ty years?"

"Carrie-sha! Carrie-sha!" He smiled at her through eyes dimmer still,
then rose, waggling the bent forefinger. "But not one day over ten
weeks, so help me!"

"Papa!"

With a cry that broke on its highest note Miss Binswanger sprang to her
feet, her arms clasping about her father's neck.

"Oh, papa! Papa! Mamma!"

"'Sh-h-h-h! the door-bell! Go to the door, Izzy; I guess maybe that's
Ray back or your friend. Ach, such excitement! Already I feel like we're
on the boat."

"Oh, mamma, mamma!" Her words came too rapidly for coherence and her
heart would dance against her breast. "I--I'm just as happy!" Kissing
her mother once on each eye, she danced across to her brother, tagging
him playfully. "Lazy! I'll go to the door. Lazy! Lazy! Tra-la-la,
tra-la-la!" and danced to the door, flinging it wide.

Enter Mr. Irving Shapiro, his soft campus hat pressed against his
striped waistcoat in a slight bow, and a row of even teeth flashed
beneath a neat hedge of mustache.

"Mr. Izzy Binswanger live here?"

"Hello, Irv! That you? Come in!"

She dropped a courtesy. "That sounds like he lives here, don't it?
That's him calling."

And because her new exuberance sent the blood fizzing through her veins
with the bite and sparkle of Vichy, a smile danced across her face, now
in her eyes, now quick upon her lips.

"Come right in the dining-room, Mr.--Mr.--"

"Shapiro."

"--Shapiro; he's expecting you." She drew back the portieres, quirking
her head as he passed through. Isadore Binswanger rose from his couch,
pressing his friend's hand and passing him round the little circle.

"Pa, meet Irving Shapiro, city man for the Empire Waist Company. Irv,
meet my father and mother and my sister."

A round of handshaking.

"We're as excited as a barnyard round here, Irv; the governor and the
family just decided to light out for Europe for two months."

"Europe!"

"Ja, my children they drag a old man like me where they want."

Mrs. Binswanger leaned forward smiling in her chair. "You see, we want
papa should have a good rest, Mr. Shapiro. You know yourself I guess
shirtwaists ain't no easy business. We don't know yet if we can get
berths on the twentieth this month, but--"

"State-rooms, mamma."

"State-rooms, then. What's that boat we sail on, Miriam?"

"_Roumania_, mamma."

Mr. Shapiro sat suddenly forward in his chair, his eager face thrust
forward. "Say, I'm your man!"

"You!"

"Before you get your rese