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“Come around on Sunday. I have kindergarten then,” she flung back.

Studs smiled. He followed her with his eye as she moved to the slot opening back to the kitchen and shoved a pile of used dishes into it. He gulped down the glass of water and saw, as she turned, that she was no chicken, and her breasts almost fell down to her belly. Not worth the making. How did broads like her feel, because they had so little to offer a guy? They must know they look like hell and that a guy would have to be pretty hard up before he tried to play around with them. In fact, they must, in doffing themselves up to be made, have a hell of a lot of nerve and think a lot of what they had. And from the looks of her tough face, crusted with powder, she didn’t look decent, but the type that would go with anything in pants.

You’ve got me pickin’ petals off o’ daisies,

Some say yes, some say no .. .

Still, some guys went for dumb broads like her, and would be glad to get her. At times, he might himself, because a guy got that way.

“What’ll you have?” she asked in a strident voice.

“Roast beef and mashed potatoes.”

“My pater’s sobbing the blues, too, about dough. He’s cut down on my allowance, but the mater slips me something and doesn’t snitch to him,” the athlete said.

“My dad’s swell, a real pal. He always says to me, ‘Jack, I had my fun when I was your age and I don’t want my kid to be an angel.’ He doesn’t want me to kill myself studying, either.”

“My pater’s a babbitt.”

The plate of food, soaked with greasy gravy, was set before Studs. He dumped catsup beside the meat, and commenced eating rapidly. His mouth jammed, he thought that these kids didn’t know how lucky they were, having a good time and a chance to get an education in high school, and they ought to make the best of their chance. An education didn’t hurt you.

“I tried to date Daisy Dell for the Alpha dance, and she was oh, so sorry. So I said to her, `Say, don’t cry, baby, you’re not Clara Bow.’ She hung up on me,” the baby-faced lad said, and the athlete laughed.

“Apple pie and coffee,” Studs called at the dumpy waitress as she scuttled by him with an armful of orders.

I lift up my finger and I say

“Tweet, tweet, shush, shush, now, now,

Come, come.”

He wished he’d gone to high school and college and belonged to fraternities and had a good time. But then, wasn’t he a Christy? Wait, too, until the next initiation in his council. It would be a knockout. And he ought to start going to meetings.

“Apple pie and coffee.”

She didn’t even notice him. He wanted to get out, too, away from all these high-school boys. Goddamn bitch! She ought to be glad she had a job these days instead of gassing like she was now with a punk down the counter during a rush period like this.

“Apple pie and coffee.”

“I got it the first time, mister,” she called back.

Nervy bitch, who did she think she was, getting so tough? But then, what else could you expect from such a dumb-looking waitress? She set a slab of pie and a cup of coffee, with the coffee slopping over onto the saucer, before him. Coffee dripped onto his trousers as he took his first sip of it.

I’m just daffy ‘bout daffodils

And especially you

He slid off the stool, and walked by a table of giggling girls.

“And her new dress was simply stunning.”

He took toothpicks at the counter, and stood outside, with a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, hearing the noise of the elevated trains, of street cars and automobiles, seeing high-school students drift by him. His stomach turned sour from the meal.

What next?

V

Maybe he might pick up a girl, a neat, sweet little Park High girl in the park, he thought hopefully, strolling along a shady gravel path which circled around the northern extremity of the lagoon. Other guys did, why not he? But did he really love Catherine when he wanted to do this? Love was one thing, and a good time with a stray pickup was another. He was only human and that was just natural, and when a guy went with a clean, decent girl like Catherine what else could he do?

Ahead of him was a burly