“Oi weh! It must be the servant back already!” she exclaimed, as she tore off her apron. “Oi weh! Let’s quickly put the dishes together in a dish-pan. If she sees I eat on the kitchen table, she will look on me like the dirt under her feet.”
Mrs. Pelz seized her shawl in haste.
“I better run home quick in my rags before your servant sees me.”
“I’ll speak to Abe about the job,” said Hanneh Breineh, as she pushed a bill into the hand of Mrs. Pelz, who edged out as the servant entered.
“I’m having fried potato lotkes special for you, Benny,” said Hanneh Breineh, as the children gathered about the table for the family dinner given in honor of Benny’s success with his new play. “Do you remember how you used to lick the fingers from them?”
“Oh, mother!” reproved Fanny. “Anyone hearing you would think we were still in the pushcart district.”
“Stop your nagging, sis, and let ma alone,” commanded Benny, patting his mother’s arm affectionately. “I’m home only once a month. Let her feed me what she pleases. My stomach is bomb-proof.”
“Do I hear that the President is coming to your play?” said Abe, as he stuffed a napkin over his diamond-studded shirt-front.
“Why shouldn’t he come?” returned Benny. “The critics say it’s the greatest antidote for the race hatred created by the war. If you want to know, he is coming to-night; and what’s more, our box is next to the President’s.”