Don was now firmly determined to invest a portion of his thirteen cents in something to eat. It had no longer become a matter of volition, but an acute necessity. For twenty minutes he wandered about rather aimlessly; then, in a sort of alley, he found a dairy lunch where in plain figures coffee was offered at five cents a cup, and egg sandwiches at the same price. The place was well filled, but he was fortunate in slipping into a chair against the wall just as a man was slipping out. It was a chair where one broad arm served as a table. Next to him sat a young woman in a black hat, munching a chocolate eclair. She looked up as he sat down, and frowned. Don rose at once. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know you were here. Honest I didn't." "Well, it's a public lunch, isn't it?" she inquired. "I'm almost through." "Then you don't mind if I stay?" "It's no business of mine," she said curtly. "But I don't want you to think I--I'm intruding." She glanced at him again. "Let's forget it," she decided. "But you might sit there all day and you wouldn't get anything to eat." He looked around, uncertain as to just what she meant. "You go to the counter, pick out what you want, and bring it back here," she explained. "I'll hold your seat for you." Don made his way into the crowd at the rear. At the counter he found he had for ten cents a wide choice; but her eclair had looked so good he selected one of those and a cup of coffee. In returning he lost a portion of the coffee, but he brought the eclair through safely. He deposited it on the arm of the chair and sat down. In spite of his utmost effort at self-control, that eclair made just four mouthfuls. It seemed to him that he had no more than picked up his fork than it was gone. However, he still had his coffee, and he settled back to enjoy that in a more temperate fashion. Without apparently taking the slightest interest in him, Miss Winthrop observed the rapidity with which he concluded his lunch. She knew something about being hungry, and if she was any judge that tidbit produced no more impression upon this six-foot man than a peanut on an elephant. "That all you're going to eat?" she demanded. Don was startled. The question was both unexpected and pointed. He met her eyes--brown eyes and very direct. The conventional explanation that he had ready about not caring for much in the middle of the day seemed scarcely worth while. "Yes," he answered. "Broke?" she inquired. He nodded. "Then you ought to have had an egg sandwich instead of one of those things," she informed him. "But the one you had looked so good," he smiled. "I had an egg sandwich to start with; this was dessert." "I didn't know," he apologized. "You ought to get one now. You won't last until night on just that." "How much are they?" he inquired. "A nickel." "Then I guess I won't have one." "Haven't you five cents?" she cross-examined. "Only three cents," he answered. "And you begin work to-day?" "Yes."