red in the
direction of the washroom. Ted waited until the dining-room was almost
deserted. Then he went in to dinner alone. Some one in white wearing an
absurd little pocket handkerchief of an apron led him to a seat in a far
corner of the big room. Ted did not lift his eyes higher than the snowy
square of the apron. The Apron drew out a chair, shoved it under Ted's
knees in the way Aprons have, and thrust a printed menu at him.

"Roast beef, medium," said Ted, without looking up.

"Bless your heart, yuh ain't changed a bit. I remember how yuh used to
jaw when it was too well done," said the Apron, fondly.

Ted's head came up with a jerk.

"So yuh will cut yer old friends, is it?" grinned Birdie Callahan. "If
this wasn't a public dining-room maybe yuh'd shake hands with a poor but
proud workin' girrul. Yer as good lookin' a divil as ever, Mister Ted."

Ted's hand shot out and grasped hers. "Birdie! I could weep on your
apron! I never was so glad to see any one in my life. Just to look at
you makes me homesick. What in Sam Hill are you doing here?"

"Waitin'. After yer ma died, seemed like I didn't care t' work fer no
other privit fam'ly, so I came back here on my old job. I'll bet I'm the
homeliest head waitress in captivity."

Ted's nervous fingers were pleating the tablecloth. His voice sank to a
whisper. "Birdie, tell me the God's truth. Did those three years cause
her death?"

"Niver!" lied Birdie. "I was with her to the end. It started with a
cold on th' chest. Have some French fried with yer beef, Mr. Teddy.
They're illigent to-day."

Birdie glided off to the kitchen. Authors are fond of the word "glide."
But you can take it literally this time. Birdie had a face that looked
like a huge mistake, but she walked like a panther, and they're said to
be the last cry as gliders. She walked with her chin up and her hips
firm. That comes from juggling trays. You have to walk like that to
keep your nose out of the soup. After a while the walk becomes a habit.
Any seasoned dining-room girl could give lessons in walking to the
Delsarte teacher of an Eastern finishing school.

From the day that Birdie Callahan served Ted with the roast beef medium
and the elegant French fried, she appointed herself monitor over his food
and clothes and morals. I wish I could find words to describe his bitter
loneliness. He did not seek companionship. The men, although not
directly avoiding him, seemed