Calvin hesitated and then strode by the window. She seemed to be alone, in the sense that none of the people beside her were acquaintances; and she was moving slowly along the wail, inspecting the little, lidded compartments. Halting, Calvin saw her thrust in a coin and draw out a dish which seemed to be some sort of baked affair with a crust on top; with another coin, she lifted a second metal and glass lid and procured rolls; then she placed herself, cup and saucer on her tray, in a queue of people procuring coffee or chocolate from measured jets set to squirting by coins thrust into the wall.
Calvin returned to the door and stepped in, though such an act was no part of the plan which had brought him uptown; and now, having no plan at all, he followed the line of people, who were exchanging larger coins for nickels, and armed with the passports of the place, he moved, mechanically, to the wall.
A small, blue baking dish, brownly crusted over, exhibited itself behind a locked glass lid. "Beef pie; three nickels," read the inscription beside it; and Calvin Clarke performed one of the few utterly irrational and wasteful acts of his life. Conscious that people on both sides were peering at him with amusement, he suddenly thrust in a nickel and then, realizing that he did not want the pie, he moved on.
"Go back there and put in two more nickels or somebody else will," said the Royle girl's lively, pleasant voice and, looking around, Calvin saw her beside him.
"What?" he asked, but she did not delay to repeat. She went to the compartment of the beef pie and, blocking off another patron, she thrust in two nickels in deft succession, twisted the handle, procured the pie and proffered it.
"Here's your pie, Mr. Clarke."
Calvin stared stupidly at the brown crust and, count-
