Inside there was a long room, bare of everything but a wooden counter, upon which stood a glass case filled with cigars; behind this was a row of shelves with jars of candy, and level with the lower shelf my eye caught a slouch hat. The hat covered the head of the proprietor. He was sitting on a stool, sorting out chewing-gum.
"Can I get something to eat?"
The hat rose until it stood six feet in the air, surmounting a round, good-natured face, ending in a chin whisker.
"Cert. What'll yer hev?"
Here at last was peace and comfort and food and things! I could hardly restrain myself.
"Anything. Steak, fried potatoes—what have you got?"
"Waal, I dunno. 'Tain't time yit for supper, but we kin fix ye somehow. Lemme see."
Then he pushed back a curtain that screened one half of the room, disclosing three square tables with white cloths and casters, and disappeared through a rear door.
"We got a steak," he said, dividing the curtains again, "but the potatoes is out."
"Any celery?"