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By Root 1024 0

saw a calculating, confident woman's face squinting back at her. Well, why not? Her breath began to come just a little bit fast as she canvassed her qualifications. She could cook, she had such a gift for it as few ever have. She was learning the business; in fact, so far as pies went, she was in business already. She was young, healthy, stronger than she looked. She had two children, all she wanted, all she could be expected to bring into the world, so there need be no more of that. She was implacably determined to get ahead, somehow. She put on her pajamas, turned out the light, but kept walking around the room, in the dark. In spite of herself, the limousine, the chauffeur, and the grand piano began to gleam before her eyes, but as real this- time, not imaginary. She started for bed, then hurried to the children's room. "Veda?"

"Yes, Mother. I'm awake."

She went over, knelt down, put her arms around the child, hugged her passionately. "You were right, darling, and I was wrong. No matter what I say, no matter what anybody says, never give up that pride, that way you have of looking at things. I wish I had it, and—never give it up!"

"I can't help it, Mother. It's how I feel."

"Something else happened tonight."

"Tell me."

"Nothing to tell. Only now I feel it, now I know it, that from now on things are going to get better for us. So we'll have what we want. Maybe we won't be rich, but—we'll have something. And it'll all be on account of you. Every good thing that happens is on account of you, if Mother only had sense enough to know it."

"Oh Mother, I love you. Truly I do."

"Say it again. . .. Say it—just once—more."

CHAPTER VI

AGAIN MILDRED'S attitude toward the restaurant changed, from critical disapproval to eager curiosity. Mr. Chris, while his cuisine might not excite her, had been in business many years, and it dawned on her now that his system was the ancient system that any restaurant must use, if it is to run at all. She began to study it hard, noting the bookkeeping, the marketing, the method of using up leftovers, particularly the tricks used by Archie, who did many things that annoyed her, but never used two motions where one would suffice, never wondered if a dish was done, but -always knew, and at that moment picked it up. Some of his principles she adopted at once in making her pies, for she was addicted to a deal of peeping into the oven, and giving them one more minute, just to make sure. Now she put them in by the clock and took them out by the clock, and saved herself much fretting, and made better pies.

All the time her confidence was growing, her ideas clarifying as to the kind of place she meant to have. But one thing vexed her constantly. Where was she going to get the money? In the afternoons, if she had -an hour, she drove to the restaurant supply houses on Main Street, in Los Angeles, and priced, calculated, and added up. As well -as she could tell, she would need a thousand dollars' worth of equipment before she could start, even in a small way. A range, icebox, steam table, and sink were going to cost at least half that, and furniture, dishes, silver, and linen would account for the rest. To save this money, at her present income, was going to take a long time, and there was always the risk that she would lose her job, or that some shift in the pie situation would wipe her out completely, and leave her exactly where she was in the spring. She had - to get started, but on whose money she didn't know. She thought about Wally, and even about Mrs. Gessler, but she doubted if they were good for such -a sum, and some instinct told her not to ask them.

For a short time she flirted with the idea of getting it from Mr. Otis, a retired butcher turned federal meat inspector, who was a regular customer, and always left her a quarter. She worked on his romantic nature to the point where he suggested meeting her outside, and -then realized she should have her notes and memoranda in some kind of order if she was to impress him enough to make a deal. So one night, when