l Fairfax, sah! Mighty glad to see yo', and
the Capting?--Hyah in de window?"

"Rainsford," said the young man, "isn't it queer? I feel at home here.
This dingy hotel and this smiling old nigger, they are joys to me--joys.
To this very table I have brought my own bitter food to eat and bitter
water to drink, and half forgotten their tastes as I have eaten the
Delavan fare, and been cheered by this faithful old darkey. Perhaps all
the chaps round here aren't millionaires or Depuysters, but there are no
railroad men such as I am lunching here, and I breathe again."

The two ate their tomato soup with relish. Poor Molly was an indifferent
cook, and the food at Rainsford's hash-house was horrible.

"Don't come here often now, Fairfax, do you?"

"Every Sunday."

"_Really?_ And do you bring Mrs. Fairfax?"

"No," frowned the young man, "and I wonder you ask. Don't you understand
that this is my holiday? God knows I earn it."

Rainsford finished his soup. The plate was whisked away, was briskly
replaced by a quantity of small dishes containing everything on the bill
of fare from chicken to pot-pie, and as Rainsford meditated upon the
outlay, he said--

"She's a gentle, lovely creature, Fairfax. I don't wonder you were
charmed by her. She has a heart and a soul."

Fairfax stared. "Why when did you see her?"

He had never referred to his wife since the day he had announced his
marriage to his chief.

"She came on the day of the blizzard to the office to bring a parcel for
you. She wanted me to send it up the line by the Limited to catch you at
Utica."

"My knit waistcoat," nodded Fairfax. "I remember. It saved my getting a
chill. I had clean forgotten it. She's a good girl."

Rainsford chose amongst the specimens of food.

"She is a sweet woman."

Here George Washington brought Fairfax the Sunday morning _Tribune_, and
folded it before his gentleman and presented it almost on his knees.

"Let me git ye a teenty weenty bit mo' salid, Kunnell?"

Fairfax unfolded the _Tribune_ leisurely. "Bring some ice-cream, George,
and some good cigars, and a little old brandy. Yes, Rainsford, it isn't
poison."

Fairfax read attentively, and his companion watched him patiently, his
own face lightened by the companionship of the younger man. Fairfax
glanced at the headlines of the _Tribune_, said "By George!" under his
breath, and bent over the paper. His face underwent a transformation; he
grew pale, read fixedly, then laug