"Cream toast—twenty cents," said Ben mischievously.
"What is the world comin' to?" exclaimed the old lady. "Twenty cents for cream toast! Like as not, it's skim-milk. Well, I guess you may put down dry toast."
"Shall I put down anything else?" asked Ben.
"How much do they charge for beefsteak?" inquired the old lady.
"Fifty cents."
"It's wicked shame!" she exclaimed indignantly. "They're a set of robbers, and I've a good mind to tell 'em so. You, sir"—to the waiter who came up at that moment—"what do you mean by askin' such shameful prices for your vittles?"
"I haven't anything to do with the prices, ma'am."
"I need some meat," said the old lady sternly, "but I won't buy any. I won't encourage you in your shameful swindlin'. I'll bear up as well as I can till I get home, though like as not I shall be faint."
The waiter took the written order, and brought the old lady's tea and toast. Ben ordered some steak, and, finding that more was brought than he needed, offered a piece to the old lady.
"Shan't I rob you?" asked the old lady, looking at the meat covetously.