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"What's at?" "You heard me!" she said shrilly. "I said to take your drunken friend away." Her rising voice rang out above the clatter of the restaurant and a waiter came hurrying up. "You gotta be more quiet!" "That fella's drunk," she cried. "He's insulting us." "Ah-ha, Gordy," persisted the accused. "What'd I tell you." He turned to the waiter. "Gordy an' I friends.
My experience is that England has almost everything to learn from America in the matter of hotels. I consider American second and third- class hotels to be better in many ways than our best. Every American restaurant, of each grade, is better than the English equivalent; the appointments are better, the food is served with more distinction and often is better too.
Pushing the cart through the street, the high school boys found a restaurant that looked as though it would be within reach of their purses. The boys put their cart in a back yard, then went in and asked permission to wash up. This being granted, they soon after took seats at a table in the restaurant.
"'Drive to the Back Home Restaurant on Third Avenue, says I. 'And if I don't find what I want there, take in these saddle-shops. I handed him the list. "'Boss, says the cabby, 'I et a steak in that restaurant once. If you're real hungry, I advise you to try the saddle-shops first. "'I'm a detective, says I, 'and I don't eat. Hurry up!
But before they went they carefully cached in the window-box the cabbage he had cooked for dinner. With a slow luxurious joy in every movement he put on the overcoat. Even in the pocket in which he stuck the seven Christmas dollars he had a distinct pleasure, for his undercoat pockets were too torn, too holey, to carry anything in them. They went prancing to the Hungarian restaurant.
About a fortnight ago, while crossing the Albula Pass, our driver stopped for a few moments at the little restaurant on the highest point of it. A rough kind of herdsman's dog, of no particular breed, I suppose, came out and sat down by the carriage and looked up at us. We happened to have a few Marie biscuits in the carriage, so I threw half of one out to him.
She helped her brother in his cooking when she had no other job, and knew every sort of fat, mysterious Italian dish such as the workmen of Castagneto, who crowded the restaurant at midday, and the inhabitants of Mezzago when they came over on Sundays, loved to eat.
The restaurant bakers and the bakery wagon drivers struck, followed by the milkers, milk drivers, and chicken pickers. The building trades asserted its position in unambiguous terms, and all San Francisco was in turmoil. But still, it was only San Francisco. Hegan's intrigues were masterly, and Daylight's campaign steadily developed.
She looked to left and right, sure that they were not overheard, and addressed him with quick directness. "Where did you dine, Mr. Otway?" "Dine? Oh, at a restaurant, with one of my brothers and his wife." "Did your brother and his wife accompany you to this house?" Piers was startled.
During the first dreadful weeks of his drudgery in the stifling confusions of the restaurant, when even the memory of Sylvester's tongue-lashings faded under the acute reality of the head waiter's sarcasms, that love of his for Sheila had fled away and left him dull and leaden and empty of his soul.
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