“And you cleaned the perch, and fried them, and beat up the mayonnaise, and mashed the potatoes and browned them in the oven, and baked the shortcake, and spread the table, and decorated it, and waited on me. God help us, what things a girl can do if she tries!”
To this eulogy Jean made no reply, but she certainly liked it, and it made her eyes shine.
“Then there’s your damask. Who could expect to find a cloth like that up here in the wilderness? It’s darned, but it’s embroidered with the initials of a gentlewoman.”
“She was,” said the girl, and the shining eyes were suddenly dim with tears.
“Well, now, considering all this luxury, how much is the check?”
“I don’t like to tell you. When I came in I had made up my mind to squeeze seventy-five cents out of you.”
“That’s a pretty large tip.”
“You know I didn’t mean a tip. You just sit there and make fun of me.”
“Well, you just sit there and pity me. I don’t suppose I can pay what your father’s remarks on infinity are worth, but I can pay ordinary hotel rates. I arrive here expecting dirt and ignorance, and I find dainty cooking, damask, flowers, and infinity. Here is five dollars.”
“Mr. Mahan, you are perfectly horrid!”