“That’s true, a live man, nowadays, wants more money, needs more money than he can make honestly in public life.... Naturally the best men turn to other channels.”
“And add to that the ignorance of these dirty kikes and shanty Irish that we make voters before they can even talk English ...” began Uncle Jeff.
The maid set a highpiled dish of fried chicken edged by corn fritters before Aunt Emily. Talk lapsed while everyone was helped. “Oh I forgot to tell you Jeff,” said Aunt Emily, “we’re to go up to Scarsdale Sunday.”
“Oh mother I hate going out Sundays.”
“He’s a perfect baby about staying home.”
“But Sunday’s the only day I get at home.”
“Well it was this way: I was having tea with the Harland girls at Maillard’s and who should sit down at the next table but Mrs. Burkhart ...”
“Is that Mrs. John B. Burkhart? Isn’t he one of the vicepresidents of the National City Bank?”
“John’s a fine feller and a coming man downtown.”
“Well as I was saying dear, Mrs. Burkhart said we just had to come up and spend Sunday with them and I just couldn’t refuse.”