"Who did he marry?" Birdie asked innocently.
"A question!" Goldblatt exclaimed. "Who can tell it who a lowlife like him would marry?"
"He ain't no lowlife just because he gets married," she retorted. "What's more, any girl would be glad to get a good-looking, decent young feller like Philip Margolius."
Goldblatt laid down his knife and fork.
"You are crazy in the head," he said. "Why should you stick up for a young feller what comes around here and upsets my whole house? You I don't care about, because you could always get a husband; but Fannie—that's different again. It ain't enough for that loafer that he disappointed her himself, but he also got to bring around here that one-eyed feller—another such lowlife as Margolius—and he also disappoints Fannie. That feller Margolius is a dawg, Birdie, believe me."
Birdie rose from her seat and threw her napkin on to the floor.
"I won't sit here and listen to such talk," she cried and ran out of the room. For a moment Goldblatt essayed to finish his dinner, and then he, too, rose and followed Birdie. He found her weeping on the parlour lounge.
"Birdie!" he cried. "Birdiechen, what are you taking on so for?"
"I won't have you say such things about Ph-Ph—Feigenbaum," she sobbed.