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He sprang in like a catamount, clicking the door quick as a flash behind him. "'Sh-h-h! Where's ma?" "Your mamma ain't home; she went up to Rindley's. You ain't sick, are you, Mr. Izzy?" A spasm of relief flashed over his face, and he snapped his dry fingers in an agony of nervousness. "Where's Renie? Quick!" "She's in her room, layin' down.

At half past seven, six days in the week, the wives of Wasserman Avenue hold their wrappers close up about their throats and poke uncoifed heads out of doors to Godspeed their well-breakfasted spouses. Wasserman Avenue flutters farewell handkerchiefs to its husbands until they turn the corner at Rindley's West End Meat and Vegetable Market.

Down at Rindley's this morning nothing was fine enough for that Birdie to buy for her table. I tell you, Mrs. Shongut, money ain't everything in this world." "I always tell Renie she can take her place with the best of them." "Washing?" "An hour already my Lizzie has been down in the laundry." "Half a day I take Addie to help with the ironing." "You should watch her, Mrs.

Tongue sweet-sour, and red cabbage! Renie, get on your things and " "Honest, if it wasn't too late I would telegraph him I ain't home." "Get on your things, Renie, and go right down to Rindley's for a roast. If you telephone they don't give you weight. This afternoon I go myself for the vegetables." Excitement purred in Mrs. Shongut's voice. "Hurry, Renie!"

Most of Wasserman Avenue had never read much of Gautier, but it knew the greater truth of the consolation of the hearth. When Mrs. Shongut waved farewell to her husband that greater truth lay mirrored in her eyes, which followed him until Rindley's West End Meat and Vegetable Market shunted him from view. "Mamma, come in and close the screen door you look a sight in that wrapper." Mrs.