“It’s an honor to your one-horse hangout for a boy like Little Cayuse, or a girl like Wah-coo-tah, to stay in it. Is supper ready?”
“The Chink jest come out an’ hammered the gong,” said Spangler. “Walk right in an’ set down whenever ye’re ready.”
The party dismounted and went into the hotel office. Cayuse led away the horses, and saw that they were properly cared for.
Buffalo Bill, Nomad, Wild Bill, Cayuse, Dell Dauntless, Wah-coo-tah, and one other, had a table all to themselves. The “one other” was a slender little man in a neat black suit, which spoke relentlessly of the East.
The little man was painfully pale, and seemed dismayed to find himself surrounded by such an assortment of white men and Indians.
His first “break” was to ask the Chinaman who waited on their table for a napkin. The Chinaman went back and exchanged some heated words with the other Chinaman in the kitchen; then both Chinamen went out in front of the hotel and held a low conversation with Spangler. As a result, Spangler waddled into the dining-room, and walked to where the little man in black was sitting.
“Looky here, you!” rumbled Spangler, his great body shaking all over with suppressed wrath, “was you the one as asked the Chink fer a napkin?”
“I—I have always been accustomed to eating with napkins,” answered the little man, with a frightened, upward glance.
“Mebby you take this here eatin’-joint fer the Palmer House, hey? Or mebby it’s the Delmonico restaurant ye think it is? I’ve run this feedin’-place fer two years, an’ this here’s the first time any one who has ever fed here has insulted me!”
“I had no intention of insulting you, sir, I assure you,” said the little man. “I—I—why, it is customary to have napkins at meals in—in Chicago, where I come from.”