red yet, am I?" Her white teeth flashed.

"But c'n you keep the books?"

She sniffed. "I certainly can. I haven't been a waitress all my life.
These books are nothing."

Here the gigantic Hiram caught his lower lip sagging and resolutely
lifted it to dignity.

"Well, I like your style," Tweet was telling her. "Tell 'em about it,
every time--that's the way to get a toehold. But you're not much of a
stenog, Lucy--was that you peckin' away in there?"

A shade of pink swept her face.

"I used to operate a machine a little with one finger of each hand,"
she explained, "but I'm all out of practice. I don't have to use a
typewriter on this job though. It's an old one the boss took for a
bill."

"Just practicin' up again, eh?"

"Ye-yes," she hesitated. Again her skin grew faintly pink.

"Good business! Go to it! Every little bit helps. Well,
congratulations, Lucy. So long! C'm on, Hiram."

"Thanks." Lucy laughed, and went into her little room.

Hiram sighed boyishly, upset the toothpick holder at his elbow, and
fled in Mr. Tweet's wake.

"Pretty nifty little kid," Tweet remarked, as Hiram joined him.

"You know her--wh-what's her name?"

Tweet turned and looked at Hiram's red face in mild surprise.

"Wh-what's wrong with you?" he queried.

"Nothin'"--sheepishly.

"Well, I'll be dog-goned if I don't believe you're gun shy on the
female question!" was Tweet's conviction. "These frisky Frisco pullets
goin' to your head, Hooker. A little paint and a little powder and a
frowsy topknot seems to sorta touched some new funny bone in you, eh?
Heavens, I remember how I fell for it years ago!"

Hiram closed his lips tight. He hated Tweet.

Tweet slapped him on the back and laughed.

"Forget it, Hiram," he advised familiarly. "It ain't like me to roast
anybody when I see it hurts. Why, le's see now--I don't know the kid's
name. I've heard the men call her Lucy--that's all. I been eatin'
there right along--that is, up till yesterday mornin'. She seems to be
popular with the fellas. Not a bad little kid, though, I take it. Got
some savvy, at any rate. Ain't content with her lowly lot--and that's
my kind. Oughtn't to make customers have to call her away from that
typewriter, though--I don't like that. Well," he switched abruptly,
"what you been thinkin' about our little deal?"

"Nothing," Hiram retorted resentfully.

They had been slowly walking down the street. Tweet stopped short and