Visions of a lunch as he knew it in Emily’s pantry came to him, and he looked a little dubious.
“Well, I’m pretty hungry; but if that’s all I can get I suppose it will have to do.”
Ten minutes later an officious head waiter, whom Emily looked upon with timid awe, was seating them in a superbly appointed dining-room. Reuben looked at the menu doubtfully, while an attentive, soft-voiced man at his elbow bent low to catch his order. Few of the strange-looking words conveyed any sort of meaning to the poor hungry man. At length spying “chicken” halfway down the card, he pointed to it in relief.
“I guess I’ll take some of that,” he said, briefly; then he added, “I don’t know how much it costs--you hain’t got no price after it.”
The waiter comprehended at once.
“The luncheon is served in courses, sir; you pay for the whole--whether you eat it or not,” he added shrewdly. “If you will let me serve you according to my judgment, sir, I think I can please you.”
And there the forlorn little couple sat, amazed and hungry, through six courses, each one of which seemed to their uneducated palate one degree worse than the last.
Two hours later they started for a long walk down the wonderful, fascinating street. Each marvelous window display came in for its full share of attention, but they stood longest before bakeries and restaurants. Finally, upon coming to one of the latter, where an enticing sign announced “Boiled Dinner To-day, Served Hot at All Hours,” Reuben could endure it no longer.
“By Jinks, Em’ly, I’ve just got to have some of that. That stodged-up mess I ate at the hotel didn’t go to the spot at all. Come on, let’s have a good square meal.”
The hotel knew them just one night. The next morning before breakfast Reuben manfully paid his--to him astounding--bill and departed for more congenial quarters, which they soon found on a neighboring side street.