She supposed she could, if she could find the eggs; most everything
was locked up this time of day.
I waited, and spread the mustard on the dry bread, and had more
peaches and paraffine. When the eggs came they excited my sympathies.
They were such innocent-looking things--pinched and shriveled up, as
if they had fainted at sight of the hot water and died in great agony.
The toast, too, on which they were coffined, had a cremated look. Even
the hired girl saw this. She said it was a "leetle mite too much
browned; she'd forgot it watchin' the eggs."
Here the street door opened, and a young woman entered and asked for
two papers of chewing-gum.
She got them, but not until the proprietor had shot together the
curtains screening off the candy store from the restaurant. The
dignity and exclusiveness of the establishment required this.
When she was gone I poured out the rest of the paraffine, and called
out through the closed curtains for a cigar.
"One of them bo-kets?" came the proprietor's voice in response.
"Yes, one of them."
He brought it himself, in his hand, just as it was, holding the mouth
end between the thumb and forefinger.
"And now how much?"
He made a rapid accounting, overlooking the table, his eyes lighting
on the several fragments: "Beer, ten cents; steak, ten; peaches, five;
celery, three; eggs on toast, ten; one bo-ket, four." Then he paused a
moment, as if he wanted to be entirely fair and square, and said,
"Forty-two cents."
[Illustration: "FORTY-TWO CENTS"]
When I reached the hotel, a man who said he was the proprietor came to
my room. He was a sad man with tears in his voice.
"You're comin' to supper, ain't ye? It'll be the last time. It's a
kind o' mournful occasion, but I like to have ye."
It was now my turn.
"No, I'm not coming to supper. You drove me out of here half starving
into the street two hours ago. I couldn't get anything to eat at
Nichols, and so I had to go down the hill to a place near the
saw-mill, where I got the most infernal"----
He stopped me with a look of real anxiety.
"Not the five-meals-for-a-dollar place?"
"Yes."
"And you swallowed it?"
"Certainly--poached eggs, peaches, and a lot of things."
"No," he said reflectively, looking at me curiously. "_You_ don't
want no supper--prob'bility is you won't want no breakfast, either.
You'd better eaten the saw-mill--it would 'er set lighter. If I'd
known who you were I'd tried"----
"But I told the clerk," I broke in.
"What clerk?" he interrupted in an astonished tone.
"Why, the clerk at the desk, where I registered--that long-necked
crane with red eyes."
"He ain't no clerk; we ain't had one for a week. Don't you know what's
goin' on? Ain't you read the bills? Step out into the hall--there's
one posted up right in front of you. 'Sheriff's sale; all the stock
and fixtures of the Norrington Arms to be sold on Wednesday
morning'--that's to-morrow--'by order of the Court.' You can read the
rest yourself; print's too fine for me. That fellow you call a crane
is a deputy sheriff. He's takin' charge, while we eat up what's in the
house."