"Hadn't I better pay you now?" inquired Bob.
"No. You wait until I bring the box of lunch. The boss hasn't noticed how much you had to eat, and he'll think it's all on the check I will ring in."
"But that isn't exactly right, is it?" protested Bob.
"Well, I'll make it right with the boss."
So well were things working out for him, that it seemed to Bob that he must be in a dream, but the sight of the people and objects about him told him that it was indeed a reality.
In due course the kind waitress returned, bringing a sizeable box, tightly tied, which she placed on the table before him.
"Here, kiddo, I wish you good luck," she said. "I must leave you now, because I've got some more work to do."
"But you must tell me your name," insisted Bob, looking at her with his eyes filled with gratitude. "I'm coming back from the West a rich man, and I shall want to look you up and repay you for your kindness."
"I hope you strike it fine, kid," laughed the girl, "but I am afraid if you do, you'll never think of looking up Nellie Porter. Oh, by the way, do you know to which station to go?"
"No, I don't," admitted Bob.