with a benevolent smile and led the
way through the narrow passage into the little restaurant. The savory
smell of cooking greeted the hungry outcasts as they entered the car
restaurant.

"Shentlemans, your repast is served." He waved his hand towards one of
the little tables, which had on it a spotless white tablecloth, and the
necessary implements for attacking the grub.

"Ah! it looks very good, Herr Scheff," said John Berwick, who could be
very gracious when he wished. "Your name should be chef; you deserve it,
my friend."

The German made a short bow and his round face crinkled into a smile.

"It is enough that you are pleased, honorable sir," he said.

"Ach, Fritz!" exclaimed his wife, "why do you give these friends of
ourselves such knives and forks? I will get some of our own."

"Now don't you bother, Mrs. Scheff," said Jim; "these will do all right
for us."

"Ach! no! no!" she exclaimed, shaking her head; "they will not do. The
sailors bite the forks as though they eat them. I go get our own."

And she did. They were of heavy silver, with a quaint monogram on the
handles of the forks. No doubt heirlooms of several generations back.
Without more ado the two friends began with hearty appetites on the two
portions of steaks, the delicately browned potatoes, and the eggs.
Everything had a delicious taste, for, aside from their hunger, the meal
was excellently cooked.

"I will make the coffee, Fritz," said his wife, "and how would you like
some German pancake?"

"We would like nothing better," agreed the engineer.

"I'm good for any kind of a pancake," said Jim heartily, and he was not
exaggerating, either.

How good that coffee did smell, and it tasted equal to its aroma. As for
the big, flat, German pancakes, with their coating of powdered sugar and
side dishes of apple sauce, pleasantly tart with sliced lemon,--well,
Jim always had the tantalizing memory of them when in other days he was
furiously hungry, which latter he was destined to be on more than one
occasion. Jim, nevertheless, had not forgotten the business in hand,
even while eating.

"Herr Scheff, could you tell me about the people who live in the castle
upon the bluff above you?" he questioned.

A cold shadow came over the German's round face. It was evident that at
heart he was anything but a genial man given to much talk.

"I do not make my head ache about what I don't know," he replied; "my
business is to cook for whoever pays me.