“Who?”
“That Allen! He’s been coming here again.”
“Has he?” the woman returned with the same unconcern. “Let him come. What do you care?”
Erna Vitek was in a morose humor. Her pugnacious nose seemed more pugnacious than ever, and even her mouth, usually so soft and yielding, appeared hard this morning. And her brown eyes, which could give you gentle glances one day and repelling ones the next, were filled with ominous signs. There was a good reason. She had just overheard the other waitresses exchanging remarks about her. This would not have been so bad if their talk had been without foundation. But it was true: she had been glad to see Jimmy Allen yesterday noon and evening, when he came in—after an absence of three months. He had stopped drinking. He had been living and training in the country, so that the old color had returned to his face and the old light to his eyes. He looked stronger than ever, more energetic and happier. Yes, he was to begin fighting again—next week—but that had never been his worst fault. The girls said that she still “liked him” or that she would “like him again.” This would not have been so bad if—
Gretchen and Mollie were small, mean, dirty. They were always gossipping about her. And she had given them her old dresses, old hats, encouragement, advice. What a lot of gratitude women felt toward you!
Her face cleared. A laughing, splendidly built young fellow was making his way through the store, returning salutations. He stopped in the kitchen long enough to barter laughing glances with Erna and passed down the two steps into the dining room: a small low one containing six tables—Erna’s empire. There, he received more greetings and one or two short tributes on his return to the public eye. The young athlete pulled off his coat and cap and hung them on the wall. He flung himself into a chair at an empty table and was soon at his ease.
Erna was a shrewd girl. She did not come to take his order at once. First, she served another patron. Then, she cleared away some dishes. Finally, she came to Jimmy’s table, but with a careless air.
He gave her a frank look. “How’s the girl?” was his familiar greeting.
“Pretty fair!” she responded in cool tones. “How are you?”
“Bully!”