But that's not the end of the story. Well, of that story, yes, but see if you don't agree there's a sort of mystic link between the loss of a coin purse in Alabama and one a few days later at Waffle House #777 on Georgia Hwy. 74 South in Peachtree City.

No, I didn't lose anything this time. Dave and I were there for our usual Wednesday morning hash-browns-and-breakfast-sandwich fix.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Sallie," Liz Stargell cries out when we come in. She waits on the booths at the far end; Dave prefers the low counter, so we sit where Terri Garner works. That way I don't have to remember what to order. Terri does it for me.

We didn't pay much attention as a middle-aged couple and an older woman got up from a table behind us and walked slowly to the cash register. As they paid their bill and stepped aside, the next diners were discovering they had a problem. They were a young couple, probably in their 20s, nice-looking, both of them with long, jet-black hair. Apparently they had only about $2 in cash between them and had planned to use a credit card to settle the bill.

Waffle House doesn't do plastic.

They looked at each other, stunned, embarrassed. But before anyone else had grasped the situation, the man at the door gave the young man a five-dollar bill. His face remained expressionless as he passed the five to his girl friend, who gave it and the two ones to Terri.

I watched them exit to the parking lot, wishing they had said "Thank you," and I think I got my wish when they waved to the older family already pulling out.

I turned