“My appetite is sure to be good. I was kept so busy to-day that I had hardly time to buy a sandwich for lunch.”
“All the better! You’ll enjoy your meal. As for me, I don’t have the appetite I do at home. There’s nothing like a tramp on the open prairie to make a man feel peckish.”
“Have you ever been in New York before, Mr. Perkins?”
“Not since I was a boy. I was born up Albany way, and came here when I was about your age. But, Lord, the New York of that day wasn’t a circumstance to what it is now. There was no Elevated railroad then, nor horse cars either, for that matter, and where this hotel stands there was a riding school or something of that sort.”
“Are you going to stay here long?”
“I go to Washington to-morrow, stopping at Philadelphia and Baltimore on the way. No. I have no business in Washington, but I think by the time a man is fifty odd he ought to see the capital of his country. I shall shake hands with the President, too, if I find him at home.”
“Have you ever been further West than Minneapolis?”
“Yes, I have been clear out to the Pacific. I’ve seen the town of Tacoma, where you’ve got five lots. I shall write out to a friend in Portland to buy me as many. Then we shall both have an interest there.”
“You think the lots are worth something?”
“I know it. When the Northern Pacific Railroad is finished, every dollar your friend spent for his lots will be worth thirty or forty.”