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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

A few of these were in use, a single waiter catering to the
guests; a woman was scrubbing the floor under the cigar stand, while a
round-faced, rather genial-looking young fellow, stood, leaning
negligently against the cashier's desk. Rather doubtfully I glanced
uneasily up and down the deserted street, and then aside into the still
averted face of my chance companion. I had no desire she should
comprehend my dilemma.
"Would you mind waiting out here on the step a moment?" I questioned
awkwardly, attempting to explain. "Only until I make sure who are
inside. There are some fellows I am not friendly with, and I am not
hunting a rough house with a girl to look after. You won't care for
just a minute, will you?"
"No," wearily, "I won't mind."
"You 'll promise not to go away?"
She shook her head, her eyes staring dully into the mist.
"No; I won't go away. Where could I go?"
Scarcely satisfied, yet feeling obliged to take the chance, I stepped
within, and advanced across the room toward the man at the cashier's
desk. He glanced up curiously as I approached, and spoke low, so as
not to attract the attention of others.
"Pardner, is my credit good for two meals?" I asked genially. "I guess
you 've seen me in here before--I drive for the Wooster Lumber
Company.


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