"Such a soup they got! Mulla-ga-what?"
"'Shh-h-h, papa; mullagatawny! Rice soup."
"Mullagatawny! Fine mess!"
"'Shh-h-h, Julius; don't talk so loud. Does the whole dining-room got to know you don't know nothing?"
Mrs. Binswanger took nervous résumé of the red-and-gold, bright-lighted dining-room.
"For a plate of noodles soup, Becky, they can have all their mullagatawny! Fifteen cents for a plate of soup, Becky, and at home for that you could make a whole pot full twice so good."
"'Sh-h-h-h, papa."
"Don't 'sh-h-h-h-h me no more neither, Pearlie. Five months, from October to February, I been shooed like I was one of our roosters at home got over in Schlossman's yard. There, you read for me, Izzy; such language I don't know."
Isadore took up a card and crinkled one eye in a sly wink toward his mother and sister.
"Rinderbrust und Kartoffel Salad, pa, mit Apful Küchen und Kaletraufschnitt."