“And you, too, Mr. Goldberg. Won’t you come?” said Bennie, anxious to gain Mr. Goldberg’s good graces.
“Not so. I cannot leafe. I must fix a pair of prize-fighting shoes for de Kid Broad, und if I get dem not done my name will be—vat you call it, Bennie? Oh, yes, a dead von, Bennie!”
“Yes, Mr. Goldberg.”
“Bring it me von fife-cents stogies und I vill smoke you de goot luck. Come, Loney, let us go und bolish de piano.”
Saying this, the shoemaker took the child’s hand and started to the upper room, leaving Bennie and Dora alone. Ben was too clever to allow such an opportunity for a heart-to-heart talk to pass, so he said:
“Are you glad, Dora, that it has come at last?”
“Yes, Bennie; very glad for your sake.”
“And aren’t you glad just a little for our sakes?”
“Yes, Bennie,” whispered Dora, shyly.
“You know that you promised, when my wages were raised—that—if the father consents, you would be my wife.”