"Ye-yes," she hesitated. Again her skin grew faintly pink. "Good business! Go to it! Every little bit helps. Well, congratulations, Lucy. So long! C'm on, Hiram." "Thanks." Lucy laughed, and went into her little room. Hiram sighed boyishly, upset the toothpick holder at his elbow, and fled in Mr. Tweet's wake. "Pretty nifty little kid," Tweet remarked, as Hiram joined him. "You know her--wh-what's her name?" Tweet turned and looked at Hiram's red face in mild surprise. "Wh-what's wrong with you?" he queried. "Nothin'"--sheepishly. "Well, I'll be dog-goned if I don't believe you're gun shy on the female question!" was Tweet's conviction. "These frisky Frisco pullets goin' to your head, Hooker. A little paint and a little powder and a frowsy topknot seems to sorta touched some new funny bone in you, eh? Heavens, I remember how I fell for it years ago!" Hiram closed his lips tight. He hated Tweet. Tweet slapped him on the back and laughed. "Forget it, Hiram," he advised familiarly. "It ain't like me to roast anybody when I see it hurts. Why, le's see now--I don't know the kid's name. I've heard the men call her Lucy--that's all. I been eatin' there right along--that is, up till yesterday mornin'. She seems to be popular with the fellas. Not a bad little kid, though, I take it. Got some savvy, at any rate. Ain't content with her lowly lot--and that's my kind. Oughtn't to make customers have to call her away from that typewriter, though--I don't like that. Well," he switched abruptly, "what you been thinkin' about our little deal?" "Nothing," Hiram retorted resentfully. They had been slowly walking down the street. Tweet stopped short and looked at him. "That means what? That you don't care to consider it further?" It had meant just that when Hiram said it. There was now in Tweet's question a tone of finality. Hiram felt that his reply would end the matter. Swiftly his mind grasped for a judicious rejoinder and settled on "No." He could not bring himself to part with this semblance of friendship just yet. "All right, then," Tweet returned. "You're just not through considerin', eh? Well, I'll tell you: We'll break away and give you a chance to think. There's a man down California Street I wanta see before I leave and I'll stroll down that way. You think it over, and meet me at eleven-thirty up in that disfiguration old Squinty calls a loungin' room. So long." He turned abruptly and strode away. Hiram watched his erect figure and firm step till the crowd hid him, then followed more slowly in the same direction. His feet were carrying him toward the restaurant, and he was guiltily permitting them. He saw a shining drab automobile drawn up at the curb before the restaurant door. He walked slower and slower as he neared the door, paused, and looked within.