"Very well," agreed White. "We'll try the café."
When they entered the café it was crowded with young men. There was already a blue haze of smoke over the heads of the noisy throng. Boys drinking champagne at adjacent tables were calling across to each other with boisterous merriment.
White was able to secure a small table near the corner on the Broadway side. As he walked over to it he nodded to half a score of acquaintances, some of whom looked askant at his companion, and exchanged whispered comments after he had passed.
Apparently Johnny neither saw the looks nor heard the whispers. He followed White as if in a dream; and White had noticed that when they had entered the heated room Carroll had drawn a long breath as though to warm himself.
"I don't need an overcoat in here," he said, as he took the chair opposite White's with the little marble-topped table between them.
When the waiter had deftly laid the cloth, Johnny fingered its fair softness, as with a cat-like enjoyment of its cleanness.
"Now, what shall we have?" asked White, as the waiter handed him the bill of fare in its narrow frame. "What would you like?"
"I?" the guest responded; "oh, anything—whatever you want—some roast beef."
"Then your taste has changed since you left college," White declared. "I asked you what you would like."
"What I'd like?" echoed Johnny. "Do you mean it? Honest?"