We took a text from Matthew
or--er--yes, Deuteronomy, but the preachers were hammering away at the
inspiration idea before we could get into type. So, driven to the wall,
we go for our subject-matter to the reliable, old, moral, unassailable
vade mecum--the unabridged dictionary.
Miss Merriam was cashier at Hinkle's. Hinkle's is one of the big
downtown restaurants. It is in what the papers call the "financial
district." Each day from 12 o'clock to 2 Hinkle's was full of hungry
customers--messenger boys, stenographers, brokers, owners of mining
stock, promoters, inventors with patents pending--and also people with
money.
The cashiership at Hinkle's was no sinecure. Hinkle egged and toasted
and griddle-caked and coffeed a good many customers; and he lunched
(as good a word as "dined") many more. It might be said that Hinkle's
breakfast crowd was a contingent, but his luncheon patronage amounted
to a horde.
Miss Merriam sat on a stool at a desk inclosed on three sides by a
strong, high fencing of woven brass wire. Through an arched opening at
the bottom you thrust your waiter's check and the money, while your
heart went pit-a-pat.
For Miss Merriam was lovely and capable.
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