of his
footsteps upon the thick hall carpet, and then she softly closed the
door.

CHAPTER IV

Joe had been right. There was a difference between an enterprise
backed by popular sentiment and practically the same elements with the
backing removed. In the first place, the patronage of the new tea room
was not so brisk and what there was was more skeptically critical.
There was not that carefree acceptance of things that overlooked
deficiencies in the light of the cause they existed under. In fact,
the helpful pressure that had held it all cemented had loosened. At
the end of the first week the two cooks suggested a raise in pay
amounting to ten dollars a month apiece. They did this in accord. And
then, contrary to what might be expected now that the war was over,
there was an insidious rising in the cost of everything, from table
napkins to canned asparagus. Mary Louise began to feel that profits
might not be so easy to estimate, after all.

Her coordinate, too, was constitutionally apathetic. She was a bovine
creature who positively refused to get ruffled over obstacles,
criticisms, or fate. Her name was Maida Jones. Two large pans of buns
had burned. Mary Louise, seeking to fix the responsibility, had failed
in doing so and was wracked at the prospect of frequently recurring
waste. Responsibility to be effective must be undivided. Maida had
only laughed. And Mary Louise removed herself from the scene of her
defeat and stood in the doorway of the tea room proper and stared
bleakly across a vista of deserted tables at a languid and heat-ridden
thoroughfare. It was going to be a "hit-or-miss" proposition, a
careless, slipshod affair--this tea room--unless she did something to
prevent it--and it was too hot. That was what was the matter. It was
too hot. She brushed back the hair from her face and slumped. Behind
her came the clatter of dishes. And then someone laughed, a coarse,
raucous laugh. Mary Louise shuddered. The post-office clock boomed six
and she suddenly realized that the day was over. There would be no
belated custom, for the service stopped at six and the room was empty.
Irritation gave way to discouragement. The day's receipts had been
slim indeed. Just then she noticed an automobile roll up to the curb
outside, and a man got out. She saw him start for the door, and for a
moment she pondered whether she would accomodate him or turn him away.
He opened the door. It was Claybrook.

"Hullo," he sai