midday
It reminded Jill of looking at fishes in an aquarium . In the centre of the window , gazing out in a distrait manner over piles of apples and grape-fruit , a white-robed ministrant at a stove juggled ceaselessly with buckwheat cakes . He struck the final note in the candidness of the establishment , a priest whose ritual contained no mysteries . Spectators with sufficient time on their hands to permit them to stand and watch were enabled to witness a New York midday meal in every stage of its career , from its protoplasmic beginnings as a stream of yellowish-white liquid poured on top of the stove to its ultimate Nirvana in the interior of the luncher in the form of an appetising cake . It was a spectacle which no hungry girl could resist . Jill went in , and , as she made her way among the tables , a voice spoke her name . `` Miss Mariner ! ''