ppeared. "Suppose," exclaimed Amy, "he
changes his mind and locks up again!" They urged tired feet to a faster
pace and reached the door. On one wide window was the legend:
"Cannister's Cafe." The door was closed but unlocked. They opened it
and entered.

There was no one in sight, but from beyond a partition which ran across
the room at the back came the cheering sounds of rattling dishes and the
heartening fragrance of coffee. There were eight small tables and a
little counter adorned with a cash register and a cigar case, and
these, excepting an appropriate number of chairs, comprised the
furnishings; unless the various signs along each wall could be included.
These announcements were printed in blue on grey card-board, and the
boys, sinking into chairs at the nearest table, read them avidly: "Beef
Stew, 15 Cents"; "Pork and Beans, 10 Cents"; "Boiled Rice and Milk, 10
Cents"; "Coffee and Crullers, 10 Cents"; "Oysters in Season"; "Small
Steak, 30 Cents"; "Buy a Ticket--$5.00 for $4.50"; "Corn Beef Hash, 15
Cents; With 1 Poached Egg, 20 Cents."

Their eyes met and they smiled. It was pleasantly warm in the little
restaurant, the sun was peeping in at the window, the odour of coffee
was more delightful than anything they had ever inhaled and it was
extremely good to stretch tired legs and ease aching muscles, and for
several minutes they were content to sit there and feast their hungry
eyes on the placards and enjoy in anticipation the cheer that was
to follow.

"What are you going to have?" asked Amy presently.

"Beans and a lot of bread-and-butter and seventy-five cups of coffee,"
replied Clint rapturously.

"Corned beef hash for mine. And a lot more coffee than that. Say, why
doesn't he come?"

Evidently the proprietor had drowned the sound of their entrance with
the rattle of dishes, for the swinging door in the partition remained
closed and the little ledged window beside it showed only a dim vista of
hanging pots and saucepans. Amy rapped a knife against the edge of a
glass and the noise at the rear ceased abruptly, the door swung open and
the man in the enveloping white apron viewed them in surprise. He was a
bald-headed, pink-faced little man with a pair of contemplative
blue eyes.

"Morning, boys," he said. "I didn't hear you come in. Don't usually get
customers till most seven on Sundays. Want something to eat?"

"Yes, can we have something pretty quick?" asked Clint. "We're nearly
starved."

"Wel