He looked at me for a minute, straight and deep. "By Jove!" he says, and I didn't know what ailed him. "Have you had breakfast?" he ask', short. "No," I says. "You come in here with me and get some," he says, like an order. He led the way into the yard of the Dew Drop Inn. There's a grape arbor there, and some bare hard dirt, and two or three tables. Nobody was there, only the boy, sweeping the dirt with a broom. We sat down at the table in the arbor. It was pleasant to be there. A house wren was singing his head off somewhere near. A woman come out and sloshed water on the stone at the back door and begun scrubbing. A clock in the bar struck six. Joe Burkey, that keeps the Inn, come out and nodded to me. "Joe," I says, "did Keddie Bingy come back here?" Joe wiped his hands on the cloth on his arm, and then brushed his mustache with it, and then wiped off the table with it. "I don't know nothin' about K. Bingy," says Joe. "I t'run him out o' my place last night, neck _and_ crop, for bein' drunk and disorderly. I ain't seen him since." I looked up at Joe's little eyes. They looked like the eyes of the wolf in the picture in our dining-room. Joe's got a fat chin, and a fat smile, but his eyes don't match them. "You coward and you brute," I says to him, "where did Keddie Bingy _get_ drunk and disorderly?" Joe begun to sputter and to step around in new places. The man I was with brought his hand down on the table. "Never mind that," he says, "what you've to do is bring some breakfast. What will you have for your breakfast, mademoiselle?" he says to me. "Why," I says, "some salt pork and some baking powder biscuit for me, and some fried potatoes and a piece of some kind of pie. What kind have you got?" "Apple and raisin," says Joe, sulky. But the man I was with he says: "Suppose you let me order our breakfast. Will you?" "Suit yourself, I'm sure," says I. "I ain't used to the best." The man thought a minute. "Back there a little way," he says, "I crossed something that looked like a trout stream. Is it a trout stream?" "Sure," says Joe and I together. "How long," says the man, "would it take that boy there to bring in a small catch?" "My!" I says, "he can do that quicker'n a cat can lick his eye. Can't he, Joe?" "Very well," says the man. "We will have brook trout for breakfast. Make a lemon butter for them, please, and use good butter. With that bring us some toast, very thin, very brown and very hot, with more good butter. Have you some orange marmalade?" "Sure," says Joe, "but it costs thirty cents a jar; I open the whole--" "Some orange marmalade," says the man. "And coffee--I wonder what that good woman there would say to letting me make the coffee?" "Her? She'll do whatever I tell her," says Joe. "But we charge extra when guests got to make their own coffee." "And now," says the man, getting through with that, "what can you bring us while we wait? Some peaches?" "The orchard," says Joe, "is rotten wid peaches."