fifteen minutes past seven
`` Sa-y , if not for when Clara comes and how in America all young people got extravagant ideas , we was just as well off without one in our three rooms in Simpson Street . '' `` A little more of that mackerel , please . '' You to whom the chilled grapefruit and the eggshell cup of morning coffee are a gastronomic feat not always easy to hurdle , raise not your digestive eyebrows . At precisely fifteen minutes past seven six mornings in the week , seven-thirty , Sundays , Mrs. Lipkind and her son sat down to a breakfast that was steamingly fit for those only who dwell in the headacheless kingdom of long , sleepful nights and fur-coatless tongues . `` A few more fried potatoes with it , Sammy ? '' `` Whoa ! You want to feed me up for the fat boys ' regiment ! ''