"Sol is going to make for me, Roody, one of those little packing-case cribs like he built for Etta up in the pants-factory, so when the machine works it rocks, too. Did—did the check from Solomon & Glauber come in on the last mail, Roody?"
"Now, Rosie, you mustn't worry yourself about such—"
"What you looking so funny for, Roody?"
"I was starting to tell you, Rosie—Hahn was just in and—"
"Roody, don't change the subject on me always. You looked funny. Is it something wrong with Solomon & Glau—"
"If you don't take the cake, Rosie! Now, why should I look funny?
'Funny,' she says I look, I'm hungry. I smell Etta's borshtsh."
She half raised herself, the pulling lips of the child drawing up the little head from the cove of arm.
"Rosie, you mustn't lift up that way!"
"Roody, I can read you like a book! Solomon & Glauber have countermanded, too."
"Now, Rosie, wouldn't that keep until—"