suit. Joseph's coat of many colours was no longer a vision of
childhood. It was a reality. The checks were an inch square, and each
cube had a narrow border of azure blue. The general tone was a dirty
grey, due no doubt to age and a constitution that would not allow it
to outlive its usefulness.

"Meet Mr. Bacon, Mr. Barnes," introduced Mr. Dillingford, going to the
needless exertion of indicating Mr. Bacon with a generous sweep of his
free hand. "Our heavy leads. Mr. Montague Bacon, also of New York."

"Ham and eggs, pork tenderloin, country sausage, rump steak and spring
chicken," said Mr. Bacon, in a cavernous voice, getting it over with
while the list was fresh in his memory. "Fried and boiled potatoes,
beans, succotash, onions, stewed tomatoes and--er--just a moment,
please. Fried and boiled potatoes, beans--"

"Learn your lines, Ague," said Mr. Dillingford, from the washstand.
"We call him Ague for short, Mr. Barnes, because he's always shaky
with his lines."

"Ham and eggs, potatoes and a cup or two of coffee," said Barnes,
suppressing a desire to laugh.

"And apple pie," concluded the waiter, triumphantly. "I knew I'd get
it if you gave me time. As you may have observed, my dear sir, I am
not what you would call an experienced waiter. As a matter of fact, I--"

"I told him you were an actor," interrupted his friend. "Run along now
and give the order to Mother Jones. Mr. Barnes is hungry."