of being strictly
economical, y'understand--the women of the country should learn it
genwine Southern cooking, the kind they've got it in two-dollars-a-day
American-plan Southern hotels, Mawruss, and not only would people eat
much less than they eat at present, but the chances is it would fix some
people so they wouldn't eat at all."

"Why _Southern_ cooking?" Morris Perlmutter asked. "For that matter,
two-dollar-a-day American-plan Eastern cooking wouldn't make you eat
yourself red in the face, neither, which the last time I was in New
Bedford they gave me for lunch some fried schrod, and I give you my
word, Abe, I'd as lieve eat a pair of feet-proof socks, including the
guarantee and the price ticket. But that ain't neither here or there,
Abe. Nobody could pin medals on himself for being a small eater in a
hotel, Abe, _aber_ the test comes when you arrive home from the store at
half past seven and your wife sets before you a plate of _gedampfte
Kalbfleisch_ which if a chef in Delmonico's would cook such a thing like
that, Abe, the Ritz-Carlton would pay John G. Stanchfield a retainer of
one hundred thousand dollars to advise them how the fellow's contract
could be broken with Delmonico's so they could get him to come to work
for them. And that's why I am telling you, Abe, when you get such a
plate of _gedampfte Kalbfleisch_ in front of you, which the steam comes
up from it like roses, y'understand, and when you put a piece of it in
your mouth it's like--"

"Say, listen," Abe protested, "let me alone, will you? It's only eleven
o'clock, and I couldn't go out to lunch for another hour yet."

"That only goes to show what for a stomach patriot you are, Abe," Morris
commented. "Even when we are only _talking_ about food you couldn't
restrain yourself, so what must it be like when you've got the food
actually on the table? I bet yer you don't remember that such a
feller as Hoover ever existed at all, let alone what he says about
eating reasonable."

[Illustration: "'So,' Mrs. Hoover says, 'you had one of them sixty-cent
table-d'hote lunches to-day again, and now of course you 'ain't got no
appetite. How many times did I tell you you shouldn't eat that
poison?'"]

"That's all right, Mawruss," Abe said. "Mr. Hoover could talk that way,
because maybe his wife ain't such a crank about her cooking like my
Rosie is, y'understand, _aber_ if Mr. Hoover would be me, Mawruss, and
there comes on the table some _gestoffte Miltz_