His lips trembled and his voice broke. ``I can't--let you do it,
Hilda.''

``Very well.'' She pretended to sigh.

``But you must come back this evening. I want to ask you
again.''

``Yes, I'll come. But you can't change me.''

He went, and she sat at the table, with her elbows on it and her
face between her hands, until her father came in. Then she said:
``We're going to be married next week. And I want two thousand
dollars. We'll give you our note.''

Brauner rubbed his face violently.

``We're going to start a delicatessen,'' she continued, ``in the
empty store where Bischoff was. It'll take two thousand dollars
to start right.''

``That's a good deal of money,'' objected her father.

``You only get three and a half per cent. in the savings bank,''
replied Hilda. ``We'll give you six. You know it'll be
safe--Otto and I together can't fail to do well.''

Brauner reflected. ``You can have the money,'' he said.

She went up the Avenue humming softly one of Heine's love songs,