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Updated: May 17, 2025
"And those beautiful little tan roses you sent me, Mr. Hochenheimer; I " "Ah, Miss Renie, the clipping from those sunset roses comes from Italy; but now I call them Renie Roses, if if you'll excuse me. I tell you, Miss Renie, you look just enough like 'em to be related. Little satiny gold-looking roses, with a pink blush on the inside of the petals and a a few little soft thorns on the stem."
And even as she leaned over to open her lips a figure, swift as a Greek, dashed to the veranda up the steps three at a bound. "Renie!" "Izzy!" She rose, pushing back her chair, and her hand flew to her breast. "Just a minute. Inside I gotta see you quick, Renie. Howdy, Hochenheimer? You excuse her a minute. I got to see her." His voice was like wine that sings in the pouring.
I'm sorry that boy ain't home, so you could meet him again. We call him the dude of the family. Renie, pass Mr. Hochenheimer the toothpicks." A pair of deep-lined brackets sprang out round Mr. Shongut's mouth. "Why ain't that boy home for supper, where he belongs?" "Ach, now, Adolph, don't get excited right away. Always, Mr.
"Yes, yes, Izzy; I'm coming." Hers was trembling and pizzicato. "Excuse me a minute, Mr. Hochenheimer a minute." Mr. Hochenheimer rose, mopping his brow. "It's all right, Miss Renie. I wait out here on the porch till it pleases you."
Money ain't everything. I I like other things in a man besides money always money." "Believe me, he has plenty besides money, has Max Hochenheimer. He 'ain't got no time maybe for silk socks and pressed pants, but for a fine good man your papa says he 'ain't got no equal.
You you Ach, to a man like Max Hochenheimer, of Cincinnati, she wants to say she ain't home yet!" "Him! An old fatty like him! Izzy calls him Old Squash! Izzy says he's the only live Cartoon in captivity." "Izzy always Izzy! Believe me, your brother could do better than layin' in bed at eight o'clock in the morning, to copy after Max Hochenheimer." "Always running down Izzy!
"It must be grand, Mr. Hochenheimer." "On Sunday, Miss Renie, I like for my boys and girls from the factory to come up to my place and make themselves at home. You should see my old mother how she fixes for them! I wish you could see them boys and girls, and old men and women. In a sausage-factory they don't get much time to listen to birds and water when it falls into a fountain.
"I tell you the poultry and the sausage business maybe ain't up to your fine ideas; but believe me, the poultry business will keep you in shoes and stockings when in the poetry business you can go barefoot." "All right, mamma; I won't argue." "Your papa has had enough business with Max Hochenheimer to know what kind of a man he is and what kind of a firm. Such a grand man to deal with, papa says.
Against the sideboard, fingering her white dress, Miss Shongut regarded her parents, and her smile was as wan as moonlight. "Ain't I right, Renie?" "Yes, papa." On the bit of porch, the hall light carefully lowered and cushions from within spread at their feet, the dreamy quiet of evening and air as soft as milk flowed round and closed in about Miss Shongut and Mr. Hochenheimer.
"I tell you, Miss Renie, now since I can afford it, I just don't seem to know how to do the things I got the feeling inside of me for. Even in my grand house sometimes I feel like it it's too late for me to live like I feel." "Nothing's ever too late, Mr. Hochenheimer." "Just since I met you I can feel that way, Miss Renie, if you'll excuse me for saying it just since I met you." "Me?"
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