She had secured a large mirror, and in front of this she laboured patiently for a full ten minutes, twisting her hair this way and that, and using the comb and brush vigorously.  Now and then, as she worked, she became aware that a fluff of hair rolling down low over her forehead did amazing things to her face and brought her from Sally Fortune into the strange dignity of a “lady.”  But she could not complete any of the manoeuvres, no matter how promisingly they started.  In the end she dashed a handful of hairpins on the floor and wound the hair about her head with a few swift turns.

She studied the sullen, boyish visage which looked back at her.  After all, she would be unmercifully joked if she were to appear with her hair grown suddenly fluffy and womanly—­it would become impossible for her to run the eating-place without the assistance of a man, and a fighting man at that.  So what was the use?  She threw the mirror crashing on the floor; it splintered in a thousand pieces.

“After all,” she murmured aloud, “do I want to be a woman?”

The sullen mouth undoubtedly answered “No”; the wistful eyes undoubtedly replied in another key.  She shrugged the question away and stepped out of her room toward the kitchen, whistling a tune to raise her spirits.

“Late, Sally,” said the cook, tossing another hot cake on the growing pile which surmounted the warmer.

“Sure; I busted my mirror,” said Sally.

The cook stared at her in such astonishment that he allowed a quantity of dough to fall from the dish cupped in the hollow of his arm; it overflowed the griddle-iron.

“Blockhead!” shouted Sally.  “Watch your step!”

She resumed, when the dough had been rescued by somewhat questionable means:  “D’you think a girl can dress in the dark?”

But the cook had had too much experience with his employer to press what seemed a tender point.  He confined his attention to the pancakes.

“There ain’t no fool worse than a he-fool,” continued Sally bitterly.  “Which maybe you think a girl can dress without a mirror?”

Since this taunt brought no response from her victim, she went on into the eating-room.  It was already filling, and the duties of her strenuous day began.

They continued without interruption hour after hour, for the popularity of her restaurant had driven all competition out of Eldara, a result which filled the pocket-book and fattened the bank account of Sally Fortune, but loaded unnumbered burdens onto her strong shoulders.  For she could not hire a waiter to take her place; every man who came into the eating-room expected to be served by the slim hands of Sally herself, and he expected also some trifling repartee which would make him pay his bill with a grin.