used. They do what they've got to do.
I was a great hand at worrying what I was going to be used for.
But I don't bother about it any more." He began to pour the
griddle cake dough. "I think I'll get there, though," said he
doggedly, as if he expected to be derided for vanity.

"You will," said Susan.

"I'm twenty-nine. But I've been being got ready for something.
They don't chip away at a stone as they have at me without
intending to make some use of it."

"No, indeed," said the girl, hope and faith welling up in her
own heart.

"And what's more, I've stood the chipping. I ain't become
rubbish; I'm still a good stone. That's promising, ain't it?"

"It's a sure sign," declared Susan. Sure for herself, no less
than for him.

The restaurant man took from under the counter several
well-worn schoolbooks. He held them up, looked at Susan and
winked. "Good business--eh?"

She laughed and nodded. He put the books back under the
counter, finished the cakes and served them. As he gave her
more butter he said:

"It ain't the best butter--not by a long shot. But it's
good--as good as you get on the average farm--or better. Did
you ever eat the best butter?"

"I don't know. I've had some that was very good."

"Eighty cents a pound?"

"Mercy, no," exclaimed Susan.

"Awful price, isn't it? But worth the money--yes, sir! Some
time when you've got a little change to spare, go get half a
pound at one of the swell groceries or dairies. And the best
milk, too. Twelve cents a quart. Wait till I get money. I'll
show 'em how to live. I was born in a tenement. Never had
nothing. Rags to wear, and food one notch above a garbage
barrel."

"I know," said Susan.

"But even as a boy I wanted the high-class things. It's
wanting the best that makes a man push his way up."

Another customer came--a keeper of a butcher shop, on his way
to market. Susan finished the cakes, paid the forty cents and
prepared to depart. "I'm looking for a hotel," said she to the
restaurant man, "one where they'll take me in at this time, but
one that's safe not a dive."

"Right across the square there's a Salvation Army shelter--very
good--clean. I Don't know of any other place for a lady."

"There's a hotel on the next corner," put in the butcher,
suspending the violent smacking and sipping which attended his
taking rolls and coffee. "It ain't neither the one thing nor
the other. It's clean and cheap, and they'll l