"They must have a tremendous big kitchen to cook so many things," he thought. "Why, there are as many as a hundred. Let me see—here's buckwheat cakes, ten cents. I guess I'll have some."
"Anything more, sir?" asked the waiter, approaching to clear away the dirty dishes.
"Buckwheat cakes, and another cup of coffee," ordered Sam.
"All right, sir."
"They treat me respectful, here," thought Sam. "What would the deacon say to hear me called sir? I like it. Folks have better manners in the city than in the country."
This was rather a hasty conclusion on the part of Sam, and it was not long before he had occasion enough to change his mind.
He ate the buckwheat cakes with a relish, and felt tolerably satisfied.
"Anything more, sir?" asked the waiter.
Sam was about to say no, when his eye rested on that portion of the bill devoted to pastry, and he changed his mind.
"Bring me a piece of mince-pie," he said.