Downstairs, Kelly was waiting with a welcoming nod—Kelly, the unpernickety steward. Everyone was as friendly as if we had been feeding humanity side by side these many years. During the rush the waiters called out as they sped by: “Hi there, little one!” “There's the girlie!” “Ah there, sweetheart!” Verily the world is an affectionate place. If a waiter had an order to give he passed the time of day as he gave it and as he collected his order. “And how's the little girl to-day?” “Tiptop—and yourself?” “A little low in spirits I was to-day until I seen you'd come—an' then. You love me as much as you did yesterday?” “Move on there. W'at y' a-doin' talkin' to my girl! Now, honey, I'm tellin' you this here guy is too fresh for any lady. I'd like one order of romaine lettuce, bless your sweet heart, if it won't be tirin' your fingers too much. That's the dearie—I'm back in a moment.” Across the way, arms resting on the counter, head ducked under the upper shelf, leaned a burly redheaded helper to the Greek. Every time the pantry girl looked his way he beamed and nodded and nodded and beamed. “How you lak?” “Fine!” More beams and nods. Soon a waiter slipped a glass of ice coffee, rich in cream and sugar, under my counter. Beams and nods fit to burst from the assistant coffee man across the way. Beams and nods from the pantry girl. Thus every day. Our sole conversation was, “How you lak?” “Fine!” He said the rest with coffee. With the lunch rush over, Kelly sneaked around my entrance and jerked his head sidewise. That meant, naturally, that I was to approach and harken unto what he had to say. When Kelly imparted secrets—and much of what Kelly had to impart was that sort of information where he felt called upon to gaze about furtively to make sure no one was over-hearing—when he had matters of weight then to impart he talked down in his boots and a bit out of the corner of his mouth. “Say, kid”—Kelly jerked his head—“want to tell you about this eatin' business. Y'know, ain't no one supposed to eat nothin' on this floor. If the boss catches ya, it's good-by dolly. Sign up over the door sayin' you'll be dismissed _at once_ if you eat anything—see? But I'm givin' ya a little tip—see? I don't care how much ya eat—it's nothin' to me. I say eat all ya got a mind to. Only for Gawd's sake don't let the Big Boss catch ya.” (The Big Boss was the little chief steward, who drew down a fabulous salary and had the whole place scared to death.) “See—pull a cracker box out so and put what ya got to eat behind it this way, then ya can sit down and sorta take your time at it. If the boss does come by—it's behind the cracker box and you should worry! Have a cup of coffee?”