"All this time the solitary guest sat against the wall listening. Near as I could make out he only had one dish and a small bottle of wine. Presently he made a remark—not to us—not to the room—more as if to himself.
"'West is the only thing, is it? And every man Jack of them from New England stock!'
"This, too, didn't come in any offensive spirit—just as an aside, as if to keep himself company, being lonely, of course.
"But the Large Man caught it before all the words were out of his mouth.
"'Dead right, pard,' he said—I only quote his words, gentlemen. 'My father came from Boston, left there in '58. Where're you from?'
"'Boston,' answered the man looking at him over the prongs of his fork.
"'That so? Well, why ain't you eatin' your turkey with your folks? Got any?'
"'Yes, got a lot of them, but I was short of a ticket.'
"Here the Large Man got up and went over to the Man from Boston.
"'Shake for Boston,' he said, holding out his big hand. 'And now bring that bottle over here and chip in with us.' Then he opened his pocketbook and took out a square slip of paper.