ickel at a drug
store, with a free lunch o' crackers thrown in, 'll do you a sight
more good than the best there is in _this_ dope shop."

Long before Miss Kirk had finished pouring out advice, the eight-cent
lunch of soup, sandwich, and coffee had been slapped down on a dirty
tablecloth by a frantic rabbit of a waitress. The big restaurant was
dim, even at midday, because its only windows gave upon a narrow court
which separated that part of the building from another part of equal
height. It was so dark that perhaps the hard-worked females who
cleaned it might be excused for passing blemishes sunlight would have
thrown into their faces.

One did not exactly _see_ the dirt (except on the cheap, unbleached
"damask" flung crookedly over the black oilcloth nailed onto table
tops); but, like a cowardly ghost that dares not show itself, in some
secret, shuddering way the squalor was able to make its presence felt.
Now and then a black beetle pottered across the oilcloth-covered
floor; and though a black beetle may happen anywhere, it potters only
where it feels at home, otherwise it scurries about in desperate
apology for living. The soup was cold and greasy and tasted of an
unscoured pot. The mutton sandwich, as Sadie remarked, would have been
better suited to the antique department; and the coffee, though hot,
might as easily have been tea or cocoa, or a blend of all three.

"What a shame to feed their people like this!" exclaimed Win, who had
thought she was hungry, but now found herself mistaken. And again the
eyes of Peter Rolls, Jr., seemed to be looking straight into hers. No
wonder he was what his sister hinted at if he knew all about this and
had not the heart to care! And if he didn't trouble to know, it was
just as bad.

"They don't want to feed us, you see," said Sadie, slowly finishing a
baked apple which looked like a head-hunter's withered trophy. "On the
low prices they're obliged to charge they can't make a cent offen us.
Besides if all the guyls et in the house they'd have to give up more
of their valuable room. They'd rather we'd go out, so long as we're
back in time. Only the poorest ones, who have to look twice at every
cent, feed in the restaurant as a reg'lar thing; or the weak ones,
who're so dead tired they can't bear to take a nextra step. And oh, by
the way, talkin' o' that, you'll need foot powder. Your first week
your feet'll hurt that bad you'll be ready to bawl. But if you can
stand it and