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Updated: June 24, 2025
To see a house like that, I tell you it must be a treat." "It's a fine place, Mrs. Shongut, but too big for me and my mother. When I got into the hands of architects, let me tell you, I feel I was lucky to get off with only twenty-five rooms. Right now, Mrs. Shongut, we got rooms we don't know how to pronounce." "Twenty-five rooms! Did you hear that, Adolph? Twenty-five rooms! I bet, Mr.
Did I even holler the other night when I thought I heard a burglar in the dining-room?" "Ya! How I worry about the things you should know." Mrs. Shongut flung wide the windows and pinned back the lace curtains, so that the spring air, cool as water, flowed in. Her daughter sprang to her feet and drew her filmy wrapper closer about her.
Miss Shongut side-stepped the furniture, which in the panicky confusion of sweeping was huddled toward the center of the room, and through a cloud of dust to the door. "Every time I open my mouth in this family I put my foot in it. I should worry about what isn't my business!"
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.
At Cook Street, which runs into Grand Avenue like a small tributary, a pall of smoke descended thick as a veil; and every morning, from off her second-story window-sills, Mrs. Shongut swept tiny dancing balls of soot; and one day Miss Rena Shongut's neat rim of tenderly tended geraniums died of suffocation.
Isadore Shongut made a cigarette and puffed it, curled himself in a deep-seated chair, with his head low and his legs flung high. His sister lay on the divan, with her tearful profile buried, basso-rilievo, against a green velours cushion, her arms limp and dangling in exhaustion. "What's the row, Renie?" "N-nothing." "Aw, come out with it what's the row?
Shongut flung open the screen door and swept a pile of webby dust to the porch and then off on the patch of grass. Thin spring sunshine lay warm along the neat terraces of Wasserman Avenue. Windows were flung wide to the fresh kiss of spring; pillows, comforters, and rugs draped across their sills.
Shongut withdrew herself from the aperture and turned to the sunshine-flooded, mahogany-and-green-velours sitting-room. "You think that papa seems so well, Renie? At breakfast this morning he looked so bad underneath his eyes." Rena yawned in her rocking-chair and rustled the morning paper. The horrific caprice of her pores had long since succumbed to the West End balm of Wasserman Avenue.
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.
"Ain't it a pleasure, Mrs. Shongut, to have grand letters like that? Even with my little Jeannie, though it makes me so mad, still I " "But do you think my Renie will have any of them? 'Not, she says, 'if they was lined in gold." "I guess she got plenty beaus. Say, I ain't so blind that I don't see Sollie Spitz on your porch every " "Sollie Spitz! Ach, Mrs.
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