"Yassah."
"Asparagus."
"Yassah."
"And a pot of coffee."
Drouet turned to Carrie. "I haven't had a thing since breakfast. Just got in from Rock Island. I was going off to dine when I saw you."
Carrie smiled and smiled.
"What have you been doing?" he went on. "Tell me all about yourself. How is your sister?"
"She's well," returned Carrie, answering the last query.
He looked at her hard.
"Say," he said, "you haven't been sick, have you?"
Carrie nodded.
"Well, now, that's a blooming shame, isn't it? You don't look very well. I thought you looked a little pale. What have you been doing?"
"Working," said Carrie.
"You don't say so! At what?"
She told him.
"Rhodes, Morgenthau and Scott—why, I know that house. Over here on Fifth Avenue, isn't it? They're a close-fisted concern. What made you go there?"
"I couldn't get anything else," said Carrie frankly.
"Well, that's an outrage," said Drouet. "You oughtn't to be working for those people. Have the factory right back of the store, don't they?"
"Yes," said Carrie.
"That isn't a good house," said Drouet. "You don't want to work at anything like that, anyhow."
He chattered on at a great rate, asking questions, explaining things about himself, telling her what a good restaurant it was, until the waiter returned with an immense tray, bearing the hot savoury dishes which had been ordered. Drouet fairly shone in the matter of serv-
