uld catch Mr.
Boltwood's sleeve, brushed the crumb from in front of Claire to a
shelter beneath the pink and warty sugar bowl, recovered a toothpick
which had been concealed behind her glowing lips, picked for a while,
gave it up, put her hands on her hips, and addressed Claire:

"How far you going?"

"To Seattle."

"Got any folks there?"

"Any---- Oh, yes, I suppose so."

"Going to stay there long?"

"Really---- We haven't decided."

"Come from New York, eh? Quite a ways from home, all right. Father in
business there?"

"Yes."

"What's his line?"

"I beg pardon?"

"What's his line? Ouch! Jiminy, these shoes pinch my feet. I used to
could dance all night, but I'm getting fat, I guess, ha! ha! Put on
seven pounds last month. Ouch! Gee, they certainly do pinch my toes.
What business you say your father's in?"

"I didn't say, but---- Oh, railroad."

"G. N. or N. P.?"

"I don't think I quite understand----"

Mr. Boltwood interposed, "Are the ham and eggs ready?"

"I'll beat it out and see." When she brought them, she put a spoon in
Claire's saucer of peas, and demanded, "Say, you don't wear that silk
dress in the auto, do you?"

"No."

"I should think you'd put a pink sash on it. Seems like it's kind of
plain--it's a real pretty piece of goods, though. A pink sash would be
real pretty. You dark-complected ladies always looks better for a touch
of color."

Then was Claire certain that the waitress was baiting her, for the
amusement of the men at the long table. She exploded. Probably the
waitress did not know there had been an explosion when Claire looked
coldly up, raised her brows, looked down, and poked the cold and salty
slab of ham, for she was continuing:

"A light-complected lady like me don't need so much color, you notice my
hair is black, but I'm light, really, Pete Liverquist says I'm a blonde
brunette, gee, he certainly is killing that fellow, oh, he's a case, he
sure does like to hear himself talk, my! there's Old Man Walters, he
runs the telephone exchange here, I heard he went down to St. Cloud on
Number 2, but I guess he couldn't of, he'll be yodeling for friend soup
and a couple slabs of moo, I better beat it, I'll say so, so long."

Claire's comment was as acid as the pale beets before her, as bitter as
the peas, as hard as the lumps in the watery mashed potatoes:

"I don't know whether the woman is insane or ignorant. I wish I could
tell whether she was trying to make me ang