e man. Once more his sharp
knife descended and he was offering the possible customer a sample. She
picked it off the knife's sharp tip, nibbled thoughtfully, shook her
head, and passed on. A great, glorious world of hope opened out before
Jennie.

Her cheeks grew hot, and her eyes felt dry and bright as she approached
the cheese counter.

"A bit of that," she said, pointing. "It doesn't look just as I like it."

"Very fine, madam," the man assured her, and turned the knife point
toward her, with the infinitesimal wedge of cheese reposing on its blade.
Jennie tried to keep her hand steady as she delicately picked it off,
nibbled as she had seen that other woman do it, her head on one side,
before it shook a slow negative. The effort necessary to keep from
cramming the entire piece into her mouth at once left her weak and
trembling. She passed on as the other woman had done, around the corner,
and into a world of sausages. Great rosy mounds of them filled counters
and cases. Sausage! Sneer, you pate de foies grasers! But may you know
the day when hunger will have you. And on that day may you run into
linked temptation in the form of Braunschweiger Metwurst. May you know
the longing that causes the eyes to glaze at the sight of Thuringer
sausage, and the mouth to water at the scent of Cervelat wurst, and the
fingers to tremble at the nearness of smoked liver.

Jennie stumbled on, through the smells and the sights. That nibble of
cheese had been like a drop of human blood to a man-eating tiger. It
made her bold, cunning, even while it maddened. She stopped at this
counter and demanded a slice of summer sausage. It was paper-thin, but
delicious beyond belief. At the next counter there was corned beef,
streaked fat and lean. Jennie longed to bury her teeth in the succulent
meat and get one great, soul-satisfying mouthful. She had to be content
with her judicious nibbling. To pass the golden-brown, breaded pig's
feet was torture. To look at the codfish balls was agony. And so Jennie
went on, sampling, tasting, the scraps of food acting only as an
aggravation. Up one aisle, and down the next she went. And then, just
around the corner, she brought up before the grocery department's pride
and boast, the Scotch bakery. It is the store's star vaudeville feature.
All day long the gaping crowd stands before it, watching David the Scone
Man, as with sleeves rolled high above his big arms, he kneads, and
sl