When I go out to dinner, what I want is to
have 'em say, 'Pass up your plate, Mr. Floud, for another piece of the
steak and some potatoes, and have some more squash and help yourself
to the quince jelly.' That's how it had ought to be, but I keep eatin'
these here little plates of cut-up things and waiting for the real
stuff, and first thing I know I get a spoonful of coffee in something
like you put eye medicine into, and I know it's all over. Last time I
was out I hid up a dish of these here salted almuns under a fern and
et the whole lot from time to time, kind of absent like. It helped
some, but it wasn't dinner."
"Same here," put in the Mixer, saturating half a slice of bread in the
sauce of the stew. "I can't afford to act otherwise than like I am a
lady at one of them dinners, but the minute I'm home I beat it for the
icebox. I suppose it's all right to be socially elegant, but we hadn't
ought to let it contaminate our food none. And even at that New York
hotel this summer you had to make trouble to get fed proper. I wanted
strawberry shortcake, and what do you reckon they dealt me? A thing
looking like a marble palace--sponge cake and whipped cream with a few
red spots in between. Well, long as we're friends here together, I may
say that I raised hell until I had the chef himself up and told him
exactly what to do; biscuit dough baked and prized apart and buttered,
strawberries with sugar on 'em in between and on top, and plenty of
regular cream.
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