"They're all alike," vouchsafed the clerk in an aside to the "drummer"
who leaned against the counter, meaning stage-folk in general.
"You're both right," said the travelling salesman, who knew.
"Is there a cafe in the neighbourhood?" inquired Barnes, with
authority.
"There's a rest'rant in the next block," replied the clerk, instantly
impressed. Here was one who obviously was not "alike." "A two-minutes'
walk, Mr.--" (looking at the register)--"Mr. Barnes."
"That's good. We will have supper in Miss Thackeray's room. Let me
have your pencil, please. Send over and have them fill this order
inside of twenty minutes." He handed what he had written to the
blinking clerk. "For eight persons. Tell 'em to hurry it along."
"Maybe they're closed for the night," said the clerk. "And besides--"
"My God! He even hesitates to get food for us when--" began Mr.
Rushcroft.
"Besides there's only one waiter on at night and he couldn't get off,
I guess. And besides it's against the rules of this house to serve
drinks in a lady's--"
"You tell that waiter to close up when he comes over here with what
I've ordered, and tell him that I will pay double for everything, and
to-morrow morning you can tell the proprietor of this house that we
broke the rules to-night.
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