eating-place, downstairs in the basement by the bar, with an entrance
from the street. He walked down by the inner stairway instead, feeling
himself already at home in the big hotel. He ordered an ample breakfast,
and came out while it was being served to wash and have his boots
blacked, and he gave the man a quarter of a dollar. His pockets were
filled with silver quarters, half-dollars, and dollars almost to a
burdensome point, and in his valise was a bag full of smaller change,
including many rolls of copper cents which Alice always counted and
packed up on Mondays. In the hurry of leaving he had brought with him
the church collections for the past two weeks. It occurred to him that
he must keep a strict account of his expenditure. Meanwhile he gave ten
cents to another man in a silk-sleeved cardigan jacket, who had merely
stood by and looked at him while his boots were being polished. There
was a sense of metropolitan affluence in the very atmosphere.

The little table in the adjoining room, on which Theron found his meal
in waiting for him, seemed a vision of delicate napery and refined
appointments in his eyes. He was wolfishly hungry, and the dishes he
looked upon gave him back assurances by sight and smell that he was very
happy as well. The servant in attendance had an extremely white apron
and a kindly black face. He bowed when Theron looked at him, with the
air of a lifelong admirer and humble friend.

"I suppose you'll have claret with your breakfast, sir?" he remarked, as
if it were a matter of course.

"Why, certainly," answered Theron, stretching his legs contentedly
under the table, and tucking the corner of his napkin in his
neckband.--"Certainly, my good man."