“You bet a tin dipper I do,” snapped back Brophy.
“I’m ready to begin work at once. If you’ll show me my room——”
“You go up one flight, by them stairs there, and you pick out the best room you can find—the one that suits you! That’s how much I’m willing to cater to a city waitress. And you needn’t worry about wages.”
“I shall not worry, sir.” She hurried up the stairs.
The hostler-waiter slammed down the tray with an ejaculation of thankfulness. Brophy picked up the tray and banged it over the youth’s head. “You ain’t done with the hash-wrassling till she has got her feet placed. Sweep up that litter, stand by to do the heavy lugging, and take your orders from her and cater to her—cater!”
Latisan, lingering on the porch, had hearkened and observed. He caught a glimpse of himself in the dingy glass of the door. He scrubbed his hand doubtfully over his beard. Then he turned and hurried away.
The single barber shop of Adonia was only a few yards from the door of the tavern. There was one chair in the corner of a pool room.
Latisan overtook a man in the doorway and yanked him back and entered ahead.
“I’m next!” shouted the supplanted individual.
“Yes, after me!” declared Latisan, grimly. He threw himself into the chair. “Shave and trim! Quick!”