See how sorry he gets right away. He ain't a bad
boy, Poil, only always I've spoilt him. Come in, my boy--come in, and
go in to your papa."

The door swung open and fanned backward the stale air in a sharp gust,
and the women sprang apart mechanically as automatons, the sagging,
open-mouthed vacuity of surprise on Mrs. Binswanger's face, the tears
still wet on her daughter's cheeks and lying lightly on her lashes like
dew.

"Mr. Teitlebaum."

"Max!"

Mr. Teitlebaum hesitated at the threshold, the flavor of his amorous
spirit tasty on his lips and curving them into a smile.

"That's my name! Hello, Pearlie girlie! How-dye-do, Mrs.
Binswanger--what what--"

He regarded them with dark, quiet eyes, the quick red of embarrassment
running high in his face and under his tight-fitting cap of close-nap
black hair.

"Ah, excuse me; I might have known. I--I'm too early. Like my mother
says, I was in such a hurry to--to get back here again I--I nearly got
out and pushed the Subway--I--you must excuse me. I--"

"No, no; sit down, Mr. Teitlebaum. Pearlie ain't feelin' so well this
evening; she's all right now, though. Such a cold she's got, ain't you,
Poil?"

"Yes--yes. Such a cold I got. Sit--sit down, Max."

He regarded her with the rims of his eyes stretched wide in anxiety.

"Down at supper so well you looked, Pearlie; I says to my mother, like a
flower you looked."

A fog of tears rose sheer before her.

"Her papa, Mr. Teitlebaum, he ain't so well, neither. Just now he went
to bed, and he--he said to you I should give his excuses."

"So! Ain't that too bad, now!"

"Sit down, Max, there, next to mamma."

He leaned across the table toward the little huddle of her figure, the
gentle villanelle of his emotions writ frankly across his features.

"Pearlie--"

"She'll be all right in a minute, Mr. Teitlebaum--like her papa she is,
always so afraid of a little sickness."

"Pearlie, ain't you going to look at me?"

She sprang from his light hand on her shoulder, and the tears grew to
little globules, trembled, fell. Then a sudden rod of resolution
straightened her back.

"We--I been lying to you, Max; I ain't--sick!"

"Poil!"

"I--I think I know, little Pearlie!"

"Poil!"

"No, no; it's best we tell the truth, mamma."

"Ya, ya. Oh, my--"

"We--we're in big trouble, Max. Business trouble. The store, ever--ever
since the traction--it ain't been the same."

"I know, little Pearlie. I--"

"Wait a mi