menus was getting heavy under her arm--she had just come
from the printer's--and the soda fountain at the corner drug store
tempted her. She yielded.

She took a seat alongside a revolving electric fan and let the breeze
play on her heated cheek. She felt suddenly lazy and allowed herself a
delicious relaxation. Behind the counter two boys in spotless caps
and aprons were working with desperate haste to cool the dusty throats
lined up before them. One of them looked like Joe Hooper, except that
he moved faster, was quicker with his hands. Poor Joe! How helpless
and hopeless he had looked that afternoon. He was one of the kind that
could not learn how. The other clerk stopped before her and asked her
for her order. This one looked very much like the new cook Maida and
she had just hired. So intent was she upon her observation that she
forgot he was speaking to her. That new cook--he was a smart,
sharp-looking boy--just out of the army a few months. It had seemed a
bit incongruous having that type in the kitchen, but then----She
watched the face before her, hair sleek and parted in the middle with
ears a little too prominent, features rather regular. The eyes were
set too close together. He slid in and out without friction, made up
almost two drinks to the other one's one--the one who looked like Joe.
Probably made more money even than the real Joe.

A tall frosty tumbler was placed before her. She dipped into it with a
straw. It was delightfully cool and refreshing, with a blend of fruit
odour and flavour beneath the sprig of mint that floated on the top.
Slowly she sipped it. And then for a moment she let her eyes wander
across the faces lined up before the counter beside her. Next to her
was an old woman in a sleazy black dress with a turban-like hat all
swathed with a long black veil hemmed with black. She had looped it
back in anticipation of the drink she would soon get. The old face was
white and limned with wrinkles, and one hand, as it rested timidly on
the edge of the counter, was heavily veined and thin and swollen about
the knuckles. There was a droop to the shoulders and a patient,
haggard look about the eyes. Mary Louise wondered if the mourning were
very real; she seemed so very tired that even a poignant grief might
well be spent. As she looked, the old woman caught her eye and turned
hurriedly away.

Beyond her two young girls were making merry with the cherries in
their glasses. At odd moments they wo