His breathing checked itself, and his knees began that sickening tattoo. He was instantly so miserable that he longed to die. Yet he faced her big eyes, brown and good-natured and smiling with recognition, and dumbly pushed the check and the dollar across the counter. "Why, hello!" she said lightly. "Hello," came a quavering echo. The drawer of the cash register shot out with a metallic clang. Hiram's dollar jingled in among its kind. The girl's slim fingers were suspending a quarter to be dropped into his palm, suggesting to Hiram's abnormal mind the fear of contamination. He feebly put out his hand, and she dropped the coin. "Thank you," she acknowledged in a light, professional tone, raising her voice on the "you." She was turning away, when Tweet looked up from the cigars. "Since when, Lucy?" came his rollicking voice. She turned back, smiling. "Oh, since just this morning," she replied. "The boss fired the cashier just before I went off watch last night. He said he was going to call up the employment agency and get another the first thing this morning. "'What's the matter with giving some one here a chance?' I says. 'That's the way with you fellows,' I says. 'A girl can work her fingers off for you for years, then when the chance comes for something better, why, you telephone an employment agency and give it to a perfect stranger. You give me a pain!' I says. "'But you ain't a cashier--you're a waitress,' he says. "'I'm not speaking about myself in particular,' I says. 'I'm speaking about all of us who are working for you. Then,' I says, 'how do you know I can't make change? When there's an opening for better pay and easier work,' I says, 'why don't you come to us and see if any of us think we can hold it down? You know us and can trust us, and instead of giving us a look-in, you go and hire an outsider.'" "Good stuff!" commented Tweet. "And he fell for it, did he?" She flipped out her palms in a little gesture. "I'm here, ain't I? Waited table from seven to three last night, and came behind the counter here at five-thirty this morning. The boss'll relieve me at twelve o'clock. Guess I'll sleep some to-night!" "Fine business! Makin' good, eh?" "I'm not fired yet, am I?" Her white teeth flashed. "But c'n you keep the books?" She sniffed. "I certainly can. I haven't been a waitress all my life. These books are nothing." Here the gigantic Hiram caught his lower lip sagging and resolutely lifted it to dignity. "Well, I like your style," Tweet was telling her. "Tell 'em about it, every time--that's the way to get a toehold. But you're not much of a stenog, Lucy--was that you peckin' away in there?" A shade of pink swept her face. "I used to operate a machine a little with one finger of each hand," she explained, "but I'm all out of practice. I don't have to use a typewriter on this job though. It's an old one the boss took for a bill." "Just practicin' up again, eh?"