"Erna! What is the matter with you? Another cup of coffee for Mr.
Nolan!"
"I know it. I ordered it an hour ago."
The stocky, middle-aged, stolid-faced German stared at the handsome
sensual girl of twenty, muttered something, as she returned his critical
stare with a defiant one, and passed out of the kitchen into the store.
"What is the matter with Erna to-day?" he demanded of his stocky,
middle-aged, stolid-faced wife, who stood behind the counter waiting on
customers.
"Why?"
"This is the third time she has been _schnautzing_ me."
"Oh, she has something on her mind," was the woman's unconcerned reply.
The storekeeper was not satisfied. "That _fellow_ must be to blame," he
said.
"Who?"
"That Allen! He's been coming here again."
"Has he?" the woman returned with the same unconcern. "Let him come.
What do you care?"
Erna Vitek was in a morose humor. Her pugnacious nose seemed more
pugnacious than ever, and even her mouth, usually so soft and yielding,
appeared hard this morning. And her brown eyes, which could give you
gentle glances one day and repelling ones the next, were filled with
ominous signs. There was a good reason. She had just overheard the other
waitresses exchanging remarks about her. This would not have been so bad
if their talk had been without foundation. But it was true: she had been
glad to see Jimmy Allen yesterday noon and evening, when he came
in--after an absence of three months. He had stopped drinking. He had
been living and training in the country, so that the old color had
returned to his face and the old light to his eyes. He looked stronger
than ever, more energetic and happier. Yes, he was to begin fighting
again--next week--but that had never been his worst fault. The girls
said that she still "liked him" or that she would "like him again." This
would not have been so bad if--
Gretchen and Mollie were small, mean, dirty. They were always gossipping
about her. And she had given them her old dresses, old hats,
encouragement, advice. What a lot of gratitude women felt toward you!
Her face cleared. A laughing, splendidly built young fellow was making
his way through the store, returning salutations. He stopped in the
kitchen long enough to barter laughing glances with Erna and passed down
the two steps into the dining room: a small low one containing six
tables--Erna's empire. There, he received more greetings and one or two
short tributes on his return to the public eye. The young athlete pulled
off his coat and cap and hung them on the wall. He flung himself into a
chair at an empty table and was soon at his ease.
Erna was a shrewd girl. She did not come to take his order at once.
First, she served another patron. Then, she cleared away some dishes.
Finally, she came to Jimmy's table, but with a careless air.
He gave her a frank look. "How's the girl?" was his familiar greeting.
"Pretty fair!" she responded in cool tones. "How are you?"
"Bully!"
"What do you want?" she went on indifferently.
"Gimme time to breathe!" he protested, and tried to stare into her face
and to take her hand.
"Stop!" she warned him and drew back.
"Why, what the deuce--"
"Customers are waitin'--" she cut him short.
He gave the bill of fare a contemptuous glance. "Bring me a soft boiled
egg, toast an' a glass o' milk."
She looked at him with sudden irritation, but smiled, turned her back
and left the room with aggravating slowness.
Jimmy appeared angry, but one of the patrons disturbed his mood with an
admiring: "On a diet, Jimmy?"
"Yes."
"What night does it come off?"
"Next Tuesday."
"How do you feel?"
Jimmy expanded his chest, gave himself a solid punch and answered:
"Great! Harder than a rock!"
"Feel sorry for 'the Kid.' How long are you goin' to let him stay?"
"Oh, part o' the second," was Jimmy's laughing assurance.
A sigh of pleasure and envy escaped the patrons. And they quickly
announced their intention to be present at the joyous butchery.
Erna came back. She pretended to wipe off the neighboring table. Pretty
soon, however, she was at Jimmy's side.
"What's the grouch?" he asked confidentially.
"Nothin'."
"Still sore at me?"
"No."
"Sore at somebody else?"
"No."
He looked up at her anxiously, but Erna smiled; her eyes softened and
winked slyly. Jimmy, who was always willing to laugh, laughed again.
"You're still the kiddo," he whispered.
Erna blushed and moved away.
"Erna!" he called.
"Wait a moment!"
She stayed away about two minutes and then returned with Jimmy's order,
which was overdue. Three of the patrons, exchanging "so longs!" with the
prize-fighter, went out. Two remained, milkmen, but they were fast
asleep.
Erna set Jimmy's order before him. He tried to catch her hand, but she
was too quick. An irritable grunt escaped him.
"What's the matter?" she taunted him.
"What's the matter with _you_?"
"Nothin'."
But she dropped her glance coquettishly. He gave her face and figure an
admiring look.
"Erna," he said gently.
She looked at him for a shy instant.
"I say, Erna," he repeated.
"Well?"
"You're not sore?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"You know what I mean?"
"Sure!"