Long before Miss Kirk had finished pouring out advice, the eight-cent lunch of soup, sandwich, and coffee had been slapped down on a dirty tablecloth by a frantic rabbit of a waitress.  The big restaurant was dim, even at midday, because its only windows gave upon a narrow court which separated that part of the building from another part of equal height.  It was so dark that perhaps the hard-worked females who cleaned it might be excused for passing blemishes sunlight would have thrown into their faces.

One did not exactly see the dirt (except on the cheap, unbleached “damask” flung crookedly over the black oilcloth nailed onto table tops); but, like a cowardly ghost that dares not show itself, in some secret, shuddering way the squalor was able to make its presence felt.  Now and then a black beetle pottered across the oilcloth-covered floor; and though a black beetle may happen anywhere, it potters only where it feels at home, otherwise it scurries about in desperate apology for living.  The soup was cold and greasy and tasted of an unscoured pot.  The mutton sandwich, as Sadie remarked, would have been better suited to the antique department; and the coffee, though hot, might as easily have been tea or cocoa, or a blend of all three.

“What a shame to feed their people like this!” exclaimed Win, who had thought she was hungry, but now found herself mistaken.  And again the eyes of Peter Rolls, Jr., seemed to be looking straight into hers.  No wonder he was what his sister hinted at if he knew all about this and had not the heart to care!  And if he didn’t trouble to know, it was just as bad.

“They don’t want to feed us, you see,” said Sadie, slowly finishing a baked apple which looked like a head-hunter’s withered trophy.  “On the low prices they’re obliged to charge they can’t make a cent offen us.  Besides if all the guyls et in the house they’d have to give up more of their valuable room.  They’d rather we’d go out, so long as we’re back in time.  Only the poorest ones, who have to look twice at every cent, feed in the restaurant as a reg’lar thing; or the weak ones, who’re so dead tired they can’t bear to take a nextra step.  And oh, by the way, talkin’ o’ that, you’ll need foot powder.  Your first week your feet’ll hurt that bad you’ll be ready to bawl.  But if you can stand it and your back bein’ broke in two at the waist it’ll be better the week after, and so on, till you won’t notice so much.  Now I must go or I’ll be docked, and I ain’t the betrothed of a millionaire yet.  But tell me where you live.  Me and you might see something of e’ juther, if you feel the way I do.”

“I liked you the minute I looked round the corner of my shoulder and saw you plastered onto my back!” laughed Win, already revived, not by the food, but by some subtle emanation of strength and sympathy from the more experienced girl.  “I wish I could live near you.  The boarding-house where I am is too expensive, and I’ve given notice to leave on Saturday.”