"Now, mamma, don't begin—"
"I always said to him, Ruby, looks in a girl don't count the most—such girls as you see nowadays, with their big ideas, ain't worth house-room. I always say to him, Ruby, a girl that ain't ashamed to work and knows the value of a dollar, and can help a young man save and get a start without such big ideas like apartments and dummy waiters—"
"Honest, wouldn't you think this was a funeral! Mamma, to-night we have a party—not? I go down and get up that bottle of wine!"
"Himmel! My Pfannküchen! Yes, Abie, run down in the cellar; on the top shelf it is, under the grape-jelly row—left yet from poor papa's last birthday. Ach, Ruby, you should have known poor papa—that such a man could have been taken before his time! Sit down, Ruby, while I dish up."
The tears dried on Mrs. Ginsburg's cheeks, leaving the ravages of dry paths down them; Mr. Ginsburg's footsteps clacked down the bare flight of stairs.
"Abie! Oh, Abie!"
"Yes, mamma!"
His voice came up remotely from two flights down, like a banshee voice drifting through a yellow sheol of dim-lit hallway.
"Abe, bring up some dill pickles from the jar—there's a dish in the closet."
"Yes, I bring them."