When she declared her intention at luncheon, the other girls denounced it with equal ardor. But Marjorie was not to be desisted.
“We may have so many guests that you need an extra waitress,” she said.
“I hope so,” replied Ethel. “But don’t set your hopes too high, Marj. We really can’t tell by the first day.”
Long before the clock struck two, which time the girls had agreed upon for the opening, the four waitresses, in their linen dresses and stiffly starched white aprons, stood at the windows of the tea-house, watching for their guests to arrive. They talked and laughed a great deal, joking often about the crowds they expected, and speculating as to where they would seat them all. For an hour or more automobiles continued to go by, one after another, without stopping, but no one allowed herself to express any concern. They all acted as if they felt sure that business would improve.
As four o’clock approached, Marjorie reassured the others by telling them that now people would undoubtedly come in.
“Philadelphians are too fashionable to drink tea at the wrong hour, aren’t they, Marie Louise?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed!” agreed the girl, heartily. Then, as if to forestall despondency for the next hour, she added, “And they seldom have it before five.”
With characteristic self-control, Marjorie was able to appear outwardly calm during this sickening time of waiting; but inwardly she was growing increasingly nervous. When five o’clock passed and still no one had come, she was ready to surrender to despair. Suddenly the sound of a machine in the driveway made her heart beat wildly with excitement. Breathlessly, she rushed to the window.
“Our luck’s changed!” cried Ethel, triumphantly. “Our first patron is coming!”
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” gasped Marjorie. “But do come away from the window, girls! We mustn’t appear curious.”