At the other end of the table sat Mama Schnitt, who bulged, and always had butter on her thumb.

To the right of Heinrich sat Grossmutter Schnitt, in a black sateen dress, with her back bowed like a new moon and her little old face withered like a dried white rose.
Next sat young Heinrich Schnitt and his wife, Milly, who was very fashionable and wore a lace shirt-waist--though she was not so fashionable that she was ashamed of any of the rest of the party.
Between young Heinrich and Milly sat their little Henry and little Rosa and little Milly and the baby, all stiffly starched and round-faced and red-cheeked.

Besides these were Carrie, whose husband was dead; and Carrie's Louis; and Willie Schnitt with Flora Kraus, whom he was to marry two years from last Easter; and Lulu, who was pretty, and went with American boys in the face of broken-hearted opposition.
In front of each member of the party--except the baby--was a glass of beer and a "hot dog", and down the center of the long table were three pasteboard shoe boxes, full of fine lunch, flanking Flora Kraus' fancy basket of potato salad and fried chicken, as well prepared as any those Schnitts could put up.
It was Constance who, walking quietly with Johnny, discovered Heinrich Schnitt in the midst of his throng and casually remarked it.
"There's the nice old German who cuts my coats," she observed.
"Schnitt!" exclaimed Johnny, so loudly that she was afraid Schnitt might hear him.

"Let me hear you talk to him." She looked at him in perplexity for a moment.
"Oh, yes; the lease," she remembered.

"I'll introduce you and you can ask him about it." "Don't mention it!" hastily objected Johnny.