"You ain't mad at mama, baby? It's for your own good as much as mine. It is unnatural a mother should want to see her—"
"No, no, mama. Move, dearie. Let me pull down the bed. There you are. Now!"
With a wrench Mrs. Kaufman threw off her recurring inclination to tears, moving casually through the processes of their retirement.
"To-morrow, baby, I tighten the buttons on them new spats. How pretty they look."
"Yes, dearie."
"I told Mrs. Katz to-day right out her Irving can't bring any more his bicycle through my front hall. Wasn't I right?"
"Of course you were, ma."
"Miss Flora looked right nice in that pink waist to-night—not?
Four-eighty-nine only, at Gimp's sale."
"She's too fat for pink."
"You get in bed first, baby, and let mama turn out the lights."