"You, Mrs. Kaufman, with your Easter dinner! Ruby's right. When your mama don't go this time not one step we go by ourselves—ain't it?"
"Not a step."
"But—"
"To-morrow, Mrs. Kaufman, we catch that one-ten train. Twelve o'clock I call in for you. Put ginger in your mama, Ruby, and we'll open her eyes on the boardwalk—not?"
"Oh, Vetsy!"
He smiled, regarding her.
Tears had fallen and dried on Mrs. Kaufman's cheeks; she wavered between a hysteria of tears and laughter.
"I—children—" She succumbed to tears, daubing her eyes shamefacedly.
He rose kindly. "Say, when such a little thing can upset her it's high time she took for herself a little rest. If she backs out, we string her up by the thumbs—not, Ruby?"
"We're going, ma. Going! You'll love the Markovitchs' hotel, ma dearie, right near the boardwalk, and the grandest glassed-in porch and—and chairs, and—and nooks, and things. Ain't they, Vetsy?"