"All right, mamma; I won't argue."
"Your papa has had enough business with Max Hochenheimer to know what kind of a man he is and what kind of a firm. Such a grand man to deal with, papa says. Plain as a old shoe—just like he was a salesman instead of the president of his firm. A poor boy he started, and now such a house they say he built for his mother in Avondale on the hill! Squashy! I only wish for a month our Izzy had his income."
"I wouldn't marry him if—"
"Don't be so quick with yourself, missy. Just because he comes here on a day's business and then comes out to supper with papa don't mean so much."
"Don't it? Well, then, if you know more about what's in this letter than
I do, I've got no more to say."
Mrs. Shongut sat down as though the power to stand had suddenly deserted her limbs. "What—what do you mean, Renie?"
"I'm not so dumb that I—I don't know what a fellow means by a letter like this."
"Renie!" The lines seemed to fade out of Mrs. Shongut's face, softening it. "Renie! My little Renie!"
"You don't need to my-little-Renie me, mamma; I—"
"Renie, I can't believe it—that such luck should come to us. A man like Max Hochenheimer, of Cincinnati, who can give her the greatest happiness, comes for our little girl—"