oom so as the waiter'll have
to knock on the door each time he comes in."

Saxon demurred at that.

"It will be too expensive, Billy. You'll have to tip him for the
knocking. We'll take the regular dining room."

"Order anything you want," Billy said largely, when they were seated.
"Here's family porterhouse, a dollar an' a half. What d'ye say?"

"And hash-browned," she abetted, "and coffee extra special, and some
oysters first--I want to compare them with the rock oysters."

Billy nodded, and looked up from the bill of fare.

"Here's mussels bordelay. Try an order of them, too, an' see if they
beat your Rock Wall ones."

"Why not?" Saxon cried, her eyes dancing. "The world is ours. We're just
travelers through this town."

"Yep, that's the stuff," Billy muttered absently. He was looking at the
theater column. He lifted his eyes from the paper. "Matinee at Bell's.
We can get reserved seats for a quarter.--Doggone the luck anyway!"

His exclamation was so aggrieved and violent that it brought alarm into
her eyes.

"If I'd only thought," he regretted, "we could a-gone to the Forum for
grub. That's the swell joint where fellows like Roy Blanchard hangs out,
blowin' the money we sweat for them."

They bought reserved tickets at Bell's Theater; but it was too early
for the performance, and they went down Broadway and into the Electric
Theater to while away the time on a moving picture show. A cowboy
film was run off, and a French comic; then came a rural drama situated
somewhere in the Middle West. It began with a farm yard scene. The sun
blazed down on a corner of a barn and on a rail fence where the ground
lay in the mottled shade of large trees overhead. There were chickens,
ducks, and turkeys, scratching, waddling, moving about. A big
sow, followed by a roly-poly litter of seven little ones, marched
majestically through the chickens, rooting them out of the way. The
hens, in turn, took it out on the little porkers, pecking them when they
strayed too far from their mother. And over the top rail a horse
looked drowsily on, ever and anon, at mathematically precise intervals,
switching a lazy tail that flashed high lights in the sunshine.

"It's a warm day and there are flies--can't you just feel it?" Saxon
whispered.

"Sure. An' that horse's tail! It's the most natural ever. Gee! I bet he
knows the trick of clampin' it down over the reins. I wouldn't wonder if
his name was Iron Tail."

A dog ran upon the s