"They don't aven touch her!" She laid down her sunshade and gloves.

She walked to the end of the counter and turned the full battery of her eyes on the attendant.
"Please," she said.
The white-aproned individual stepped back and gave delighted assent.

The Angel stepped beside him, and selecting a tall, flaring glass, of almost paper thinness, she stooped and rolled it in a tray of cracked ice.
"I want to mix a drink for my friend," she said.

"He has a long, hot ride before him, and I don't want him started off with one of those old palate-teasing sweetnesses that you mix just on purpose to drive a man back in ten minutes." There was an appreciative laugh from the line at the counter.
"I want a clear, cool, sparkling drink that has a tang of acid in it.
Where's the cherry phosphate?
That, not at all sweet, would be good; don't you think ?" The attendant did think.

He pointed out the different taps, and the Angel compounded the drink, while Freckles, standing so erect he almost leaned backward, gazed at her and paid no attention to anyone else.