“Say, that leading man of yours he’s some class!” cried Fanny. “That’s the man I’m looking for. Will you invite him to supper after the theater?”
The playwright turned to his mother.
“Say, ma,” he said, laughingly, “how would you like a real actor for a son-in-law?”
“She should worry,” mocked Sam. “She’ll be discussing with him the future of the Greek drama. Too bad it doesn’t happen to be Warfield, or mother could give him tips on the ‘Auctioneer.’”
Jake turned to his mother with a covert grin.
“I guess you’d have no objection if Fanny got next to Benny’s leading man. He makes at least fifteen hundred a week. That wouldn’t be such a bad addition to the family, would it?”
Again the bantering tone stabbed Hanneh Breineh. Everything in her began to tremble and break loose.
“Why do you ask me?” she cried, throwing her napkin into her plate. “Do I count for a person in this house? If I’ll say something, will you even listen to me? What is to me the grandest man that my daughter could pick out? Another enemy in my house! Another person to shame himself from me!” She swept in her children in one glance of despairing anguish as she rose from the table. “What worth is an old mother to American children? The President is coming to-night to the theater, and none of you asked me to go.” Unable to check the rising tears, she fled toward the kitchen and banged the door.
They all looked at one another guiltily.
“Say, sis,” Benny called out sharply, “what sort of frame-up is this? Haven’t you told mother that she was to go with us to-night?”