“But what have eggs and appetite got to do with it?” he demanded.
“Everything, if you'll only listen.”
“Listening, listening,” he chanted.
“Then for Heaven's sake listen. I like eggs. There's only a limited supply of eggs in Dawson.”
“Sure. I know that, too. Slavovitch's restaurant has most of them. Ham and one egg, three dollars. Ham and two eggs, five dollars. That means two dollars an egg, retail. And only the swells and the Arrals and the Wild Waters can afford them.”
“He likes eggs, too,” she continued. “But that's not the point. I like them. I have breakfast every morning at eleven o'clock at Slavovitch's. I invariably eat two eggs.” She paused impressively. “Suppose, just suppose, somebody corners eggs.”
She waited, and Smoke regarded her with admiring eyes, while in his heart he backed with approval Wild Water's choice of her.
“You're not following,” she said.
“Go on,” he replied. “I give up. What's the answer?”
“Stupid! You know Wild Water. When he sees I'm languishing for eggs, and I know his mind like a book, and I know how to languish, what will he do?”