The mustard burnt his tongue, brought tears to his eyes.
“Is it too hot?” mother asked laughing. “You must learn to like hot things.... He always liked hot things.”
“Who mother?”
“Someone I loved very much.”
They were silent. He could hear himself chewing. A few rattling sounds of cabs and trolleycars squirmed in brokenly through the closed windows. The steampipes knocked and hissed. Down the airshaft the furnaceman with grease up to his armpits was spitting words out of his wabbly mouth up at the maid in the starched cap—dirty words. Mustard’s the color of ...
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“I wasn’t thinking of anything.”
“We mustn’t have any secrets from each other dear. Remember you’re the only comfort your mother has in the world.”
“I wonder what it’d be like to be a seal, a little harbor seal.”
“Very chilly I should think.”