y doubtful. No; one might blow out. He must not be niggardly.
So he kept two for himself and gave three to the guest at his banquet.

Again he blew a kiss to the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Snuffing
his candle, he dropped to the ground and closed the door against all
spying, uncivil eyes.

The first grey of dawn was growing in the sombre east. He looked out
over the tops of cars and sniffed the air. The rain was over. He knew. A
tinge of red that none but the gypsy could have distinguished betrayed
the approach of a sunny day. Jauntily he swung off down the path between
the lines of cars, his fickle mind wavering between the joys of the
coming day and the memory of the loveliest Romany he had ever
encountered.

Daybreak found him at the wharf gates. It was gloomy here and silent;
the city above looked asleep and unfruitful. His heart was gay; he
longed for company. Whimsical, careless hearted, he always obeyed the
impulse that struck him first. As he stood there, surveying the wet,
deserted wharf, it came to him suddenly that if he went back and played
one soft love-song before the door of the car, they might invite him to
join them in the breakfast that the genie had brought.

His long legs were swift. In five minutes he was half way down the line
of cars, at the extreme end of which stood the happy lodging place of
his heart's desire. Then he paused, a dubious frown between his eyes.
No! he said, slapping his own cheek soundly; it would not be fair! He
would not disturb them, not he! How could he have thought of such a
thing. _Le bon Dieu!_ Never! He would breakfast alone!

Coming to an empty flat car, direct from the quarries, he resolutely
seated himself upon its edge, and, with amiable resignation, set about
devouring his early meal, all the while casting longing, almost
appealing glances toward the next car but one. Busy little switch
engines began chugging about the yards; the railroad, at least, was
exhibiting some signs of life. Here and there the crews were "snaking"
out sections and bumping them off to other parts of the gridiron; a car
here, a car there--all aflounder, but quite simple to this merry
wanderer. He knew all about switching, he did. It did not cause him the
least uneasiness when a sudden jar told him that an engine had been
attached to the distant end of the string in which he breakfasted. Nor
was he disturbed when the cars began to move. What cared he? He would
ride in his dining-car