“Blueberry pie � la mode,” said Nick — ”with strawberry ice cream.”

Inured as she was to the horrors of gastronomic miscegenation, the waitress — an old girl — recoiled at this.

“Say, I don’t think you’d like that. They don’t mix so very good. Why don’t you try the peach pie instead with the strawberry ice cream — if you want strawberry?” He looked so young and cool and fresh.

“Blueberry,” repeated Nick sternly, and looked her in the eye. The old waitress laughed a little and was surprised to find herself laughing. “‘S for you to say.” She brought him the monstrous mixture, and he devoured it to the last chromatic crumb.