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Updated: May 1, 2025
"You was hired," answered Lawlor softly, as he filled his glass to the brim with the old rye whisky, "to be a cook, and you're the rottenest hash-slinger that ever served cold dough for biscuits; a blasted, roarin' fool you've already made out of yourself by singin' that song. I want another one to get the sound of that out of my ears. Tune up!"
"Well, Cookie, what's eatin' you? Ain't you got nothin' to do but stand an' gawk? By the Lord, if you ain't I know where we can git a hash-slinger as is worth his grub!" Cookie's bulging eyes ranged from one face to the other. Then he turned back to his stove and began to wash over again a pan which he had laid aside already as clean. Conniston and Brayley washed with cold water in silence.
And after a year of that she became waitress in a cheap restaurant hash-slinger, she called it. She said to me once, 'Romance I guess was what I wanted. But there wan't no romance floating around in dishpans and washtubs, or in factories and hash-joints. "When she was eighteen she married a man who was going up to Juneau to start a restaurant. He had a few dollars saved, and appeared prosperous.
Thrusting his hand into a side pocket of his jacket he produced a paper parcel. "Say, Zip, I come nigh forgettin'," he cried cheerfully. "The hash-slinger down at Minky's ast me to hand you this. It's for the kiddies. It's candy. I'd say she's sweet on your kiddies. She said I wasn't to let you know she'd sent 'em. So you ken jest kep your face closed. So long."
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