with as little prejudice against surroundings. George Henry tried to
philosophize again and to be like these people, but he failed. He noted
before him on the table a jar of that abject stuff called carelessly
either "French" or "German" mustard, stale and crusted, and remembered
that once at a dinner he had declared that the best test of a gentleman,
of one who knew how to live, was to learn whether he used pure,
wholesome English mustard or one of these mixed abominations. His ears
felt pounding into them a whirlwind of street talk larded with slang. He
ordered sparingly. He did not like it when the waiter, with a yell,
translated his modest order of fried eggs and coffee into "Fried,
turned," and "Draw one," and he liked it less when the food came and he
found the eggs limed and the coffee muddy. He ate little, and left the
place depressed. "I can't stand this," he muttered, "that's as sure as
God made little apples."

His own half-breathed utterance of this expression startled the man. The
simile he had used was a repetition of what he had just heard in a
conversation between men at an adjoining table in the restaurant. He had
often heard the expression before, but had certainly never utilized it
personally. "The food must be affecting me already," he said bitterly,
and then wandered off unconsciously into an analysis of the metaphor. It
puzzled him. He could not understand why the production of little apples
by the Deity had seemed to the person who at some time in the past had
first used this expression as an illustration of a circumstance more
assured than the production of big apples by the same power, or of the
evolution of potatoes or any other fruit or vegetable, big or little.
His foolish fancies in this direction gave him the mental relief he
needed. When he awoke to himself again the restaurant was a memory, and
he, having recovered something of his tone, resolved to do what could be
done that day to better his fortunes.