“Come on!” he said.
III
Edward was now the leader of the enterprise; he did not know where they were going, but he led the way, down the alley and out into a street which was new to him. It was one of those streets that may so often be found lurking near neat little suburban railway stations—a mean street, dark and deserted. A light burned dimly in a cutthroat barber’s, another light in a shoemaker’s, revealing the shoemaker and his family of pale infants. There was a—what was that?
“The Palace Restaurant—never closed,” a sign said.
They hurried into the Palace Restaurant just as the rain began in earnest.
“You can wait here till it’s over,” said Edward.
He purposely refrained from saying “we,” but he knew that he could not desert the silly, helpless creature. They sat down at a little table near the window, and, when the proprietor came up to them, Edward ordered ham and eggs and coffee.
“I couldn’t eat anything in this horrible place!” whispered his companion.
At first Edward was inclined to agree with her. It was not an appetizing place. The tablecloth was stained, and there was a stale and unpleasant aroma in the air. A glass case displayed a lemon meringue pie and a raisin cake which did not appeal to him.
When the food came, however, he ate it—to his regret, for, after having eaten, his desire for a smoke increased tenfold. He could think of little else. Stern and silent, he sat there thinking of the cigars in the pocket of his other coat, of the box of cigars in his office. He knew this to be a weakness, and he was struggling against it; but the struggle was difficult, and he was in no mood for his companion’s words.