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Updated: June 11, 2025
Meyerburg turned upon him with a great mustering of amiability and safely withdrawn now from her brink of tears. "I got now six sons what can drink to my health not, Marquis?" "She says, Marquis," translated Miss Meyerburg, ardently, to the sharp profile, "that now she has six sons to drink to her health." "Madame me fait trop d'honneur."
Meyerburg's bedchamber, the buzz of departures over, silence lay resumed, but with a singing quality to it as if an echo or so still lingered. Before the plain deal table, and at her side two files bulging their contents, Mrs. Meyerburg sat with her spatulate finger conning in among a page of figures. After a while the finger ceased to move across the page, but lay passive midway down a column.
At one of the most terrific of these down-town streets Mrs. Meyerburg descended. Beneath the clang and bang of the Elevated she stood confused for the moment and then, with her sure stride regained, swung farther eastward. Slitlike streets flowed with holiday copiousness, whole families abroad on foot mothers swayback with babies, and older children who ran ahead shouting and jostling.
Once more within the gloom of her Tudor hall, Mrs. Meyerburg hurried rearward and toward the elevator. But down the curving stairway the small maid on stilts came, intercepting her. "Madame!" "Ja." "Madame will please come. Mademoiselle Betty this afternoon ees not so well. Three spells of fainting, madame." "Therese!"
Meyerburg, when I got a place like this, at Rivington Street I wouldn't want I should ever have to look again." "It's a feeling, Mrs. Fischlowitz, what you you can't understand until until you live through so much like me. I I just want some day you should let me come down, Mrs. Fischlowitz, and visit by you in the old place, eh?" "Ach, Mrs.
From the foot of that great table, his place by precedence of years, Mr. Ben Meyerburg rose from his Voltairian chair, holding aloft a wineglass like a torch. "Masseltov, ma," he said, "and just like we drank to the happy couple who have told us the good news to-day, so now I drink to the grandest little mother in the world. Masseltov, ma."
Fischlowitz breathed deep and grasped the nickel-plated door handle. Mrs. Meyerburg leaned out, her small plumes wagging. "Burk, since Miss Becky ain't along to-day, I don't want in front no second man." "Yes, madam." "I want instead you should take the roadster and call after Mrs. Weinstein. You know, down by Twenty-third Street, the fourth floor back." "Yes, madam."
Meyerburg with her hands idle and laid out along the chair sides. They were ringless hands and full of years, with a great network of veins across their backs and the aging fingers large at the knuckles. But where the hands betrayed the eyes belied. Deep in Mrs. Meyerburg's soft and scarcely flabby face her gaze was straight and very black.
Meyerburg leaned to the wall a moment, and, gaining quick composure, proceeded steadily enough across the wide aisle of hall, her hand following a balustrade. A servant intercepted her half-way. "Madam " "Kemp, from here when I look down in the lower hall, all them ferns look yellow on top. I want you should please cut them!" "Yes, madam. Mrs.
Meyerburg; anything what I can do I " "I want you should let me mix you on that old board a mess noodles!" "Ach, Mrs. Meyerburg, your hands and that grand black-silk dress!" "For why not, Mrs. Fischlowitz? Wide ones, like he used to like. Just for fun, please, Mrs. Fischlowitz. To-morrow I send you two barrels flour for what I use up." "But, Mrs.
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