Although they served an excellent table d’hôte dinner for thirty cents, economy was not what drew Max there. It was the potato soup. As he explained to Suzie, ‘I am not a gourmet, believe me – hey, I pronounced that right, didn’t I?’ ‘You got me. What does it mean?’ ‘Having class when it comes to food. I mean, my mother is a lousy cook, the world’s worst, so I developed a taste for good food. Does that make sense?’ ‘I suppose so.’ ‘And the potato soup here – Well, I don’t know, maybe if you set it up at Delmonico’s they’d hold their noses, but by my judgment, it’s the tops, absolutely the tops.’ Suzie shook her head and smiled affectionately. ‘You’re a funny kid, Maxie. Sometimes you make me feel that you got a lot of class, not just about food but about other things, too. Three or four of the girls, we was talking about it, and they all agreed that if you’d get a place, we’d all rather work for you than for anybody else. It wouldn’t have to be any kind of great, fancy place, just a place –’ Max shook his head.
