g its shallows with a dreamy half-smile on
her lips, and then had lifted her slim legs slowly and gracefully over
its fern-fringed basin and had waded into its chilling midst, trailing
her exquisite white satin and chiffon draperies after her, and scaring
the goldfish into fits. The loudest scream of approbation had come from
the yellow-haired, loose-lipped youth who had made the wager, and lost
it. The heavy blonde in the inevitable violet draperies showed signs of
wanting to dance on the table. Her companion--a structure made up of
layer upon layer, and fold upon fold of flabby tissue--knew all the
waiters by their right names, and insisted on singing with the orchestra
and beating time with a rye roll. The clatter of dishes was giving way
to the clink of glasses.

In the big, bright kitchen back, of the Pink Fountain room Miss Gussie
Fink sat at her desk, calm, watchful, insolent-eyed, a goddess sitting in
judgment. On the pay roll of the Newest Hotel Miss Gussie Fink's name
appeared as kitchen checker, but her regular job was goddessing. Her
altar was a high desk in a corner of the busy kitchen, and it was an
altar of incense, of burnt-offerings, and of showbread. Inexorable as a
goddess of the ancients was Miss Fink, and ten times as difficult to
appease. For this is the rule of the Newest Hotel, that no waiter may
carry his laden tray restaurantward until its contents have been viewed
and duly checked by the eye and hand of Miss Gussie Fink, or her
assistants. Flat upon the table must go every tray, off must go each
silver dish-cover, lifted must be each napkin to disclose its treasure of
steaming corn or hot rolls. Clouds of incense rose before Miss Gussie
Fink and she sniffed it unmoved, her eyes, beneath level brows, regarding
savory broiler or cunning ice with equal indifference, appraising alike
lobster cocktail or onion soup, traveling from blue points to brie.
Things a la and things glace were all one to her. Gazing at food was
Miss Gussie Fink's occupation, and just to see the way she regarded a
boneless squab made you certain that she never ate.

In spite of the I-don't-know-how-many (see ads) New Year's Eve diners for
whom food was provided that night, the big, busy kitchen was the most
orderly, shining, spotless place imaginable. But Miss Gussie Fink was
the neatest, most immaculate object in all that great, clean room. There
was that about her which suggested daisies in a field, if you kno