Justin said no more. He went out later to search for a decent place for luncheon in this unfamiliar city, and was hardly surprised, when he seated himself by a little white table in a small, rather dark room, to look up and recognize opposite him the smiling face of Mr. Angevin L. Cater.
“I was wondering how soon you’d find this place out,” said the latter. He spoke with a Southern drawl. “You don’t get a very large repertoire here, but what they do give you is sort of catchy. They fry well, and that’s an art. And it’s clean.”
“Yes,” said Justin shortly. It was his untoward fate to be usually spoken to by strangers, and he had a much more social feeling toward those who let him alone, but even the shadows of this golden day were translucent.
“I reckon you know who I am—Angevin L. Cater. Angevin’s a queer name, isn’t it? French—several generations back.”
To this Justin made no reply, conceiving that none was required. After a moment Mr. Cater began again:
“Perhaps you think it’s strange—my speaking to you in this way. Of course I’ve seen you coming to Number 270, and knew that you were taking charge there, but that’s not the whole of it. I’m from Georgia—got a wife and two children and a mother-in-law in Balderville now.” He paused to give this impressive fact full weight. “You’ve some relatives there, haven’t you, by the name of Linden?”
“My wife has,” said Justin, with new attention.
“Well, I reckon I heard of you some this fall when I was home. Miss Theodosia was talking of spending the winter North with you, she asked me if I knew Mr. Justin Alexander, and I had to tell her no. I didn’t think I’d meet up with you so soon. Heard from her lately?”
“We expect Miss Linden to-morrow,” said Justin. “How is Mr. Linden getting on? We haven’t heard very good accounts of him lately.”
“Oh, Linden’s a mighty fine man; he ain’t successful, that’s all. I find a heap of mighty fine men that ain’t successful, don’t you? I don’t think it’s anything against a man that he ain’t successful. Besides, old man Linden ain’t got his health; you can’t do anything if you haven’t got your health. His wife’s a mighty fine lady—pretty, too; but she ain’t much on dressin’ up; stays at home and takes care of her children. And Miss Dosia—well, Miss Dosia’s a peach. Talented, too—I tell you, she can bang the ivories! But she’s been kinder pinin’ lately; I reckon she needs a change—though a change isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. I’ve found that out, haven’t you? I changed into a New York business two years ago, and it’s taken all my strength to buck up against it till now. I reckon maybe it’ll carry me along all right—now.”