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We, with one accord, began to make excuses, but he waved us into silence.

“After a while I got so lonely I couldn’t stand it any longer. So about six o’clock I started out to dine alone somewhere–some place where I had no associations with any one of you. I hadn’t gone as far as Broadway when along came two men and a woman. You’d have said ‘two gentlemen and a lady’–I say two men and a woman. I looked at them and they looked at me. I saw they were from out of town, and right away came the thought, they must be lonely, too. Everybody is lonesome on Thanksgiving if he’s away from home, or, like me, has no place to go to. The Large Man stopped and nudged the Small Man, and the Woman turned and looked at me earnestly, then all three talked together for a minute, then I heard the Small Man say, ‘I’ll go you a ten on it,’ which conveyed no meaning to me. Then all three of them walked back to where I stood and the Large Man asked me where Foscari’s restaurant was.

“Well, of course, that was in the next street, so I volunteered to show them the place. On the way over the Small Man and the Woman lagged behind and I overheard them say that it would never do–that is, the Woman said so; at which the Small Man laughed and said they couldn’t find a better. All this time the Large Man held me by the arm in a friendly sort of way, as if he were afraid I would stub my toe and fall if he didn’t help me over the gutters; telling me all the time that he didn’t know the ropes around New York and how much obliged he was to me for taking all this trouble to show him. Pretty soon we arrived at Foscari’s. I never dined there–never had been inside the place. Cheap sort of a restaurant–down two steps from the sidewalk, but they asked for Foscari’s, and that’s where I took them.

“‘Here’s the place,’ I said, and I lifted my hat to the Woman and turned to go back.

“‘No, don’t go,’ said the Large Man, still holding on to my arm. ‘You’ve been white and decent to us; we’re all stranded here. This is Thanksgiving–come in and have dinner with us.’

“Then I began by thanking them and ended by saying I couldn’t. Then the Small Man began to urge me, saying that out in his country, near the Rockies, everybody was willing to sit down at anybody’s table when he was invited; and the Large Man kept on squeezing my arm in a friendly sort of way, so I finally said I didn’t care if I did, and in we all went. When we got inside the place was practically empty–only one guest, really–and he was over by the wall in a corner. There were only two waiters–one an Irishman who said his name was Mike, with a very red head and an enormous mouth–a queer kind of a servant for that kind of a restaurant, I thought–and the other a young Italian, who was probably the cook.

“‘You order,’ said the Large Man. ‘You know what’s good in New York.’

“So I ordered.

“And I want to tell you that the dinner was a particularly good one–well cooked and well served. We had soup and fish and an Italian ragout, macaroni, peppers and two bottles of red wine. Before the soup was over I was glad I’d come; glad, not only because the dinner was all right, but because the people were human kind of people–no foolishness about them–no pretension. They were not our kind of people, of course–couldn’t find them in New York if you looked everywhere–not born and brought up here. The Woman was gentle and kindly, saying very little, but the Large Man was a hearty, breezy sort of fellow–even if his language at times was rough and uncouth–at least I thought so. Big bones and a well-fed body; quick in his movements, yet slow in his talk, showing force and determination in everything he said. The Small Man was as tough physically and as alert mentally, but there wasn’t so much of him. He talked, however, twice as fast as the Large Man, and said less.