"Some biscuits!"
"Bad boy, stop jollying."
"Say, if I'd tell you the truth about what I think of these biscuits, you'd say I was writing a streetcar advertisement for baking-powder. Say, this is some cup custard!"
"More?"
"Full to my eyebrows."
"Just a little bittsie?"
"Nope."
He lighted a cigarette and they settled back in after-dinner completeness, their dessert-plates pushed well toward the center of the table and their senses quiet. She pleated the edge of her napkin and watched him blow leisurely spirals of smoke to the ceiling.
"What you thinking about, Phonzie?"
"Nothing."