"Y-yes, grandma."
"When you come back from New York, you bring grandma a fine present, not?"
"Yes, yes, grandma."
"A quilted under jacket wholesale, for when grandma rides out in the wheel-chair."
"Y-yes, grandma."
To the saturnine, New York of its spangled nights is like a Scylla of a thousand heads, each head a menace. Glancing from his cab window one such midnight, an inarticulate expression of that fear must have crept over and sickened Mr. Herman Loeb. He reached out and placed his enveloping hand over that of his wife,
"Well, Sadie, you take good care of yourself, girl. No matter how we decide to—to end this thing, remember you're my wife—yet."
"Yes, Herman," said Mrs. Loeb, through a gulp.
"Don't stint, and remember how easily you get cold from draughts."
"I won't. I will."