Anna Mary led the way from that car to the next one. It was entered by a passage that turned sharply around a corner, shutting off the second car from first sight. When they came around this corner Beth exclaimed rapturously. There was a brilliantly lighted dining-room awaiting them, more brilliant and gay than any Beth had ever seen. Small tables, snowy white as to covers, glittering with clear glass and even with flowers on them, stood before each window. Colored waiters in white linen, matching their gleaming teeth, but contrasting strikingly with their complexions, stood about, or flew around, napkins on arm, trays in hand, serving those already seated at the tables, waiting for others who were to come--among them Anna Mary and delighted Beth. “I hope you are hungry, Miss Beth,” said Anna Mary taking off her gloves as she and Beth took the chairs an eager waiter had pulled back for them. “I really am,” said Beth surprised to find it true. “I don’t see how I can be, so soon, and I’ve been eating chocolates, too, but I really am.” “Will you pick out what you want, or will I order for you?” suggested Anna Mary. “Oh, you, please,” cried Beth, and Anna Mary ordered. She proved to be an excellent judge of a good dinner. Beth wondered if she thought it was Thanksgiving that day, instead of next week. Oysters, soup, lobster, broiled chicken, several unfamiliar but delicious vegetables, salad--which Beth did not like--ice-cream and fancy cakes, which Beth decidedly did like--and a second order of it, at that!--coffee for Anna Mary, weak tea for Beth, to whom it was a dissipation. All this Anna Mary ordered as if it was a matter of course, and partook of critically. Beth leaned back in her chair at last and sighed, then laughed. “I was thinking that it seemed as if that sigh could hardly get out, I had eaten such a big, such a very big dinner,” she explained. “Anna Mary, I never had such a wonderful dinner! I think Cinderella couldn’t have had a better one if you had been the fairy godmother.” This was not what Beth meant to say, but Anna Mary understood her meaning. “You will soon see real dinners,” she said, implying that this was “about like a box of crackers,” thought Beth, stunned by the prospect before her, and watching Anna Mary as she unrolled a large bill from the fat wad in her pocketbook and handed it to the waiter. She watched with greater awe as the waiter offered Anna Mary her change on a small silver tray and Anna Mary gathered it up, leaving half a dollar, a whole shining fifty cent piece, on the tray for the waiter to take. This he did with a bow of profound respect. “Anna Mary,” began Beth after they had returned to their chairs in the drawing-room car, “is it really like this, only more than this, in New York?”