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"What's the use praising it when you eat it like a bird? What's the matter with you? Are you bashful? Fire away, old man!" Then to his wife: "Why do you keep quiet, Dvorah? Why don't you tell him to eat like a man and not like a bird?" "Maybe he doesn't care for my cooking," she jested, demurely "Why, why," I replied. "The sorrel soup is fit for a king."
As she was leaving the room for the kitchen he called after her, "Dvorah! Dora! make some tea, will you?" She craned her neck and gave him a look of resentment. "It's a good thing you are telling me that," she said. "Otherwise I shouldn't know what I have got to do, should I?" When she had disappeared he explained to me that he variously addressed her by the Yiddish or English form of her name
"You mean for a president," Max corrected me. "We are in America, not in Europe." "How do you know the President of the United States would care for a plate of cold sorrel soup?" "And how do you know a king would?" "If you care for it, I am satisfied," the hostess said to me "I certainly do. I haven't eaten anything like it since I left home," I replied "Feed him well, Dvorah. Now is your chance.
"I'll be back in less than half an hour," he said. "Dvorah dear, give Levinsky some more tea, will you? I am going out for a few minutes. Don't let him be downhearted." Then, shaking a finger of warning at me, he said, playfully, "Only take care that you don't fall in love with her!" And he was gone "It's all play-acting," I thought.
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