"Thanks—I don't smoke."
"Ain't it wonderful, though, that in a city like this my husband should know you before you was born?"
Mrs. Katzenstein clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and patted her hands together. Birdie regarded the company with polite interest.
"Wonders never cease!" she said.
"Birdie, go get your papa his chair out from the dining-room—since he's got lumbago these straight-backs ain't comfortable for him."
"Let me go for you, Miss Birdie."
"Oh no, Marcus—I know just where it is." She smiled at him with her eyes—bright eyes that were full of warmth and reflected firelight.
Mr. Katzenstein groped in his side-pocket for a match, ran his tongue horizontally along a cigar, and puffed it slowly into life.
"How's business?" he said, between puffs, with the lighted match still applied to the end of his cigar.
"We can't complain, Mr. Katzenstein. If this strike don't reach to the piece-workers we can't complain."