"Yes, sir."
His neighbor pushed back his chair and got up noisily. He picked up his check, glanced at it, and snorted.
"Hey!" he said to the girl returning with Tunis' pie. "What's this for?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You've rung me up an extry nickel. What's the idea?"
"Fifteen cents for meringue, sir."
"Huh? Who had meringue? I had apple pie, plain apple pie. It's ten cents. This feller"—indicating Tunis—"ordered apple-meringue; not me."
He held out the check for correction belligerently.
"You ordered apple-meringue, sir, and I brought it. You ate it. The check is correct."
Low and timid as the voice was, gently as the words were spoken, Tunis sensed an undercurrent of firmness and determination in the girl's character that he had not before suspected.