Unconsciously Rebecca was caught by the contagion of their excitement. She even began to hope that Minnie would win, that she would bring luck to the well-meaning Moe.
“Usual limit five dollars,” Abe declared.
Moe explained that the white chips represented one dollar, the blue two, the red five, and the yellow ten.
Slowly the air became filled with smoke and the smell of alcohol. The betting rose higher and higher. Rebecca could stand it no longer and rushed from the room to the parlour. She looked with sharp distaste at the gaudy furnishings. Till now she had been taken in by the glamour of her sister’s wealth. But now the crowded riches of the place choked her. Who had chosen all this? Her sister or her sister’s husband? Here and there was a beautiful pillow or finely woven rug, but its beauty was killed by the loud clash of colour, the harsh glare of cheap gilt. Cheapness and showiness stuck like varnish over the costly fabrics of the room. It was a sort of furniture display Rebecca had often seen in department stores. It smelled cloaks and suits.
The vivid pale face of the poet, with eyes that burned with the fire of beauty, gazed accusingly at the rich velvet hangings and overstuffed furniture that had won Minnie away from him.
How different Minnie’s home would have been if she had married the poet! A small room in a tenement. A bare floor. A bare table. A room that lacked beautiful things but was filled with beautiful thoughts. Felix Weinberg’s flaming presence, the books he read, the dreams he dreamed, the high thoughts that lit up his face would have filled the poorest room with sunshine.
The shrill voices of the dining-room startled her.
“Ach! What’s the matter?” Rebecca gasped in a panic. “Are they killing themselves?” and hurried in.
She could hardly distinguish the faces, so thick was the air with smoke and whisky fumes. The look of wild animals distorted their features. Mrs. Rosenbaum’s hair had slipped from its net. Her own sister was flushed, dishevelled. Moe’s face was set in sullen, bitter lines as he called for more money. A scoffing devil of greed seemed to possess them all. It was Bedlam let loose.
“No use showing that you come from Division Street, even if you did lose a couple of hundred,” Minnie shrilled savagely at Moe.