Soon afterward a bell rang for supper, and going down to a big room, they found seats at a table which had several other occupants. Two of them, who appeared to be railroad-hands, were simply dressed in trousers and slate-colored shirts, and when they rested their elbows on the tablecloth, they left grimy smears. George thought the third man of the party, who was neatly attired, must be the station-agent; the fourth was unmistakably a newly-arrived Englishman. As soon as they were seated, a very smart young woman came up and rattled off the names of various unfamiliar dishes.
"I think I'll have a steak; I know what that is," Edgar told her.
She withdrew, and presently surrounded him with an array of little plates, at which he glanced dubiously before he attacked the thin, hard steak with a nickeled knife which failed to make a mark on it. When he made a more determined effort, it slid away from him, sweeping some greasy fried potatoes off his plate, and he grew hot under the stern gaze of the girl, who reappeared with some coffee he had not ordered.
"Perhaps you had better take it away before I do more damage, and let me have some fish," he said humbly.
"Another time you'll say what you want at first. You can't prospect right through the menu," she rebuked him.
In the meanwhile George had been describing his companions on the train to one of the men opposite.
"He told me he was located in the district, but I didn't learn his name, and he didn't get off here," he explained. "Do you know him?"
"Sure," said the other. "It's Alan Grant, of Poplar, 'bout eighteen miles back. Guess he went on to the next station—a little farther, but it's easier driving, now they're dumping straw on the trail."
"Putting straw on the road?" Edgar broke in. "Why are they doing that?"
"You'll see, if you drive out north," the man answered shortly. Then he turned to his better-dressed companion. "What are you going to do with that carload of lumber we got for Grant?"