human nature
in here."

"I suppose you do."

"You bet. Every kind gits in here first and last, tramps up to swells
who think they're doin' somethin' awful funny to git frankfurters and
coffee in here. They must be hard driv."

"I suppose they are sometimes."

Mame's eyes, surveying James, suddenly grew sharp. "You ain't one?" she
asked accusingly.

"You bet not."

Mame's grew soft. "I knew you were all right," said she. "Sometimes they
say things to me that their fine lady friends would bounce 'em for, but
I knew the minute I saw you that you wasn't that kind if you be dressed
up like a gent. Reckon you've been makin' big money in your last place."

"Considerable," admitted James. He felt like a villain, but he had not
the heart to accuse himself of being a gentleman before this pathetic
girl.

Mame leaned suddenly over the counter, and her blonde crest nearly
touched his forehead. "Say," said she, in a whisper.

"What?" whispered James back.

"What he said ain't true. There ain't a mite of truth in it."

"What he said," repeated James vaguely.

Mame pouted. "How awful thick-headed you be," said she. "What he said
about my havin' a feller." She blushed rosily, and her eyes fell.

James felt his own face suffused. He pulled out his pocket-book, and
rose abruptly. "I'm sorry," he said with stupidity.

The rosy flush died away from the girl's face. "Nobody asked you to be
sorry," said she. "I could have any one of a dozen I know if I jest held
out my little finger."

"Of course, you could," James said. He felt apologetic, although he did
not know exactly why. He fumbled over the change, and at last made it
right with a quarter extra for the girl.

"It's a quarter too much," said she.

"Keep it, please."

She hesitated. She was frowning under her great blonde roll, her mouth
looked hurt.

"What a fuss about a quarter," said James, with a laugh. "Keep it.
That's a good girl."

Mame took a dingy handkerchief out of the bosom of her blouse, untied a
corner, and James heard a jingle of coins meeting. Then she laughed.
"You're an awful fraud," said she.

"Why?"

"You can't cheat me, if you did Bill Slattery."

"I think I don't know what you mean."

"You're a gent."

The girl's thin, coarse laughter rang out after James as he descended
the steps of the quick-lunch wagon. She opened the door directly after
he had closed it, and stood on the top step with the cold wind agitating
her fair hair. "S