MRS. SCHUYLER: (Crossing to him.) I always start with something hot.
PHIL: (Takes spoonful.) It is soup! (As he goes for second spoonful, they hold his hand.)
WARNING: Could not break paragraph: MRS. SCHUYLER: (Counting.) One—two—three—four—five—six— seven—eight—nine—ten—(Looking at him.) How do you feel?
PHIL: (Completely puzzled.) Well, I can't say I feel just full yet.
DUDLEY: Go on, take a bite of roll.
PHIL: Thank you! (He takes one bite—as he goes for second bite, DUDLEY holds his hand—as they all count ten. Looking from one to another.) Say, what is this—a prize fight?
MRS. SCHUYLER: (Looking at him closely.) (DUDLEY takes roll from
PHIL.) It's all right—he still lives—I feel better now.
PHIL: I'm glad of that. (He starts to take another spoonful of soup.)
MRS. SCHUYLER: Mousta, bring my rakoush. (Just as PHIL gets spoon to mouth, MOUSTA grabs it out of his hand and crosses with soup and roll to MRS. SCHUYLER, saying to PHIL in Persian: "Rekkra milta suss.")
PHIL: Say, isn't there some mistake? I understood that was my rakoush.