Two minutes later a delicate, familiar odour assailed Sam's nostrils, and when Mrs. Schrimm returned she found him unconsciously licking his lips.
"Yes, Sam," she declared, "them Ungarischer girls is worser as nobody in the kitchen. Pretty near ruins my whole lunch, and I got Mrs. Krakauer coming, too. You know what a talker that woman is; and if I would give her something which it is a little burned, y'understand, the whole of New York hears about it."
"Well, Henrietta," Sam said as he rose and seized his hat, "I must be going."
"Going!" Mrs. Schrimm cried. "Why, you're only just coming. And besides, Sam, you are going to stop to lunch, too."
"Lunch!" Sam exclaimed. "Why, I don't eat lunch no more, Henrietta. All the doctor allows me is crackers and milk."
"Do you mean Doctor Eichendorfer allows you that?" Mrs. Schrimm asked, and Sam nodded.
"Then all I could say is," she continued, "that you are going to stay to lunch, because if Doctor Eichendorfer allows a man only crackers and milk, Sam, that's a sign he could eat Wienerwurst, dill pickles, and Handkäse. Aber if Doctor Eichendorfer says you could eat steaks and chops, stick to boiled eggs and milk—because steaks would kill you sure."
"But Babette would be back at one o'clock and if I didn't get home before then she would take my head off for me."
Mrs. Schrimm nodded sympathetically.
"So you wouldn't stay for lunch?" she said.