“Only yesterday in my hand I had it.  There!  See!  Just your size!” She held the creased garment out from her by each shoulder, blowing the nap of the beaver collar.

“Please, no, Mrs. Meyerburg.  Such a fine coat maybe you can wear it yourself.  No, I don’t mean that, when you got such grander ones; but for me, Mrs. Meyerburg, it’s too fine to take.  Please!”

Standing there holding it thrust enthusiastically forward, a glaze suddenly formed over Mrs. Meyerburg’s eyes and she laid her cheek to the brown fur collar, a tear dropping to it.

“You’m right, Mrs. Fischlowitz, I—­I can’t give this up.  I—­he—­a coat he bought once for me at auction when—­he oser could afford it.  I—­you must excuse me, Mrs. Fischlowitz.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Meyerburg, for a remembrance you should keep it.”

Then brightening:  “But I got in the next room, Mrs. Fischlowitz, a coat better as this for you.  Lined all in squirrel-skin they call it.  One day by myself I bought it, and how my Becky laughs and won’t even let me wear it in automobile.  I ain’t stylish enough, she says.”

With an inarticulate medley of sounds Mrs. Fischlowitz held up a hand of remonstrance.  “But—­”

“Na, na, just a minute.”  And on the very wings of her words Mrs. Meyerburg was across the room, through the ornate door of an ornate boudoir, and out presently with the garment flung across her arm.  “Na, here put it on.”

“Ach, such a beau-tiful coat!”

“So!  Let me help!”

They leaned together, their faces, which the years had passed over none too lightly, close and eager.  Against the beaver collar Mrs. Fischlowitz’s hand lay fluttering.

“Put your hands in the pockets, Mrs. Fischlowitz.  Deep, eh?”

“Finer you can believe me as I ever had in my life before.  I can tell you, Mrs. Meyerburg, a woman like you should get first place in heaven and you should know how many on the East Side there is says the same.  I—­I brought you your rent, Mrs. Meyerburg.  You must excuse how late, but my Sollie—­”

“Ja, ja.”

Eleven!  Twelve!  Twelve-fifty!  Mrs. Fischlowitz counted it out carefully from a small purse tucked in her palm, snapping it carefully shut over the remaining coins.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fischlowitz.  You should never feel hurried.  Mr. Oppenheimer will mail you a receipt.”

“I guess now I must be going, Mrs. Meyerburg—­to-night I promised my Sollie we have cheese-Kuchen for supper.”

“Always I used to make it with a short crust for my Isadore.  How he loved it!”

“Just again, Mrs. Meyerburg, I want you should let me say how—­how this is the finest present what I ever had in my life.  I can tell you from just how soft it is on me, I can tell how it must feel to ride in automobile.”

A light flashed in brilliance up into Mrs. Meyerburg’s face.  “Mrs. Fischlowitz!”

“Ja, Mrs. Meyerburg?”