On the
broad pasteboard sheet before her appeared the figures $1.75 after
Henri's number.

"Think so?" grinned Henri, and removed another cover. "One candied
sweets."

"I bet some day we'll see you in the Sunday papers, Heiny," went on Tony,
"with a piece about handsome waiter runnin' away with beautiful s'ciety
girl. Say; you're too perfect even for a waiter."

Thump! Thirty cents.

"Quit your kiddin'," said the flattered Henri. "One endive, French
dressing."

Thump! "Next!" said Miss Fink, dispassionately, yawned, and smiled
fleetingly at the entree cook who wasn't looking her way. Then, as Tony
slid his tray toward her: "How's business, Tony? H'm? How many two-bit
cigar bands have you slipped onto your own private collection of nickel
straights and made a twenty-cent rake-off?"

But there was a mist in the bright brown eyes as Tony the Crook turned
away with his tray. In spite of the satisfaction of having had the last
word, Miss Fink knew in her heart that Tony had "got her at recess," as
he had said he would.

Things were slowing up for Miss Fink. The stream of hurrying waiters was
turned in the direction of the kitchen bar now. From now on the eating
would be light, and the drinking heavy. Miss Fink, with time hanging
heavy, found herself blinking down at the figures stamped on the
pasteboard sheet before her, and in spite of the blinking, two marks that
never were intended for a checker's report splashed down just over the
$1.75 after Henri's number. A lovely doll! And she had gazed at Heiny.
Well, that was to be expected. No woman could gaze unmoved upon Heiny.
"A lovely doll--"

"Hi, Miss Fink!" it was the steward's voice. "We need you over in the
bar to help Miss Sweeney check the drinks. They're coming too swift for
her. The eating will be light from now on; just a little something salty
now and then."

So Miss Fink dabbed covertly at her eyes and betook herself out of the
atmosphere of roasting, and broiling, and frying, and stewing; away from
the sight of great copper kettles, and glowing coals and hissing pans,
into a little world fragrant with mint, breathing of orange and lemon
peel, perfumed with pineapple, redolent of cinnamon and clove, reeking
with things spirituous. Here the splutter of the broiler was replaced by
the hiss of the siphon, and the pop-pop of corks, and the tinkle and
clink of ice against glass.

"Hello, dearie!" cooed Miss Sweeney, in greeting, star