ging doors at
the end of the long passageway Miss Fink could catch glimpses of dazzling
color, of shimmering gowns, of bare arms uplifted, of flowers, and
plumes, and jewels, with the rosy light of the famed pink fountain
casting a gracious glow over all. Once she saw a tall young fellow throw
his arm about the shoulder of a glorious creature at the next table, and
though the door swung shut before she could see it, Miss Fink knew that
he had kissed her.

There were no New Year's greetings in the kitchen back of the Pink
Fountain Room. It was the busiest moment in all that busy night. The
heat of the ovens was so intense that it could be felt as far as Miss
Fink's remote corner. The swinging doors between dining-room and kitchen
were never still. A steady stream of waiters made for the steam tables
before which the white-clad chefs stood ladling, carving, basting,
serving, gave their orders, received them, stopped at the checking-desk,
and sped dining-roomward again. Tony, the Crook, was cursing at one of
the little Polish vegetable girls who had not been quick enough about the
garnishing of a salad, and she was saying, over and over again, in her
thick tongue:

"Aw, shod op yur mout'!"

The thud-thud of Miss Fink's checking-stamp kept time to flying
footsteps, but even as her practised eye swept over the tray before her
she saw the steward direct Henri toward her desk, just as he was about to
head in the direction of the minor checking-desk. Beneath downcast lids
she saw him coming. There was about Henri to-night a certain radiance, a
sort of electrical elasticity, so nimble, so tireless, so exuberant was
he. In the eyes of Miss Gussie Fink he looked heartbreakingly handsome
in his waiter's uniform--handsome, distinguished, remote, and infinitely
desirable. And just behind him, revenge in his eye, came Tony.

The flat surface of the desk received Henri's tray. Miss Fink regarded
it with a cold and business-like stare. Henri whipped his napkin from
under his left arm and began to remove covers, dexterously. Off came the
first silver, dome-shaped top.

"Guinea hen," said Henri.

"I seen her lookin' at you when you served the little necks," came from
Tony, as though continuing a conversation begun in some past moment of
pause, "and she's some lovely doll, believe me."

Miss Fink scanned the guinea hen thoroughly, but with a detached air, and
selected the proper stamp from the box at her elbow. Thump!