An Interlude II f 



midnight. The train from Ashton leaves at seven-fifteen in the 

 morning. We meditate on the prospects of supper and sleep. 



"Ashton." Thus the brakeman. 



William commands the situation; "I am going to beat it 

 for the hotel. I know where it is. There's a crowd on the train 

 and they'll all be wanting rooms. You and Art take your time 

 and bring along the baggage. I'll have the room for you." It 

 was so done. 



The baggage was deposited at the hotel, startlingly bright 

 with light, and wide awake at the deserted midnight of a small 

 mountain town. Then, with William still with a generals' grasp 

 upon all phases of the situation, we walked up one side of the 

 main street and down the other in confident quest of supper. 

 The street is wide and muddy. The buildings are mostly one 

 story frame store types. There is the inevitable postcard-photo- 

 graph foundry and a shooting gallery. A cloudy sky is overhead, 

 there is a warm air, and a star or two is visible under the far 

 edge of the clouds. 



At a half lighted window we stopped. At the far end of a 

 lunch counter, in a greasily smoky atmosphere, was a group of 

 fellow travelers in impassioned negotiation with a sleepy but 

 polite Jap in undershirt and trousers. His day was ended. He 

 was politely averse to reopening for business at dead midnight. 

 A dozen hungry men argued and displayed money in vain. 

 William came quietly into the group and fixed the impassively 

 polite gentleman of the orient with a persuasive eye. He pulled 

 forward Art and the artist, and pointing to them held up three 

 fingers and comprehended the rest of the famished gathering 

 within a sweep of his hand that terminated with a half seen 

 swift gesture that made one search memory as to just where 

 had that been seen before. What freemasonry lay between 

 them is unknown. Whatever understanding passed, it was 

 sufficient. The Jap's face lighted with a recognitory gleam. 

 He bowed: "The honorable gentlemen should be fed without 

 delay, at a most estimable speed. The honorable pot should 

 boil, the distinguished T Bone should fry. In half the honorable 

 hour." 



"How do you reckon he does it, Art?" queried the artist^ 

 in the interim before the accomplishment of the meal. 



