The lady laughed—it sounded like a scream. A moment after she was serious again, but anyhow, she had laughed. She was sitting now, bending forward, combing her back hair upward and forward in little jerks, and observing the effect in a little round mirror with an advertisement on the back. She laughed, though it evidently hurt badly when the comb stuck.
A lovely creature, was that waitress.
“And who’s your father?”
“Egholm. I saw him eat one of those once. Just like that.” Sivert nodded sideways towards the dish.
“One of what?”
“One of those!” said Sivert, springing up to the counter and pointing to a piece with slices of sausage. “This one’s bigger, though, I’m sure.”
Sivert could not say more; he stammered and hiccuped in a delirium of hunger.
The waitress was combing back again now, till the comb fairly crackled; she spread out her chest mightily, and shook her mane of hair.
“You can have that piece, if you like,” she said, with her mouth full of hairpins. And added mysteriously: “Serve her right, too.”