"You bet. Every kind gits in here first and last, tramps up to swells who think they're doin' somethin' awful funny to git frankfurters and coffee in here. They must be hard driv."
"I suppose they are sometimes."
Mame's eyes, surveying James, suddenly [pg 015] grew sharp. "You ain't one?" she asked accusingly.
"You bet not."
Mame's grew soft. "I knew you were all right," said she. "Sometimes they say things to me that their fine lady friends would bounce 'em for, but I knew the minute I saw you that you wasn't that kind if you be dressed up like a gent. Reckon you've been makin' big money in your last place."
"Considerable," admitted James. He felt like a villain, but he had not the heart to accuse himself of being a gentleman before this pathetic girl.
Mame leaned suddenly over the counter, and her blonde crest nearly touched his forehead. "Say," said she, in a whisper.
"What?" whispered James back.
"What he said ain't true. There ain't a mite of truth in it."
"What he said," repeated James vaguely.