Beekman Halfway House, but now the Old Beekman Luncheonette--no
hungry man in his senses could pass without tarrying. A flavour of
comely and respectable romance was apparent in this pleasant place,
with its neat and tight-waisted white curtains in the upstairs
windows and an outdoor stairway leading up to the second floor.
Inside, at a table in a cool, dark corner, we dealt with hot dogs
and cloudy cider in a manner beyond criticism. The name Luncheonette
does this fine tavern serious injustice: there is nothing of the
feminine or the soda fountain about it: it is robust, and we could
see by the assured bearing of some well-satisfied habitués that it
is an old landmark in that section.

But the brisk air and tempting serenity of the day made it seem
emphatically an occasion for two lunches, and we passed on, along
Pearl Street, in the bright checkerboard of sunbeams that slip
through the trestles of the "L." It was cheerful to see that the
same old Spanish cafés are still there, though we were a little
disappointed to see that one of them has moved from its old-time
quarters, where that fine brass-bound stairway led up from the
street, to a new and gaudy palace on the other side. We also admired
the famous and fascinating camp outfitting shop at 208 Pearl Street,
which apparently calls itself WESTMINSTER ABBEY: but that
is not the name of the shop but of the proprietor. We have been told
that Mr. Abbey's father christened him so, intending him to enter
the church. In the neighbourhood of Cliff and Pearl streets we
browsed about enjoying the odd and savoury smells. There are all
sorts of aromas in that part of the city, coffee and spices, drugs,
leather, soap, and cigars. There was one very sweet, pervasive, and
subtle smell, a caressing harmony for the nostril, which we pursued
up and down various byways. Here it would quicken and grow almost