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I Ach, Renie, I I feel like all our troubles are over. I Ach, Renie, you should know how it feels to be a mother." Tears rained frankly down Mrs. Shongut's face and she smiled through their mist, and her outstretched arms would tremble. "Renie, come to mamma!" Miss Shongut, quivering, drew herself beyond their reach. "Such talk! Honest, mamma, you you make me ashamed, and mad like anything, too.
Shongut, and in a train or an automobile I can't get her. I guess it would be better, Mrs. Shongut, if I carry off some of your family with me to Cincinnati." And, to belie that his words had any glittering import, he lay back in his chair in a state of silent laughter, which set his soft-fleshed cheeks aquiver; and his blue eyes, so ready yet so reluctant, disappeared behind a tight squint.
"Adolph, I guess Mr. Hochenheimer will excuse us eh? Renie, you can entertain Mr. Hochenheimer while me and papa go and spend the evening over at Aunt Meena's. Mr. Shongut's sister, Mr. Hochenheimer, 'ain't been so well. Anyways, I always say young folks 'ain't got no time for old ones." "You go right ahead along, Mrs. Shongut. Don't treat me like company.
Hochenheimer, my husband gets excited over nothing, when he knows how it hurts his heart. Like that boy ain't old enough to stay out to supper when he wants, Adolph! 'Sh-h-h!" Mrs. Shongut smiled to conceal that her heart was faint, and the saga of a mother might have been written round that smile. "Now, now, Adolph, don't you begin to worry." "I tell you, Shongut, it's a mistake to worry.
Hochenheimer some more of that red cabbage." "No, no please, Mrs. Shongut; I got plenty." "Ach, Mr. Hochenheimer, you eat so little you must be in love." "Mamma!" "Ach, Mr. Hochenheimer knows that I only fool. Renie, pass the dumplings." "No, no please! "Mamma, don't force. You're not bashful, are you, Mr. Hochenheimer?"
"A henpeck never drew much blood, Shongut." "Come, Adolph; it is a long car-ride to Meena's." They pushed back from the table, the four of them, smiling-lipped. With his short-fingered, hairy-backed hands Mr. Hochenheimer dusted at his coat lapels, then shook his bulging trousers knees into place. The lamp of inner sanctity burns in strange temples.
Lissman; she steals soap." "They're all alike." "Ah, the mailman. Always in my family no one gets letters but my Renie. Look, Mrs. Lissman! What did I tell you? Another one from Cincinnati. Renie! Renie!" Mrs. Shongut bustled indoors, leaving her broom indolent against the porch pillar. "Renie!" "Yes, mamma." "Letter!" Feet hurrying down the hall. "Letter from Cincinnati, Renie."
"I give you right, Mrs. Shongut. Look at Jeannette Bamberger, over on Kingston; every night when me and Mr. Lissman used to walk past last summer, right on her grand front porch that girl sat alone, like she was glued." "I know." "Then look at Birdie Schimm, across the street. Her mother a poor widow who keeps a roomer, and look how her girl did for herself!
My little Renie!" On Wasserman Avenue the hand that rocks the cradle oftener than not carves the roast. Behind her platter, sovereign of all she surveyed, and skilfully, so that beneath her steel the red, oozing slices curled and fell into their pool of gravy, reigned Mrs. Shongut. And her suzerainty rested on her as lightly as a tiara of seven stars. "Mr. Hochenheimer, you ain't eating a thing!"
In the dining-room, beside the white-spread table, Mrs. Shongut unwound a paper toot of pink carnations; but the flavor of her spirit was bitter and her thin, pressed-looking lips hung at the corners. "Maybe you can stop pouting long enough to help with things a little, even if you won't be here. I tell you it's a pleasure when papa comes home for supper with company, to have children like mine."
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