"Do you still breakfast at Feinheimer's?" asked Jimmy.
"Once in a while," said the girl, "but not so often now." And she
dropped her eyes to the ground in what, in another than Little Eva,
might have been construed as embarrassment. "Where you going now?" she
asked quickly.
"To eat," said Jimmy, and then prompted by the instincts of his earlier
training and without appreciable pause: "Won't you take dinner with me?"
"No," said the girl, "but you are going to take dinner with me. You're
out of a job and broke, and the chances are you've just this minute
hocked your watch, while I have plenty of money. No," she said as Jimmy
started to protest, "this is going to be on me. I never knew how much I
enjoyed talking with you at breakfast until after you had left
Feinheimer's. I've been real lonesome ever since," she admitted frankly.
"You talk to me different from what the other men do." She pressed his
arm gently. "You talk to me, kid, just like a fellow might talk to his
sister."
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