he crossed the threshold of his own apartment the robust wail of his son
and heir mingled with the tones of Lina, the Slavic maid. Of Mrs.
Perlmutter, however, there was no sign.

"Where's Minnie?" he demanded.

"Mrs. Perlmutter, she go out," Lina announced, "and she ain't coming
home yet."

Not since the return from their honeymoon had Minnie failed to be at
home to greet her husband on his arrival from business, and Morris was
about to telephone a general alarm to police headquarters when the
doorbell rang sharply and Mrs. Perlmutter entered. Her hat, whose size
and weight ought to have lent it stability, was tilted at a dangerous
angle, and beneath its broad brim her eyes glistened with unmistakable
tears.

"Minnie _leben_," Morris cried, as he clasped her in his arms, "what is
it?"

Sympathy only opened anew the floodgates of Mrs. Perlmutter's emotions,
and before she was sufficiently calm to disclose the cause of her
distress, the _gedampftes kalbfleisch_ gave evidence of its impending
destruction by a strong odour of scorching. Hastily Mrs. Perlmutter
dried her eyes and ran to the kitchen, so that it was not until the
rescued dinner smoked on the dining-room table that Morris learned the
reason for his wife's tears.

"Such a room, Morris," Mrs. Perlmutter declared; "like a pigsty, and
not a crust of bread in the house. I met the poor woman in the meat