"Such a machine, maybe some day two or three, set up in a place like Coney Island or, for a beginning, in Pleasure Arcade, is an immense idea, Rosie. Until an invention like this, nine-tenths of the people couldn't afford the theyater. The drop-picture machine takes care of them nine-tenths." "Theyaters are no place for the poor." "That's where you're wrong--they need it the most. I don't want to get you worked up, Rosie, while you ain't strong, but every day that we wait we're letting a great idea slip through our fingers. If I don't buy that machine off Emil Hahn, somebody else will see in it what I see. Then all our lives we will have something to reproach ourselves with." Mrs. Pelz let slide her hand beneath the pillow, eyes closing and her face seeming to whiten. "Ninety dollars! Twenty dollars less than every cent we got saved in the world. It ain't right we should gamble with it, Roody. Not now." "Why not now, Rosie? It's all the more reason. Is it worth maybe a little gamble our Bleema should grow up like the best? I got bigger plans for her and her little mammela than such a back room all their lives. In a few years, maybe three rooms for ourselves in one of them newfangled apartment-houses up on Second Avenue with turn-on hot water--" "That's right--you'll have her riding in a horseless carriage next!" "I tell you, it's a big idea!" "I wish we had ten cents for every big idea you've been struck with." "That's just why, Rosie, I'm going to hit one right." Mrs. Pelz withdrew then the slow hand from beneath the pillow and a small handkerchief with a small wad knotted into it. "Nearly every--cent--in--the world, Roody, that we've got. Saved nearly penny by penny. Our Bleema--it's a sin--our--our--" "Sin nothing!" "Our week-old little girl--it--" "Nothing ventured in life, Rosie, nothing squeezed out of it. Don't put it back! Look, the baby herself wants it! Papa's little Bleema! Look! She's trying to lift herself. Ain't that remarkable, Rosie--look at that child lifting for that handkerchief!" "Our little baby girl! If it was for ourselves alone, all right, maybe, take a chance--but for--" Suddenly Mr. Pelz clapped his thigh. "I got it! I got it! Well let the little Bleema decide it for us. How's that? She should decide it for us if we take a gamble on her daddy's big idea! Here--I put a five-cents piece in her little hand and see which way she drops it. The little mammela will say which way it is to be--heads or tails. How's that, Rosie--the baby should decide it for us?" "Roody--we mustn't!" "Heads or tails, Rosie?" "I--I--" "Quick!" "H-heads!" "Quick now, papa's baby, open up little fist!" "Roody, not so rough! She can't hold that big nickel." "That's just what I want--she should let it fall." "Roody, Roody, I hope it's tails." The coin rolled to the bed-edge, bounced off to the floor, rolled to the zinc edge.