Johnnie Green, commonly known as "the Runt," helped himself to another
flank steak. He was not much of a cow-hand, but when it came to eating
Johnnie was always conscientiously on the job.

"These here New Yorkers must be awful hardy," he ventured, apropos of
nothing. "Seems like they're night birds for fair. Never do go to
bed, far as I can make out. They tromp the streets all day and dance
at them cabby-rets all night. My feet would be all wore out."

Stace Wallis grinned. "So would my pocketbook. I've heard tell how a
fellow can pay as high as four or five dollars for an eat at them
places."

"Nothin' to it--nothin' a-tall," pronounced Red dogmatically.
Hollister always knew everything. Nothing in the heavens above or the
earth below could stump him. The only trouble with his knowledge was
that he knew so much that wasn't true. "Can't be did. Do you reckon
any o' them New Yorkers could get away with five dollars' worth of ham
and aigs? Why, the Runt here couldn't eat more'n a dollar's worth."

"Sure," assented Johnnie. It was the habit of his life to agree with
the last speaker. "You're damn whistlin', Red. Why, at the Harvey
House they only charge a dollar for a square, and a man couldn't get a
better meal than that."

"Onct in Denver, when I went to the stock show, I blowed myself for a
meal at the Cambridge Hotel that set me back one-fifty," said Slim
Leroy reminiscently. "They et dinner at night."

"They did?" scoffed Johnnie. "Don't they know a fellow eats dinner at