"The dinner will be paid for," said Ben, smiling.
"All right, gentlemen," said the waiter, more respectfully. "We'll be glad to see you any time."
"Tom," said Ben, "I'm afraid you don't always tell the truth."
"Why not?"
"You told the waiter I was a Wall Street banker, and rich."
"Oh, what's the odds? You're rich enough to pay for the dinners, and that's all he wants."
"You came near spoiling the appitite of that young man over at the opposite table."
"I'd like to spoil his beauty. He feels too big. I don't like to see a feller put on so many airs. What's the matter of me, I'd like to know?"
"Why, you see, Tom, your face isn't very clean. There are spots of blacking on it."
"A feller can't be always washin' his face. I'll wash it to-morrow mornin' at the lodge. Does it take away your appetite, too?"