Barry adopted the suggestion and the two boys left the house together. As they turned the corner of the Treasury building, the clock in the neighborhood struck the hour of twelve.
"Jiminy!" exclaimed Joe, "it's time to eat."
The remark put an idea into Barry's head.
"Joe," he said, "this is pay-day; let's celebrate!"
"Celebrate?" echoed the other.
"Yes. I want you to take dinner with me today."
Joe looked at his friend in silence for a moment, and then something suspiciously like moisture glistened in the corner of each eye.
"Barry," he said, "I'll go you—it's the first time in my life that I ever remember anybody asking me out to dinner."
Barry was determined to do the honors becomingly, so he sought out a first-class restaurant and ordered dinner for two. The linen was white and the dining room splendidly furnished. An orchestra, hidden behind a cluster of palms, enlivened the occasion with the popular songs of the day. The meal was complete; it began with soup and ended with ice cream. To say that the two boys enjoyed themselves would be putting it very mildly indeed. They felt as though they were in an enchanted fairyland. The fact that Joe's legs were too short to touch the floor, and that he swung them to and fro on the chair did not detract from his dignity in the least, and when the head waiter, who had seated them with all the pomp and ceremony which can only be employed effectively by a head waiter, and addressed them as "gentlemen," their cup of happiness seemed full to overflowing, but the limit had not yet been reached. After the meal was finished and the attendant placed a finger bowl in front of each of the boys, the giggling and the whispering and the mischievous glances that passed between them would have been sufficient to have gladdened the heart of the most confirmed pessimist. But the crowning act of all came when Barry, after having paid the bill, majestically tipped the waiter. From that moment he was a superior being in the eyes of Joe Hart.