"Never whine," said Susan. "It's no use. Take what comes, and wait for a winning hand." Etta looked at her in a puzzled way. "How queer you talk! Not a bit like yourself. You sound so much older. . . . And your eyes--they don't look natural at all." Indeed they looked supernatural. The last trace of gray was gone. They were of the purest, deepest violet, luminous, mysterious, with that awe-inspiring expression of utter aloneness. But as Etta spoke the expression changed. The gray came back and with it a glance of irony. Said she: "Oh--nonsense! I'm all right." "I didn't mind nearly as much as I thought I would. Yes, I'll get used to it." "You mustn't," said Susan. "But I've got to." "We've got to do it, but we haven't got to get used to it," replied Susan. Etta was still puzzling at this when the dinner now came--a fine, thick broiled steak, the best steak Susan had ever seen, and the best food Etta had ever seen. They had happened upon one of those famous Cincinnati chop houses where in plain surroundings the highest quality of plain food is served. "You _are_ hungry, aren't you, Lorna?" said Etta. "Yes--I'm hungry," declared Susan. "Cut it--quick." "Draught beer or bottled?" asked the waiter. "Bring us draught beer," said Etta. "I haven't tasted beer since our restaurant burned." "I never tasted it," said Susan. "But I'll try it tonight." Etta cut two thick slices from the steak, put them on Susan's plate with some of the beautifully browned fried potatoes. "Gracious, they have good things to eat here!" she exclaimed. Then she cut two thick slices for herself, and filled her mouth. Her eyes glistened, the color came into her pale cheeks. "Isn't it _grand_!" she cried, when there was room for words to pass out. "Grand," agreed Susan, a marvelous change of expression in her face also. The beer came. Etta drank a quarter of the tall glass at once. Susan tasted, rather liked the fresh bitter-sweet odor and flavor. "Is it--very intoxicating?" she inquired. "If you drink enough," said Etta. "But not one glass." Susan took quite a drink. "I feel a lot less tired already," declared she. "Me too," said Etta. "My, what a meal! I never had anything like this in my life. When I think what we've been through! Lorna, will it _last_?" "We mustn't think about that," said Susan. "Tell me what happened to you." "Nothing. He gave me the money, that was all." "Then we've got seven dollars--seven dollars and twenty cents, with what we brought away from home with us." "Seven dollars--and twenty cents," repeated Susan thoughtfully. Then a queer smile played around the corners of her mouth. "Seven dollars--that's a week's wages for both of us at Matson's." "But I'd go back to honest work tomorrow--if I could find a good job," Etta said eagerly--too eagerly. "Wouldn't you, Lorna?"