ing hard at the
suspicious redness around Miss Fink's eyelids. "Ain't you sweet to come
over here in the headache department and help me out! Here's the wine
list. You'll prob'ly need it. Say, who do you suppose invented New
Year's Eve? They must of had a imagination like a Greek 'bus boy. I'm
limp as a rag now, and it's only two-thirty. I've got a regular cramp in
my wrist from checkin' quarts. Say, did you hear about Heiny's crowd?"

"No," said Miss Fink, evenly, and began to study the first page of the
wine list under the heading "Champagnes of Noted Vintages."

"Well," went on Miss Sweeney's little thin, malicious voice, "he's fell
in soft. There's a table of three, and they're drinkin' 1874 Imperial
Crown at twelve dollars per, like it was Waukesha ale. And every time
they finish a bottle one of the guys pays for it with a brand new ten and
a brand new five and tells Heiny to keep the change. Can you beat it?"

"I hope," said Miss Fink, pleasantly, "that the supply of 1874 will hold
out till morning. I'd hate to see them have to come down to ten dollar
wine. Here you, Tony! Come back here! I may be a new hand in this
department but I'm not so green that you can put a gold label over on me
as a yellow label. Notice that I'm checking you another fifty cents."

"Ain't he the grafter!" laughed Miss Sweeney. She leaned toward Miss
Fink and lowered her voice discreetly. "Though I'll say this for'm. If
you let him get away with it now an' then, he'll split even with you.
H'm? O, well, now, don't get so high and mighty. The management expects
it in this department. That's why they pay starvation wages."

An unusual note of color crept into Miss Gussie Fink's smooth cheek. It
deepened and glowed as Heiny darted around the corner and up to the bar.
There was about him an air of suppressed excitement--suppressed, because
Heiny was too perfect a waiter to display emotion.

"Not another!" chanted the bartenders, in chorus.

"Yes," answered Henri, solemnly, and waited while the wine cellar was
made to relinquish another rare jewel.

"O, you Heiny!" called Miss Sweeney, "tell us what she looks like. If I
had time I'd take a peek myself. From what Tony says she must look
something like Maxine Elliot, only brighter."

Henri turned. He saw Miss Fink. A curious little expression came into
his eyes--a Heiny look, it might have been called, as he regarded his
erstwhile sweetheart's unruffled attire, a