“I’ll speak to Abe about the job,” said Hanneh Breineh, as she pushed a bill into the hand of Mrs. Pelz, who edged out as the servant entered. * * * * * “I’m having fried potato lotkes special for you, Benny,” said Hanneh Breineh, as the children gathered about the table for the family dinner given in honor of Benny’s success with his new play. “Do you remember how you used to lick the fingers from them?” “Oh, mother!” reproved Fanny. “Anyone hearing you would think we were still in the pushcart district.” “Stop your nagging, sis, and let ma alone,” commanded Benny, patting his mother’s arm affectionately. “I’m home only once a month. Let her feed me what she pleases. My stomach is bomb-proof.” “Do I hear that the President is coming to your play?” said Abe, as he stuffed a napkin over his diamond-studded shirt-front. “Why shouldn’t he come?” returned Benny. “The critics say it’s the greatest antidote for the race hatred created by the war. If you want to know, he is coming to-night; and what’s more, our box is next to the President’s.” “Nu, mammeh,” sallied Jake, “did you ever dream in Delancey Street that we should rub sleeves with the President?” “I always said that Benny had more head than the rest of you,” replied the mother. As the laughter died away, Jake went on: “Honor you are getting plenty; but how much mezummen does this play bring you? Can I invest any of it in real estate for you?” “I’m getting ten per cent royalties of the gross receipts,” replied the youthful playwright. “How much is that?” queried Hanneh Breineh. “Enough to buy up all your fish-markets in Delancey Street,” laughed Abe in good-natured raillery at his mother. Her son’s jest cut like a knife-thrust in her heart. She felt her heart ache with the pain that she was shut out from their successes. Each added triumph only widened the gulf. And when she tried to bridge this gulf by asking questions, they only thrust her back upon herself. “Your fame has even helped me get my hat trade solid with the Four Hundred,” put in Fanny. “You bet I let Mrs. Van Suyden know that our box is next to the President’s. She said she would drop in to meet you. Of course she let on to me that she hadn’t seen the play yet, though my designer said she saw her there on the opening night.” “Oh, Gosh, the toadies!” sneered Benny. “Nothing so sickens you with success as the way people who once shoved you off the sidewalk come crawling to you on their stomachs begging you to dine with them.” “Say, that leading man of yours he’s some class!” cried Fanny. “That’s the man I’m looking for. Will you invite him to supper after the theater?” The playwright turned to his mother. “Say, ma,” he said, laughingly, “how would you like a real actor for a son-in-law?”