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“Oh, I ain’t hungry. We stopped at Joey’s downtown and had a cup of coffee and a ham on rye. Did you remember to put out the milk bottle?”

For two weeks there had been none of that. Gussie had learned to creep silently into bed, and her mother, being a mother, feigned sleep.

To-night at her desk Miss Gussie Fink seemed a shade cooler, more self-contained, and daisylike than ever. From somewhere at the back of her head she could see that Heiny was avoiding her desk and was using the services of the checker at the other end of the room. And even as the poison of this was eating into her heart she was tapping her forefinger imperatively on the desk before her and saying to Tony, the Crook:

“Down on the table with that tray, Tony–flat. This may be a busy little New Year’s Eve, but you can’t come any of your sleight-of-hand stuff on me.” For Tony had a little trick of concealing a dollar-and-a-quarter sirloin by the simple method of slapping the platter close to the underside of his tray and holding it there with long, lean fingers outspread, the entire bit of knavery being concealed in the folds of a flowing white napkin in the hand that balanced the tray. Into Tony’s eyes there came a baleful gleam. His lean jaw jutted out threateningly.

“You’re the real Weissenheimer kid, ain’t you?” he sneered. “Never mind. I’ll get you at recess.”

“Some day,” drawled Miss Fink, checking the steak, “the house’ll get wise to your stuff and then you’ll have to go back to the coal wagon. I know so much about you it’s beginning to make me uncomfortable. I hate to carry around a burden of crime.”

“You’re a sorehead because Heiny turned you down and now—-“

“Move on there!” snapped Miss Fink, “or I’ll call the steward to settle you. Maybe he’d be interested to know that you’ve been counting in the date and your waiter’s number, and adding ’em in at the bottom of your check.”

Tony, the Crook, turned and skimmed away toward the dining-room, but the taste of victory was bitter in Miss Fink’s mouth.

Midnight struck. There came from the direction of the Pink Fountain Room a clamor and din which penetrated the thickness of the padded doors that separated the dining-room from the kitchen beyond. The sound rose and swelled above the blare of the orchestra. Chairs scraped on the marble floor as hundreds rose to their feet. The sound of clinking glasses became as the jangling of a hundred bells. There came the sharp spat of hand-clapping, then cheers, yells, huzzas. Through the swinging doors at the end of the long passageway Miss Fink could catch glimpses of dazzling color, of shimmering gowns, of bare arms uplifted, of flowers, and plumes, and jewels, with the rosy light of the famed pink fountain casting a gracious glow over all. Once she saw a tall young fellow throw his arm about the shoulder of a glorious creature at the next table, and though the door swung shut before she could see it, Miss Fink knew that he had kissed her.

There were no New Year’s greetings in the kitchen back of the Pink Fountain Room. It was the busiest moment in all that busy night. The heat of the ovens was so intense that it could be felt as far as Miss Fink’s remote corner. The swinging doors between dining-room and kitchen were never still. A steady stream of waiters made for the steam tables before which the white-clad chefs stood ladling, carving, basting, serving, gave their orders, received them, stopped at the checking-desk, and sped dining-roomward again. Tony, the Crook, was cursing at one of the little Polish vegetable girls who had not been quick enough about the garnishing of a salad, and she was saying, over and over again, in her thick tongue:

“Aw, shod op yur mout’!”

The thud-thud of Miss Fink’s checking-stamp kept time to flying footsteps, but even as her practised eye swept over the tray before her she saw the steward direct Henri toward her desk, just as he was about to head in the direction of the minor checking-desk. Beneath downcast lids she saw him coming. There was about Henri to-night a certain radiance, a sort of electrical elasticity, so nimble, so tireless, so exuberant was he. In the eyes of Miss Gussie Fink he looked heartbreakingly handsome in his waiter’s uniform–handsome, distinguished, remote, and infinitely desirable. And just behind him, revenge in his eye, came Tony.