or next week, but perhaps week after next.

Ah, that is so long, so long!

There was no earthly way to get to the stairs or elevators except by
his stove. I came to dread it. Always the Spanish ex-tailor dropped
everything with a clatter and chased after me. I managed to pass his
confines at greater and greater speed. Invariably I heard his panting,
"Listen! Listen!" after me, but I tore on, hoping to get an elevator
that started up before he could make it.

One day the Spaniard, this tall thin roaster with the black mustache,
was waiting as I came out of the locker room.

"Listen! Listen!" he panted, from force of habit. "Next week is still
so very long off."

It so happened it was my last day at the hotel. I told him I was
leaving that night.

"Oh, miss!" He looked really upset. "Then you will go out to-night
with me. Surely to-night."

No, I had a date.

To-morrow night.

No, I had another date.

Sunday--oh, Sunday, just one Sunday.

Sunday I had two dates.

I should be able to flatter my female soul that at least he forgot the
seasoning that night in his roasts.

Downstairs that first Saturday the little quiet Spaniard of the pies
and ice cream screwed up his courage, crossed over to my precinct,
leaned his arms on my front counter, and said, "If I had a wife like
you I would be happy all the rest of my life!"

Having delivered himself of those sentiments, he hastily returned to
his pies and ice cream.

The Greek coffee man would take me to a show that night.

Saturday, to my surprise, was a slack day in the cafe business. Trade
is always light. Sunday our kitchen closed shop. Another reason why my
job held allurements. I was the only girl to get Sunday off. Also,
because we were the only department in the hotel to close down
altogether, it seems we were wont to have an annual picnic. Alas that
I had to miss it!

Plans were just taking shape, too, for this year's event. Last year
they motored over to Long Island. Much food, many drinks. It was a
rosy memory. This year Kelly wanted a hay ride. Kelly, he of the
highly colored past, even so contended there was nothing in the world
like the smell of hay.

There was no fun to the supper that Saturday night. I sat at a table
with a deaf girl, two dirty men, and a fat, flabby female with pop
eyes, and not a one of them acted as if he possessed the ability to
speak. Except the deaf girl, who did tell me she couldn't hear.

So I ate hastily and mad