“Miriam, nothing ain’t wrong!  Izzy, my—­”

“No, no, Mrs. Binswanger, nothing is wrong; what Miriam was trying to say was that everything’s right, wasn’t it, Miriam?”

“Yes, Irving.”

Mr. Binswanger threw two hands with the familiar upward gesture.  “Come, right away in a few minutes you got to get off, Shapiro.  First I take you up and show you the card-room and—­”

“’Sh-h-h-h, papa, let Irving—­Go on, Irving.”

He cleared his throat, inserting two fingers within his tall collar.  “You see, Mr. Binswanger, you and Mrs. Binswanger, just at the last minute we—­we both seen we couldn’t let go!”

“Miriam!”

“Now don’t get excited, Mrs. Binswanger, only we—­well, we just went and got married, Mrs. Binswanger, when we seen we couldn’t let go.  From Dr. Cann we just came.  A half-hour on pins and needles, you can believe us or not, we had to wait for him, and that’s what made us so late.  See, on her hand she’s got the ring and—­”

“See, mamma!”

“And in my pocket I got the special license.  We couldn’t help it, Mr. Binswanger, we—­we just couldn’t let go.”

“We couldn’t, mamma, papa.  We thought we ought to stay at home in the flat—­you’re so worried, mamma, about burglars and nobody in America with Izzy—­and—­and—­Mamma?  Papa?  Haven’t you got nothing to say to your Miriam?”

She extended empty and eloquent arms, a note of pleading rising above the tears in her words.

“Nothing?  Mamma?  Papa?”

From without came voices; the grinding of chains lifting cargo; a great basso from a smoke-stack; more voices.  “All off!  All off!” Feet scurrying over wooden decks!  “All off!  All off!” A second steam-blast that shot up like a rocket.

“Mamma?  Ray?  Papa?  Haven’t any of you got anything to say?”

“Gott in Himmel!” said Mrs. Binswanger. “Gott in Himmel!”

“So!” said Mr. Binswanger, placing a hand with a loud pat on each knee.  “So!”

“Oh, papa!”

“A fine come-off!  A fine come-off!  Eh, mamma?  To Europe we go to take our daughter, and just so soon as we go no daughter we ’ain’t got to take!”

“Gott in Himmel!  Gott in Himmel!”

“Ray, haven’t you got nothing to say to Irving and me—­Ray!”

With a quick, fluid movement the younger sister slid close and her arms wound tight.  “Miriam, you—­you little darling, you!  Miriam!  Irving!  You darlings!”

Suddenly Mrs. Binswanger inclined, inclosing the two in a wide, moist embrace.  “Ach, my Miriam, what have you done!  Not a stitch, not even a right wedding!  Irving, you bad boy, you, like I—­I should ever dream you had thoughts to be our son-in-law.  Ach, my children, my children!  Simon, I tell you we can be thankful it’s a young man what we know is all right.  Ach, I—­I just don’t know—­I—­just—­don’t know.”

“Papa, you ain’t mad at us?”