“What is it you want?” she asked.
“Dearie,” he said drowsily, “what have you?”
“Almost anything in the food line.”
“Ver’ well, then,” he said, “bring me almost anything in the food line.”
“How about a nice salad?” she asked, on a venture.
“That’d be lovely, dearie,” he assented. “Glad you thought of it—shows you got a good mind—quick thinker, everything like that. Bring me nice salad.”
“What sort of a salad?”
“That, dearie, I leave to your superior judgment,” he said. “You been here longer than I have.”
The girl went away, returning presently with a bowl of hearts of lettuce and sliced tomatoes, with an abundance of Russian dressing poured over the combination. The patron was now sound asleep. She slipped the order past his elbow and left it there where his eyes would fall upon it when he opened them.
Presently he did open his eyes. As though spellbound he contemplated that which confronted him. He took a fork and gently he stirred the contents of the bowl. Then with his free hand he beckoned the young woman to his side.