nor old. His shirt, "lay-down" collar, and cuffs are of white,
well-laundered linen. He wears a loosely knotted tie. A linen
motor-duster extends to his knees. His waistcoat is of a gray mixture,
neither dark nor light. His trousers are of the same material and not
fashionably cut, yet they fit him well and are neither baggy at the
knees nor "high-water." His shoes are plain black Congress gaiters and
show a "good shine." In brief, he is just the average well-to-do but
untravelled citizen that you might meet on an accommodation train
between Logansport and Kokomo, Indiana. As he enters he is wiping his
face, after his ablutions, with a large towel, his hat pushed far back
on his head. The sleeves of his duster are turned back, and his
detachable cuffs are in his pocket. He comes through the doors rubbing
his face with the towel, but, pausing for a moment on the stoop, drops
the towel from his face to dry his hands. All except VASILI and the
waiters stare at him with frowns of annoyance.]

PIKE [beamingly unconscious of this, surprised, and in a tone of
cheerful apology, believing all the world to be as good-natured and
sensible as Kokomo would be under the circumstances]. Law! I didn't know
there was folks here. I reckon you'll have to excuse me.

[As he speaks he dries his hands quickly.]

Here, son!

[He hands the towel to MICHELE. PIKE rapidly descends the steps, goes to
the breakfast-table, joining VASILI and taking the seat opposite him.]

VASILI [gayly]. You're a true patriot, my friend. You allow no profane
hand to cook your national dish. I trust you will be as successful with