although it was the hour that had been set.

So we stated who we were. “Secretary of Labor.” I presented my card. Mr. Gambs presented his card. They looked at us with deep suspicion. Whether they understood us fully or not, I don't know, because finally they went and got a girl who was an interpreter, who could interpret. These were obviously the official doormen, but they didn't altogether understand the language, and they were a little concerned. They got the girl who interpreted. So we told her who we were, and that we had the appointment, and that it was with the Ambassador, and so on, and should we go now?

She interpreted it to them, and then they asked us to be seated--not in a drawing room or a reception room, but on a stone bench in the hall. I remember that plainly, being asked to sit on a stone bench. It was all right, but you know, you're not ordinarily treated that way in an Embassy, but still...that was all right.

The two men went way into the back of the hall, sort of back under the stairs, and they talked and talked and talked.





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