h had been rescued by somewhat questionable
means: "D'you think a girl can dress in the dark?"

But the cook had had too much experience with his employer to press what
seemed a tender point. He confined his attention to the pancakes.

"There ain't no fool worse than a he-fool," continued Sally bitterly.
"Which maybe you think a girl can dress without a mirror?"

Since this taunt brought no response from her victim, she went on into
the eating-room. It was already filling, and the duties of her strenuous
day began.

They continued without interruption hour after hour, for the popularity
of her restaurant had driven all competition out of Eldara, a result
which filled the pocket-book and fattened the bank account of Sally
Fortune, but loaded unnumbered burdens onto her strong shoulders. For
she could not hire a waiter to take her place; every man who came into
the eating-room expected to be served by the slim hands of Sally
herself, and he expected also some trifling repartee which would make
him pay his bill with a grin.

The repartee dragged with Sally to-day, almost to sullenness, and when
she began to grow weary in the early afternoon, there was no reserve
strength on which she could fall back. She suddenly became aware that
she wanted support, aid, comfort. Finally she spilled a great armful of
"empties" down on the long drain-board of the sink, turned to the wall,
and buried her face in her hands. The cook, Bert, though he cast a
startled glance at her would not have dared to speak, after that
encounter of the morning, but a rather explosive sniff was too eloquent
an appeal to his manliness.

His left sleeve having fallen, he rolled it back, tied the strings of
the apron tighter about his plump middle, and advanced to the battle.
His hand touched the shoulder of the girl.

"Sally!"

"Shut your face!" moaned a stifled voice.

But he took his courage between his teeth and persisted.

"Sally, somethin' is wrong."

"Nothin' you can right, Fatty," said the same woe-stricken voice.

"Sally, if somebody's been gettin' fresh with you--"

Her arms jerked down; she whirled and faced him with clenched fists;
her eyes shining more brightly for the mist which was in them.

"Fresh with me? Why, you poor, one-horned yearling, d'you think there's
anybody in Eldara man enough to get fresh with me?"

Bert retreated a step; caution was a moving element in his nature. From
a vantage point behind a table, however, he