The Washington herald. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1906-1939, 1917-12-24

Mounds Of soiled. melting snow
fringed the pavements. The cold spell
having moderated, the streets Of the
Italian quarter swarmed with bare
headed women and children.
The small shop windows were
crowded with pyramided moulds OF
cheese, festoons Of garlic, and gay
foreign-labeled cans Of antipasto and
olive oil.
Dear. here are those small cans OF
funny" discovered Helen, drawing
Warren to a pause before one Of the
alluring windows.
Wen stop on the way back These
shops don't close until late. Better
get some of that Parmesan cheese,
too"
Eyes, and some tomato paste. Oh
love It down here-it's so foreign"
enthusiastically. I'm just in the
/ mood for an Italian dinner
Further on they turned in at Morris
white-fronted restaurant Over the
door was the illuminated sign.
| italian specialties
A la Carte"
| In the narrow hallway Warren hung
his coat and hat on the only vacant
hook, and they entered the crowded
dining room.
"A table for two7" the proprietor's
wife greeted them cordially. That
couple by the wall are almost through.
Just sit here a moment" giving them
seats at a large center table, appar-
entity reserved for a party.
| A specialized youth, who suggested
socialism. and a girl with bodied hair,
| the artist type, soon rose from the
wall table. With brisk capability
Mime. Mort, herself. cleared of the
dishes and spread a clean cloth.
| Anything special tonight" asked
Warren.
| THE raviolfs very nice. We have
it only Thursdays and Sundays"
| Fine! Well have some ravioli.
Let's see-some antipasto first, and a
pint OF white Chant. And oh yes
some Of those vegetables fried in
oil-Fritto Misto, isn't it,"
1.-THE ravioli's very hearty" sug-
gested Nine. Mort with the rare con-
sideration for her patrons expendi-
lures that made her so popular.
"All right then-well have the Frit-
to Misto next time"
| "Ravioli?" puzzled Helen as Mad
anne hurried off. Ibid We ever have
that?"
Sure. those little squares of maca-
roni filed with chopped meat"
Il never had It," pushing back the
view obstructing vase Of bristling
bread sticks. Dear, I'm afraid ]
won't like it'd rather have spa
ghetti."
! "Of course you'll like It. You can
get spaghetti anywhere, but this is
the real dish"
Helen, unconvinced, was resent
fully silent. Warren had a most az
gravating way Of ordering for her tie
things he liked. He seemed never 10
acknowledge her difference in taste.
Doing a good business here" as
he scanned the well-filled room.
well, they ought to! No music, nc
frills-just good, straight food. And
not too high, either.' glancing al
the moderately priced menu.
| Dear, tell her to make that only
one order Of ravioli and one OF
spaghetti" PERSISTED Helen.
| 'Nosense! You try that ravioli
-you'n never take anything else"
! The walter was now serving Ihe
antipasto. Madame being busy at an
other table. A bit OF funny with
sliced onions, pimlentos. anchovies,
ripe olives. salami and Italian celery
made up tho appetizing platter.
| white Chianti. sir?" as he brought
on the grass-plaited bottle.
But 1t was Madame herself who
placed before them the dish Of steam
| ing ravioli.
"Jove! That looks like the real
thing" beamed Warren,
| Yes. I always make this myself.
It's hard to get Just right
| "Oh, not so much for me-" re-
strained Helen as he helped her
lavishly.
Huh. you'll eat all that and come
back for more" passing her the plate
and proceeding to FIJI his own. wait,
you want some cheese over It." shov-
| ing towards her the saucer of grated
Parmesan.
Helen sprinkled on a spoonful OF
cheese. then tasted obviously one OF
the macaroni squares. It was filled
with chopped meat favored with sage.
| How about TT" glowed Warren.
! Great stun. eh?"
Il don't care for chopped meat
you never know what's in It, And
that sage flavor makes 1t taste like
sausage-and I loathe sausage"
Il don't notice any sage-you Just
imagine that. And you needn't worry
about what's in it-she makes this
herself. Try 1t with little more
cheese"
Helen forked at one of the oily
squares. the lump of hurt resentment
rising In her throat. Why should he
Always try to dictate what she should
eat! Why was he always forcing
upon ner the dishes he preferred?
GENEROUSLY she glanced at a heaped-
up oroer Of spaghetti being served at
the next table. She was particularly
fond OF the real italian spaghetti, and
OF the chicken liver sauce with which
they served it here.
"How's the ravioli?" Mime. Mort
paused in passing.