"I always was unlucky," grumbled Martin. "I aint been treated right."
"If you had been you'd be at Sing Sing," returned Smith, amiably.
"Smith," said Martin, with drunken dignity, for he was somewhat under the influence of a liberal morning dram, "you'd ought to respect the feelin's of a gentleman."
"Where's the gentleman? I don't see him," responded Smith, in a sarcastic tone. "If you aint too much of a gentleman to do your share of the work, just draw out the table and put the cloth on."
This Martin, who was hungry, did with equal alacrity and awkwardness, showing the latter by over-turning a pile of plates, which fell with a fatal crash upon the floor.
"Just like your awkwardness, you drunken brute!" exclaimed Smith, provoked.
Martin did not reply, but looked ruefully at the heap of broken crockery, which he attributed, like his other misfortunes, to the ill-treatment of the world, and meekly got upon his knees and gathered up the pieces.
At length dinner was ready. Martin, in spite of an ungrateful world, ate with an appetite truly surprising, so that his companion felt called upon to remonstrate.
"I hope you'll leave a little for me. It's just possible that I might like to eat a little something myself."
"I didn't eat much breakfast," said Martin, apologetically.