I thought my father looked very well in a long white apron and shirt sleeves.

He dished out ice cream with enthusiasm, so I supposed he was getting rich.

It never occurred to me to compare his present occupation with the position for which he had been originally destined; or if I thought about it, I was just as well content, for by this time I had by heart my father's saying, "America is not Polotzk." All occupations were respectable, all men were equal, in America.
If I admired the soda fountain and the sausage chains, I almost worshipped the partner, Mr.Wilner.I was content to stand for an hour at a time watching him make potato chips.

In his cook's cap and apron, with a ladle in his hand and a smile on his face, he moved about with the greatest agility, whisking his raw materials out of nowhere, dipping into his bubbling kettle with a flourish, and bringing forth the finished product with a caper.

Such potato chips were not to be had anywhere else on Crescent Beach.