Jimmy Torrance was as busy as a cranberry merchant.  He had four tables to attend to, and while the amount of food he served grew more and more negligible as the evening progressed, his trips to the bar were exceeding frequent.  One of his tables had been vacated for a few minutes when, upon his return from the bar with a round of drinks for Steve Murray and his party he saw that two women had entered and were occupying his fourth table.  Their backs were toward him, and he gave them but little attention other than to note that they were unescorted and to immediately catalogue them accordingly.  Having distributed Steve Murray’s order, Jimmy turned toward his new patrons, and, laying a menu card before each, he stood between them waiting for their order.

“What shall we take?” asked Elizabeth of Harriet.  Then:  “What have you that’s good?” and she looked up at the waiter.

Jimmy prided himself upon self-control, and his serving at Feinheimer’s had still further schooled him in the repression of any outward indication of his emotions.  For, as most men of his class, he had a well-defined conception of what constituted a perfect waiter, one of the requisites being utter indifference to any of the affairs of his patrons outside of those things which actually pertained to his duties as a servitor; but in this instance Jimmy realized that he had come very close to revealing the astonishment which he felt on seeing this girl in Feinheimer’s and unescorted.

If Jimmy was schooled in self-control, Elizabeth Compton was equally so.  She recognized the waiter immediately, but not even by a movement of an eyelid did she betray the fact; which may possibly be accounted for by the fact that it meant little more to her than as though she had chanced to see the same street-sweeper several times In succession, although after he had left with their order she asked Harriet if she, too, had recognized him.

“Immediately,” replied her friend.  “It doesn’t seem possible that such a good-looking chap should be occupying such a menial position.”

“There must be something wrong with him,” rejoined Elizabeth; “probably utterly inefficient.”

“Or he may have some vice,” suggested Harriet.

“He doesn’t look it,” said Elizabeth.  “He looks too utterly healthy for that.  We’ve seen some of these drug addicts in our own set, as you may readily recall.  No, I shouldn’t say that he was that.”

“I suppose the poor fellow has never had an opportunity,” said Harriet.  “He has a good face, his eyes and forehead indicate intelligence, and his jaw is strong and aggressive.  Probably, though, he was raised in poverty and knows nothing better than what he is doing now.  It is too bad that some of these poor creatures couldn’t have the advantages of higher education.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “it is too bad.  Take a man like that; with a college education he could attain almost any decree of success he chose.”