“Bring me a newspaper.”
“Yes, sir; here it is, sir, the very latest, sir.”
Ephraim took the paper, and glanced at it. It was the Weekly Gazette, four days old; a little sheet of yellow-brown paper, poorly printed, containing some fragments of news, and nothing later from Europe than November 6, although the Gazette bore date December 19. So soon as Ephraim comprehended its worthlessness, he tossed it contemptuously upon the floor, and waited, almost sullenly, for his breakfast.
When it came in upon the tray, carried by the brisk waiter, it looked dainty and tempting enough, and the fumes that rose from it were so savory that he grew into better humor. As it was spread before him, he perceived that the waiter had given him a very coarse, two-pronged steel fork.
“Take that away,” said Ephraim, tossing it to the end of the table; “I want a silver fork.”
“Silver fork, sir! Bless my soul, sir! We haven’t got any; never heard of such a thing, sir.”
“Never heard of a silver fork, you idiot!” shouted Ephraim; “why, everybody uses them.”
“No, sir; I think not, sir. I’ve lived with first quality people, sir, and they all use this kind. Never saw any other kind, sir; didn’t know there was any. Do they have ’em in furrin parts, sir?”
“Get out!” said Ephraim, savagely. He was becoming somewhat annoyed and bewildered by the utter disappearance of so many familiar things.
But the breakfast was good, and he was hungry, so he fell to with hearty zest, and, although he found the steel fork clumsy, it did him good service. At the conclusion of the meal, Ephraim walked rapidly to his office—the office that he had occupied for nearly sixty years. As he opened the door, he expected to find his letters in the box wherein the postman thrust them twice or thrice a day. They were not there. The box itself was gone.