Finshriber, you would hear what Mrs. Spritz says at
her boarding-house they get for breakfast: fried--"
"You can imagine, Mrs. Katz, since my poor husband's death, how much
appetite I got left; but I say, Mrs. Katz, just for the principle of the
thing, it would not hurt once if Mrs. Kaufman could give somebody else
besides her own daughter and Vetsburg the white meat from everything,
wouldn't it?"
"It's a shame before the boarders! She knows, Mrs. Pinshriber, how my
husband likes breast from the chicken. You think once he gets it? No. I
always tell him, not 'til chickens come doublebreasted like overcoats can
he get it in this house, with Vetsburg such a star boarder."
"Last night's chicken, let me tell you, I don't wish it to a dog! Such a
piece of dark meat with gizzard I had to swallow."
Mrs. Katz adjusted with greater security the expanse of white napkin across
her ample bosom. Gold rings and a quarter-inch marriage band flashed in
and out among the litter of small tub-shaped dishes surrounding her, and a
pouncing fork of short, sure stab. "Right away my husband gets mad when I
say the same thing. 'When we don't like it we should move,' he says.
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