“I can recommend the prices,” said Ben.
“Well, I’ll risk it. I would rather eat at Delmonico’s, but I have no credit there, and I must e’en take up with a restaurant of a lower grade.”
Mr. Snodgrass entered the place and emerged therefrom in twenty minutes.
“How did you like it?” asked Ben.
“I have eaten at worse places, but not much worse,” answered the “novelist.” “I say, Bruce, if you have any influence with the boss, ask him to supply a better article of butter, I’m not stuck on oleo.”
“I am afraid I haven’t much influence with the ‘boss,’ as you call him.”
“You might hint to him that I am the great Sylvanus Snodgrass—perhaps he reads the Bugle—and he may treat me better than the rest of his customers.”
“I am afraid he is not literary, Mr. Snodgrass.”
“Very likely. He doesn’t look intellectual. But Bruce, I am surprised that you should take such a place.”
“You wouldn’t be su’prised if you knew how little money there is in my purse.”