"You nut Jimmy what's brunch?"
"You'll eat breakfast and I'll eat lunch."
"It'll be a scream." Whooping with laughter she put her arm in his. Her silvernet bag knocked against his elbow as they walked.
"And what about Cassie, the mysterious Cassandra?"
"You mustn't laugh at her, she's a peach. . . . If only she wouldn't keep that horrid little white poodle. She keeps it in her room and it never gets any exercise and it smells something terrible. She has that little room next to mine. . . . Then she's got a steady . . ." Ruth giggled. "He's worse than the poodle. They're engaged and he borrows all her money away from her. For Heaven's sake dont tell anybody."
"I dont know anybody to tell."
"Then there's Mrs. Sunderland . . ."
"Oh yes I got a glimpse of her going into the bathroom—an old lady in a wadded dressing gown with a pink boudoir cap on."
"Jimmy you shock me. . . . She keeps losing her false teeth," began Ruth; an L train drowned out the rest. The restaurant door closing behind them choked off the roar of wheels on rails.
An orchestra was playing When It's Appleblossom Time in Normandee. The place was full of smokewrithing slants of sunlight, paper festoons, signs announcing Lobsters Arrive Daily, Eat Clams Now, Try Our Delicious French Style Steamed Mussles (Recommended by the Department of Agriculture). They sat down under a redlettered placard Beefsteak Parties Upstairs and Ruth made a pass at him with a breadstick. "Jimmy do you think it'd be immoral to eat scallops for breakfast? But first I've got to have coffee coffee coffee . . ."
"I'm going to eat a small steak and onions."
"Not if you're intending to spend the afternoon with me. Mr. Herf."
"Oh all right. Ruth I lay my onions at your feet."
"That doesn't mean I'm going to let you kiss me."
