-you got to have the
blue-and-white quilt on you, too."

"Don't, Abie--do you want to suffocate me? I can't stand so much. Take
off the quilt."

"Your rheumatism, you know, mamma--you'll see how much cooler it will
get in the night."

"_Ach_, Abie, leave that window all the way up. So hot, and that boy
closes me up like--"

"When the lace curtain blows in it means you're in a draught,
mamma--half-way open you can have it, but not all. Without me to fuss
you'd have a fine rheumatism--like it ain't dangerous for you to sleep
where there's enough draught to blow the curtain in."

"Abie, if you don't feel good, in two minutes I can get up and heat the
broth if--"

"I'm grand, mamma. Here, I move this chair so the light from Magintys'
don't shine in your eyes."

"What she does in her kitchen so late I don't know. Good night, Abie. In
the dark you look like poor papa. How he used to fuss round the room at
night fixing me just like you--poor papa, Abie--not? Poor papa?"

"Good night, mamma."

Mr. Ginsburg leaned over and kissed his mother lightly on the forehead.

"Double cream did you say I should write the milkman?"

"Yes--and, Abie, don't forget to cover the bird."

"Yes. Here, I leave the door half-way open, mamma. Good night."

"Abie! Abie!"

"Yes?"

"Oh, it ain't nothing at all, Abie--never mind."

"I'm right here, mamma. Anything you want me to do?"

"Nothing. Good night, Abie."

"Good night, mamma."

* * * * *

At eight-fifteen Monday morning Miss Ruby Cohn blew into the Ginsburg &
Son's shoe store like a breath of thirty-nine-cents-an-ounce perfume
shot from a strong-spray atomizer. The street hung with the strong
breath of Mayflower a full second after her small, tall-heeled feet had
crossed its soft asphalt.

At the first whiff Mr. Ginsburg drew the upper half of his body out from
a case of misses' ten-button welt soles he was unpacking and smiled as
if Aurora and spring, and all the heyday misses that Guido Reni and
Botticelli loved to paint, had suddenly danced into his shop.

"Well, well, Miss Ruby, are you back?"

Miss Cohn titillated toward the rear of the store, the tail of a
cockatoo titillated at a sharp angle from her hat, a patent-leather
handbag titillated from a long cord at her wrist, and a smile iridescent
as sunlight on spray played about her lips. She placed her hand
blinker-fashion against her mouth as if she would curb the smile.

"Don