Christmas Eve at Feinheimer's is, or was, a riot of unconfined hilarity,
although the code of ethics of the place was on a higher plane than that
which governed the Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve patrons of so-called
respectable restaurants, where a woman is not safe from insult even
though she be properly escorted, while in Feinheimer's a woman with an
escort was studiously avoided by the other celebrators unless she chose
to join with them. As there was only one class of women who came to
Feinheimer's at night without escort, the male habitues had no
difficulty in determining who they might approach and who they might
not.

Jimmy Torrance was as busy as a cranberry merchant. He had four tables
to attend to, and while the amount of food he served grew more and more
negligible as the evening progressed, his trips to the bar were
exceeding frequent. One of his tables had been vacated for a few minutes
when, upon his return from the bar with a round of drinks for Steve
Murray and his party he saw that two women had entered and were
occupying his fourth table. Their backs were toward him, and he gave
them but little attention other than to note that they were unescorted
and to immediately catalogue them accordingly. Having distributed Steve
Murray's order, Jimmy turned toward his new patrons, and, laying a menu
card before each, he stood between them waiting for their order.

"What shall we take?" asked Elizabeth of Harriet. Then: "What have you
that's good?" and she looked up at the waiter.

Jimmy prided himself upon self-control, and his serving at Feinheimer's
had still further schooled him in the repression of any outward
indication of his emotions. For, as most men of his class, he had a