And when he wanted to goad Fink, Gottlieb always inquired after Fink's daughters. "What has happened to Althea?" he would ask. "She married the lawyer?"

Fink would know what was coming. "Yes."

"He's doing well?"

"He's making a living."

Gottlieb would think this over for a moment or two.

"And Lynda? She married the doctor?"

"Yes."

"And how is his practice?"7

"Very good. An excellent practice in a good suburb."

"And Claire, her husband is also making a living?"

"A first-class living."

"That's a good thing to hear. Three daughters, all married to good men, all making a living." Gottlieb would nod, Gottlieb would suck at his tea, absently Gottlieb would deliver his blow.8

"I haven't seen them for a long time. I'd like to see them again. Are they coming down to Lyndhurst soon?"
"Yes."

"Oh鈥攕o?"

"Yes."

Gottlieb would smile, Gottlieb would know he was on top. "When?"

"I don't know," Fink would shout. "I don't know their plans."

But if Fink had been really angered by Gottlieb's inquiries, he would tell Gottlieb, "They're coming down when your Irvine comes down. On exactly the same train, that's when they're coming down."
"My Irvine?" Gottlieb could see no connection between his Irvine and the questions he had been asking. Haughtily he asked, "My Irvine? He's very well. He's learning hard to be a specialist."

"And when he's finished he's coming to practice in Lyndhurst?"

"Perhaps," Gottlieb would lie uneasily; and Fink would reply with a pitying shrug of his shoulders:
"Perhaps is as good as a feast."9

(From The Price of Diamonds, 1957)

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