"Yes, mamma, and, anyway, if Aunt Batta knows it that's enough—to-morrow everybody has it."
"Yes," said Mrs. Katzenstein, submissively; but after a moment she turned to the telephone again and unhooked the receiver. "Plaza 8-5-7," she said, in muffled tones.
The evening following, Mrs. Katzenstein greeted her prospective son-in-law with three kisses—one for each cheek and the third for the very center of his mouth. She batted at him playfully with her hand.
"You bad boy, you! What you mean by stealing away our baby? Papa, you come right in here and fight with him."
"Mrs. Katzenstein, for you to give me a girl like Birdie, I don't deserve. She's the grandest girl in the world!"
"He asks me for my Birdie," said Mr. Katzenstein, pumping the young man's arm up and down; "but he asks me after it is all settled and everybody but me knows it—even in the factory to-day I hear about it."
Laughter.
"What could we do, papa—wake you up last night?"
"He should pay your bills awhile, and then he won't feel so glad—ain't it, Birdie?" He pinched his daughter's cheek.