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Jocantha set to work hopefully; she had a long and rather high- pitched discussion with the waitress concerning alleged defects in an altogether blameless muffin, she made loud and plaintive inquiries about the tube service to some impossibly remote suburb, she talked with brilliant insincerity to the tea-shop kitten, and as a last resort she upset a milk-jug and swore at it daintily.
Even then, "Oh well, that depends!" was all she could safely say. Hennie had finished. He was still very warm. I seized the butterfly list off the table. "I say what about an ice, Hennie? What about tangerine and ginger? No, something cooler. What about a fresh pineapple cream?" Hennie strongly approved. The waitress had her eye on us. The order was taken when she looked up from her crumbs.
"My dad told me, an' he got it from his dad afore he croaked, that your wife was a Santa Rosan, an' that she was sure no account. He said she was a hash-slinger before the Red Death, though I don't know what a hash-slinger is. You can tell me, Edwin." But Edwin shook his head in token of ignorance. "It is true, she was a waitress," Granser acknowledged.
"About thirteen," answered the girl, glancing round to see if the manager was watching her talking. "But it's not the hours so much. It's the standing." "You're not doing any good standing now," put in Ned. "Why don't you sit down and have a rest?" "They don't let us," answered the waitress, cautiously.
By and by, when you're so rich that father and I won't be allowed to associate with you, you'll wear riding-breeches but for riding, not as a donation to the beauties of nature." "Oh, I'm already rich. It shows. Waitress down at the camp asked me whose car I was driving through." "I know what I wanted to say. Since you won't be our guest, will you be our host I mean, as far as welcoming us?
Delane looked at her with curiosity. High cheek-bones a red spot of colour on them a sharp chin small, emaciated features, and beautiful deep eyes. Phthisical! like himself poor little wretch! He found out that she was a waitress in a cheap eating-house, and had very long hours. "Jolly good pay, though, compared to what it used to be!
"Quite a ways from home, aren't you?" She had to admit it. She was escorted by a bouncing, black-eyed waitress to a table for four. The next table was a long one, at which seven traveling men, or local business men whose wives were at the lake for the summer, ceased trying to get nourishment out of the food, and gawped at her.
They left and the waitress cleared their places, sweeping a tip into her pocket. She turned toward Will. "More coffee?" He pushed his mug forward. "Thanks." He could see the box now. It was solid. It had a quiet glow. "Long night?" "Yes." It hurt to think about it. He was still disoriented. The diner had appeared in the night like a miracle.
"Um-hm," she said meditatively, "another new dress for Eileen, which means that I will get nothing until next month's allowance comes in, if I do then. The table set for four, which, interpreted, signifies that she has asked Marian in such a way that Marian won't come. And the caution as to care with the soup means that I am to serve my father's table like a paid waitress.
If father likes you, he'll take you to one of the weekly lunches of the Anglo-American Press Circle. He always does that when he likes anyone. He's the Treasurer.... Haven't you got any millefeuille cakes?" she demanded of the waitress, who had come to renew the table and had deposited a basket of various cakes.
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