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Updated: May 4, 2025
"You've only a shake to eat in, Betty," exclaimed Bobby Littell, who was very dark and very gay and very much alive all of the time. "Do hurry. We're 'most through." "Dear me! what can I eat in a shake?" murmured Betty, as the soup was placed before her. "And I am hungry." "A milk-shake should be absorbed in a shake," observed Bob Henderson, grinning at her from across the table.
"There's some herring on the table mamma brought over, and some raw meat and onions. That's some borshtsh on the stove Etta carried all the way over from Hester Street for your supper." "And what for the little mammela?" "I'm fed up, Roody. Mamma closed the store at five to run over with some of that milk-shake like Doctor Aarons said. He sent his little son Isadore over with the prescription.
Like I said to mamma, she should let the Canal Street Kosher Sausage Company do double the business from five until six while she closes shop to carry her daughter a milk-shake! Like I was used to it from home!" "When my girl gets to be a little mammela, the best shouldn't be none too good." She continued to stroke up at his sleeve and occasionally on up into his uneven shock of red hair.
Queed narrowly. "Where you hittin' for now? Paynter's?" "Yes." "Walkin'? That's right. I'll go with you." As they came out into the street, Klinker said kindly: "You ain't feelin' good, are you, Doc? You're lookin' white as a milk-shake." "I feel reasonably well, thank you. As for color, I have never had any, I believe." "I don't guess, the life you lead. Got the headache, haven't you?
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