THE TORRENTS OF SPING 17
Evening Post for them. The Best by Test. That was the stuff. He went in.
Inside the door of the beanery Scripps O'Neil looked around him. There was a long counter. There was a clock. There was a door led into the kitchen. There were a couple of tables. There were a pile of doughnuts under a glass cover. There were signs put about on the wall advertising things one might eat. Was this, after all, Brown's Beanery?
"I wonder," Scripps asked an elderly waitress who came in through the swinging door from the kitchen, "if you could tell me if this is Brown's Beanery?"
"Yes, sir," answered the waitress. "The best by test."
"Thank you," Scripps said. He sat down at the counter. "I would like to have some beans for myself and some for my bird here."
He opened his shirt and placed the bird on the counter. The bird ruffled his feathers and shook himself. He peeked inquiringly at the catsup bottle. The elderly waitress put out a hand and stroked him. "Isn't he a manly little fellow?" she remarked. "By the way," she asked, a little shamefacedly, "what was it you ordered, sir?"
"Beans," Scripps said, "for my bird and myself."
The waitress shoved up a little wicket that led into the kitchen. Scripps had a glimpse of a warm, steam-filled room, with big pots and kettles, and many shining cans on the wall.
"A pig and the noisy ones," the waitress called in a matter-of-fact voice into the open wicket. "One for a bird!"
"On the fire!" a voice answered from the kitchen.
