Said Mrs. T-S:  “I gotta lie down.  I’m dyin’, Abey, I tell you.  Lemme git on de sofa.”

Said the husband:  “Now, Maw, we gotta git to dinner—­”

“I can’t eat no dinner.”

“Vot?” There was genuine alarm in the husband’s voice.  “You can’t eat no dinner?  Sure you gotta eat your dinner.  You can’t live if you don’t eat.  Come along now, Maw.”

“O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!”

T-S went and stood before her, and a grin came over his face.  “Sure, now, ain’t it fine?  Say, Mary, look at dem lovely curves.  Billy, shoost look here!  Vy, she looks like a kid again, don’t she!  Madame, you’re a daisy—­you sure deliver de goods.”

Madame Planchet beamed, and the flesh-mountain was feebly cheered.  “You like it, Abey?”

“Sure, I like it!  Maw, it’s grand!  It’s like I got a new girl!  Come on now, git up, we go git our dinner, and den we gotta see dem night scenes took.  Don’t forgit, we’re payin’ two tousand men five dollars apiece tonight, and we gotta git our money out of ’em.”  Then, taking for granted that this settled it, he turned to the rest.  “You come vit us, Mary?”

“I must wait for my grannie.”

“Sure, you leave your car fer grannie, and you come vit us, and we git some dinner, and den we see dem mob scenes took.  You come along, Mr. Carpenter, I gotta have some talk vit you.  And you, Billy?  And Rosythe—­come, pile in.”

“I have to wait for the missus,” said the critic.  “We have a date.”

“Vell, said T-S, and he went up close.  “You do me a favor, Rosythe; don’t say nuttin’ about dis fellow Carpenter tonight.  I feed him and git him feelin’ good, and den I make a contract vit him, and I give you a front page telegraph story, see?”

“All right,” said the critic.

“Mum’s de vord now,” said the magnate; and he waddled out, and the two caryatids lifted the flesh-mountain, and half carried it to the elevator, and Mary walked with Carpenter, and I brought up the rear.

The car of T-S was waiting at the door, and this car is something special.  It is long, like a freight-car, made all of shining gun-metal, or some such material; the huge wheels are of solid metal, and the fenders are so big and solid, it looks like an armored military car.  There is an extra wheel on each side, and two more locked on to the rear.  There is a chauffeur in uniform, and a footman in uniform, just to open the doors and close them and salute you as you enter.  Inside, it is all like the sofas in Madame’s scalping shop; you fall into them, and soft furs enfold you, and you give a sigh of Contentment, “O-o-o-o-o-o-oh!”

“Prince’s,” said T-S to the chauffeur, and the palace on wheels began to glide along.  It occurred to me to wonder that T-S was not embarrassed to take Carpenter to a fashionable eating-place.  But I could read his thoughts; everybody would assume that he had been “on location” with one of his stars; and anyhow, what the hell?  Wasn’t he Abey Tszchniczklefritszch?