"How it is good," said Sunny with simple eloquence. "I thang you how much."
"Don't mention it. You're welcome. You'd do the same for me if I was busted. I always say one working girl should stake the other when the other is out of work and broke. There's unity in strength," quoted Katy with conviction. "Have some more—do! Dip your bread in the gravy. Pretty good, ain't it, if I do say it who shouldn't."
"It mos' nices' food I are ever taste," declared Sunny earnestly.
While the tea was going into the cups:
"My name's Katy Clarry. What's yours?" asked Katy, a sense of well-being and good humour toward the world flooding her warm being.
"Sunny."
"Sunny! That's a queer name. Gee! ain't it pretty? What's your other name?"
"Sindicutt."
"Sounds kind o' foreign. What are you, anyway? You ain't American—at least you don't look it or talk it, though heaven knows anything and everything calls itself American to-day," said the native-born American girl with scorn. "Meaning no offence, you understand, but—well—you just don't look like the rest of us. You ain't a Dago or a Sheeny. I can see that, and you ain't a Hun neither. Are you a Frenchy? You got queer kind of eyes—meaning no offence, for personally I think them lovely, I really do. I seen actresses with no better eyes than you got."
Katy shot her questions at Sunny, without waiting for an answer. Sunny smiled sadly.