THE MAN IN THE WINDOW
and comfortably wondering whether to order thick soup or clear.
"Why should they have everything?" he thought. "I know how it feels to be an anarchist now. I don't blame them. Oh, you well-dressed people, if you knew what it means to be in want of food!'
Then he turned abruptly about, retraced his steps a few blocks until he came to Twenty-eighth Street, near where he had seen several illuminated signs, "Table d'hôte dinner, 6 courses, 50 cents." He chose the smallest of the places, arguing that as the proprietor paid less rent, he could afford to give more dinner.
Young dropped into a chair. "Serve me quickly," he said to the waiter. "I'm—rather hungry." Then he added to himself, "I'll have one square meal anyway." He took out his half-dollar and looked at it. "Then after that, well, there are the two rivers—" Then he stopped and thought for a moment of his mother out home on the farm; then he said, half aloud, "Rot! Nonsense! I have really no such thought.
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