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“He talked of the city–how smart the people were, how stuck up some of them, thinking they knew it all, and how, if they but thought about it, they must see after all that the West was the only thing that kept the country alive. That kind of talk–not in an offensive way–just as all of us talk when we believe in our section of the country.

“All this time the solitary guest sat against the wall listening. Near as I could make out he only had one dish and a small bottle of wine. Presently he made a remark–not to us–not to the room–more as if to himself.

“‘West is the only thing, is it? And every man Jack of them from New England stock!’

“This, too, didn’t come in any offensive spirit–just as an aside, as if to keep himself company, being lonely, of course.

“But the Large Man caught it before all the words were out of his mouth.

“‘Dead right, pard,’ he said–I only quote his words, gentlemen. ‘My father came from Boston, left there in ’58. Where’re you from?’

“‘Boston,’ answered the man looking at him over the prongs of his fork.

“‘That so? Well, why ain’t you eatin’ your turkey with your folks? Got any?’

“‘Yes, got a lot of them, but I was short of a ticket.’

“Here the Large Man got up and went over to the Man from Boston.

“‘Shake for Boston,’ he said, holding out his big hand. ‘And now bring that bottle over here and chip in with us.’ Then he opened his pocketbook and took out a square slip of paper.

“‘Here, tuck that in your clothes.’ Again I must remark, gentlemen, that I am only quoting their language so that you can get a better idea of what sort of people I was with. ‘That’s a pass to your ‘burg. I’m going South and I won’t use it.’

“There were five of us at the table now, the Bostonian bringing over his plate without a word except ‘Thank you,’ and taking his share of the different dishes.

“The talk now became very interesting. The Large Man told stories of his early life on a farm and the Bostonian recited verses, and recited them very well, and the Woman laughed in the right place, and when the cigars were brought and the coffee and the cognac, I was sorry it was all over. That, when I look back upon it, is the most extraordinary thing of all. How a man of my experience could have–Well, I won’t stop, I’ll just keep on.

“With the coffee, and before the red-headed Irishman had brought the bill–oh, you should go round to Foscari’s and look at that Irishman just to see how coarse and vulgar a man can be who spends his whole life feeding animals who–no I WILL go on, for the most interesting part is to come. When the coffee was served, I say, the Large Man asked the waiter where he could send a telephone message to his hotel–wanted the porter to get his trunks down. The Irishman answered: ‘Out in the hall, to the right o’ where ye come in.’ ‘I’ll go with you,’ said the Woman; so the two got up and I opened the door for her, and we three sat down again–that is, the Small Man, the Bostonian and myself.

“We talked on, not noticing the time; then the Small Man looked at his watch, jumped up and called out to the waiter: ‘Where did you say that telephone place was?’

“‘In the hall–on the other side of that dure; ye kin see it from where ye’re sittin’.’

“‘Well, he’s taking a devil of a time to do his telephoning’ said the Small Man. ‘Hold on to my coffee till I go and punch him up.’

“The Bostonian and I kept on talking. He was a draughtsman in an architect’s office, so he told me, and was promised a place the following week, and I was very much interested in what he told me of his walking the streets looking for work.