"A few more fried potatoes?"
"No more."
"Sit up straight, Sam, from out your round shoulders."
"You ain't—mad, ma?"
"For why, Sammy, should I be mad that you go to Clara for a change to supper. I'm glad if you get a change."
"It's not that, ma. It's just that she asked it. You know how a person feels, her taking her Wednesday-night suppers here for more than five years and never once have I—we—set foot in any of her boarding-houses. She imagines she's obligated. You know how Clara is, so independent."
"You should go. I hear, too, how Mrs. Schulem sets a good table."
"I'll be home by nine, ma—you sure you don't mind?"
"I wouldn't mind, Sammy, if it was twelve. Since when is it that a grown-up son has to apologize to his mother if he takes a step without her?"
"You can believe me, ma, but I've got so it don't seem like theater or nothing seems like going out without my little sweetheart mamma on one arm and Clara on the other."