"Ah, indeed!" And the old man smiled again, and seemed to look relieved. "I'm very glad to hear it."
He placed his hat on the floor and took a seat opposite Bert at a little table, which they had all to themselves.
Bert offered him the bill of fare.
"No, I must ask you to choose for me; but nothing very extravagant, you know. I'm used to plain fare."
"So am I. But I'm going to have a good dinner for once in my life, and so shall you!" cried Bert, generously. "What do you say to chicken soup, and then wind up with a thumping big piece of squash pie? How's that for a Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Sumptuous!" said the old man, appearing to glow with the warmth of the room and the prospect of a good dinner. "But won't it cost you too much?"
"Too much? No, sir!" laughed Bert. "Chicken soup, fifteen cents; pie—they give tremendous pieces here; thick, I tell you—ten cents. That's twenty-five cents; half a dollar for two. Of course, I don't do this way every day in the year. But mother's glad to have me, once in a while. Here, waiter!" And Bert gave his princely order as if it were no very great thing for a liberal young fellow like him, after all.
"Where is your mother? Why don't you dine with her?" the little man asked.
Bert's face grew sober in a moment.
"That's the question: why don't I? I'll tell you why I don't. I've got the best mother in the world. What I'm trying to do is to make a home for her, so we can live together and eat our Thanksgiving dinners together some time. Some boys want one thing, some another. There's one goes in for good times; another's in such a hurry to get rich he don't care much how he does it; but what I want most of anything is to be with my mother and my two sisters again, and I ain't ashamed to say so."