the long
dining-room. She had a tired and almost toothless smile; but had it not
been for her greasy wrapper, uncombed hair and grimy nails, Mother
Beasley might have been rather attractive.

"Good afternoon, dearies," she said. "Dinner's most over; but maybe we
can find something for you. You goin' to eat, Inez?"

"Ev'ry chance't I get," declared the flower-seller, promptly.

"Sit right down," said Mrs. Beasley, pointing to the end of a long
table, the red-and-white cloth of which was stained with the passage
of countless previous meals, and covered with the crumbs from
"crusty" bread.

Bess looked more and more doubtful. Nan was more curious than she was
hungry. Inez sat down promptly and began scraping the crumbs together in
a little pile, which pile when completed, she transferred to the
oil-cloth covered floor with a dexterous flip of the knife.

"Come on!" she said. "Shall I order for youse?"

"We are in your hands, Inez," declared Nan, gravely. "Do with us as
you see fit."

"Mercy!" murmured Bess, sitting down gingerly enough, after removing her
coat in imitation of her chum.

"Hi!" shouted Inez, in her inimitable way. "Hi, Mother Beasley! bring us
two orders of the Irish and one ham an' eggs. Like 'em sunny-side up?"

"Like _what_ sunny-side up?" gasped Bess.

"Yer eggs."

"Which is the sunny-side of an egg?" asked Bess faintly, while Nan was
convulsed with laughter.

"Hi!" ejaculated Inez again. "Ain't you the greenie? D'ye want yer egg
fried on one side, or turned over?"

"Turned over," Bess murmured.

"An' you?" asked the flower-seller of Nan.

"I always like the sunny-side of everything," our Nan admitted.

"Hi, Mother Beasley!" shouted Inez, to the woman in the kitchen. "Two of
them eggs sunny-side up, flop the other."

Nan burst out laughing again at this. Bess was too funny for
anything--to look at!

There were other girls in the long room, but none near where Nan and Bess
and their strange little friend sat. Plainly the strangers were working
girls, somewhat older than the chums, and as they finished their late
dinners, one by one, they went out. Some wore cheap finery, but most of
them showed the shabby hall-mark of poverty in their garments.

By and by the steaming food appeared. Inez had been helping herself
liberally to bread and butter and the first thing Mother Beasley did was
to remove the latter out of the flower-seller's reach.

"It's gone up two cents a pound," she sa