Maw certified that it was—though I thought not quite so eagerly as her husband. There were five little T-S's growing up, and bringing pressure to let the dead past stay buried, in Vestminster Abbey or wherever it might be.
The waiter brought the dinner, and spread it before us. And T-S tucked his napkin under both ears, and grabbed his knife in one hand and his fork in the other, and took a long breath, and said: “Good-bye, folks. See you later!” And he went to work.
XVI
For five minutes or so there was no sound but that of one man's food going in and going down. Then suddenly the man stopped, with his knife and fork upright on the table in each hand, and cried: “Mr. Carpenter, you ain't eatin' nuttin'!”
The stranger, who had apparently been in a daydream, came suddenly back to Prince's. He looked at the quantities of food spread about him. “If you'd only let me take a little to those men outside!” He said it pleadingly.
But T-S tapped imperiously on the table, with both his knife and fork together. “Mr. Carpenter, eat your dinner! Eat it, now, I say!” It was as if he were dealing with one of the five little T-S's. And Carpenter, strange as it may seem, obeyed. He picked up a bit of bread, and began to nibble it, and T-S went to work again.
There was another five minutes of silence; and then the picture magnate stopped, with a look of horror on his face. “My Gawd! He's cryin'!” Sure enough, there were two large tears trickling, one down each cheek of the stranger, and dropping on the bread he was putting into his mouth!
“Look here, Mr. Carpenter,” protested T-S. “Is it dem strikers?”
“I'm sorry; you see—”
“Now, honest, man, vy should you spoil your dinner fer a bunch o' damn lousy loafers—”