Mr. and Mrs. Blum were whispering together, on the sofa, over in the corner. He appeared to be urging her to do something, which she, with blushes and modest smiles, was protesting against.
“Come,” cried Mr. Koch; “it ain't polite to whisper in company. What you people conspiring about?”
“I want her,” Mr. Blum answered, “to offer Elias Bacharach some of her cheese-cake; and she's too baishful. Elias Bacharach, my wife every now and then, she make us a cheese-cake. You never taste any thing like it. It's simply elegant. Vail, she make us one to-day; and I want her to give you a bite of it, just to show what she can do. But she—she's just exactly as baishful as she was the day we got married; and that's forty years ago, already.”
“Oh, Mrs. Blum,” Elias pleaded, “I shall really feel very much offended, if you don't let me taste it. There's nothing in the world I like so well as cheese-cake. Please don't disappoint me.”
Blushing and giggling, the old lady got up, and said, “Ach, Gott! All right,” and waddled from the room. Presently she waddled back, and placed an enormous slice of cheese-cake, together with knife, fork, and napkin, upon the table. Then she sat down, and crossed her hands upon her stomach, and watched Elias as he ate. Between his mouthfuls, he kept uttering ejaculations of delight and wonder: marvelous! delicious! never tasted any thing equal to it in all my life! etc. She kept swaying her head and smiling. At the end, he vowed that the cheese-cake was a triumph of art, and confessed that antecedently he would not have believed such excellence attainable. Her husband demanded, “Didn't I tell you so?” The old lady herself was overcome, and could only gurgle, “Gott! Du lieber, lieber Gott!”
By and by Mrs. Koch reappeared; and her husband called out, “Well, let's start.”
At Terrace Garden they found Mr. and Mrs. Sternberg and Mrs. Morgenthau seated at a round table under an ailanthus tree.
“Why, where's Tillie?” cried Mr. Koch.
“Oh, she had to stay at home to work,” her mother answered. “Preparing for some lessons she has to give to-morrow.”
The electric-lamps flared and sizzled. The band played tunes from comic operas. There were many people present, seated at similar tables, under similar trees, eating, drinking, smoking, chatting, listening to the music. Their countenances were mostly of the Semitic type. Every now and then a new party entered, from the café adjoining: an old gentleman and lady, a middle-aged gentleman and lady, and a troop of young folks of both sexes: three generations. Your Jew loves to take his pleasure with his family to share it. His boon companions are, as a rule, his father and mother, his wife and children. The waiters dashed like meteors hither and thither. One of them stopped before the table of our friends; and Mr. Koch, having determined the sentiment of the meeting, ordered “beers all around.”