At his nephew's entrance the rabbi glanced over his shoulder.
“Ah, Elias,” he asked, in a tone which, though amiable, denoted very little interest, “where do you come from?”
“The Academy of Design. I've been at the exhibition.”
“So? Have you any pictures there?”
“Only one. 'The Song of Deborah.'”
“Ah! Is it well hung?”
“Oh, yes—on the line.”
“That's good. Some day I must drop in and see it.”
On both sides the dialogue had been perfunctory. Now there befell a silence. The rabbi returned to his reading. Elias sank upon a chair, thrust his hands deep into his trowsers pockets, and fixed his eyes upon the carpet. For a while the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound.
All at once Elias said: “Oh, yes—I forgot—I've been at Delmonico's, too.”