"I tell you, it's a big idea!"
"I wish we had ten cents for every big idea you've been struck with."
"That's just why, Rosie, I'm going to hit one right."
Mrs. Pelz withdrew then the slow hand from beneath the pillow and a small handkerchief with a small wad knotted into it.
"Nearly every—cent—in—the world, Roody, that we've got. Saved nearly penny by penny. Our Bleema—it's a sin—our—our—"
"Sin nothing!"
"Our week-old little girl—it—"
"Nothing ventured in life, Rosie, nothing squeezed out of it. Don't put it back! Look, the baby herself wants it! Papa's little Bleema! Look! She's trying to lift herself. Ain't that remarkable, Rosie—look at that child lifting for that handkerchief!"
"Our little baby girl! If it was for ourselves alone, all right, maybe, take a chance—but for—"
Suddenly Mr. Pelz clapped his thigh. "I got it! I got it! Well let the little Bleema decide it for us. How's that? She should decide it for us if we take a gamble on her daddy's big idea! Here—I put a five-cents piece in her little hand and see which way she drops it. The little mammela will say which way it is to be—heads or tails. How's that, Rosie—the baby should decide it for us?"