“You’re a stranger here then? I thought the other one had a different head on her,” replied the man, who was now helping himself to the loaf of bread that Dorothy had laid down preparing to cut it. “Well, I think I can find that mustard,” and he turned to the little side door. As he did so the big black dog growled again and barred his way inside the shanty.
“He’s tied,” said Dorothy, “but I think it will be best for me to look on the shelf there, where the canned goods are. Yes, it’s here,” and she brought down a big yellow bottle of sandwich-flavoring stuff.
“Here, I’ll cut the ham. I’ve got to get away. I’m late now,” and he proceeded to “cut the ham” after the manner in which he had attacked the bread. Dorothy was afraid she had made a great mistake. There would be nothing left for the train people if he kept on.
Finally he managed to get another cup of coffee, he poured the condensed milk into it thick and fast, then he asked;
“How much?”
“I really don’t know,” Dorothy replied, “but if you have been in the habit of eating here just whatever you always pay will do.”
“Guess you had better charge it then,” he said, and before she had time to reply he was off down the track, wiping his mouth with his red handkerchief as he went.
“This is not just my sort of position,” mused Dorothy, cleaning up the refuse left on the counter. “I hope I won’t have to pay the damages.”
The incoming train left her no further time for reflection, for, as it pulled in and stopped at the station, a crowd of men, evidently night workers, scrambled for the lunch counter.
“Coffee and rolls!”