At lunch time Falutini had told him of Italy, and the glow and the glamour, the cypress and the pines, the azure skies, olive and grape vines brought their enchantment around Fairfax, until No. 111 stood in an enchanted country, and not under the shed with whirling snows or blinding American glare without. He exchanged ideas with Rainsford. The agent became his friend, and one Sunday Fairfax led him into the Delavan House, and George Washington nearly broke his neck and spilled the soup on the shoulder of the uninteresting patron he was at the moment serving, in his endeavour to get across the floor to Antony. "Yas, _sah_, Mistah Kunnell Fairfax, sah! Mighty glad to see yo', and the Capting?--Hyah in de window?" "Rainsford," said the young man, "isn't it queer? I feel at home here. This dingy hotel and this smiling old nigger, they are joys to me--joys. To this very table I have brought my own bitter food to eat and bitter water to drink, and half forgotten their tastes as I have eaten the Delavan fare, and been cheered by this faithful old darkey. Perhaps all the chaps round here aren't millionaires or Depuysters, but there are no railroad men such as I am lunching here, and I breathe again." The two ate their tomato soup with relish. Poor Molly was an indifferent cook, and the food at Rainsford's hash-house was horrible. "Don't come here often now, Fairfax, do you?" "Every Sunday." "_Really?_ And do you bring Mrs. Fairfax?" "No," frowned the young man, "and I wonder you ask. Don't you understand that this is my holiday? God knows I earn it." Rainsford finished his soup. The plate was whisked away, was briskly replaced by a quantity of small dishes containing everything on the bill of fare from chicken to pot-pie, and as Rainsford meditated upon the outlay, he said-- "She's a gentle, lovely creature, Fairfax. I don't wonder you were charmed by her. She has a heart and a soul." Fairfax stared. "Why when did you see her?" He had never referred to his wife since the day he had announced his marriage to his chief. "She came on the day of the blizzard to the office to bring a parcel for you. She wanted me to send it up the line by the Limited to catch you at Utica." "My knit waistcoat," nodded Fairfax. "I remember. It saved my getting a chill. I had clean forgotten it. She's a good girl." Rainsford chose amongst the specimens of food. "She is a sweet woman." Here George Washington brought Fairfax the Sunday morning _Tribune_, and folded it before his gentleman and presented it almost on his knees. "Let me git ye a teenty weenty bit mo' salid, Kunnell?" Fairfax unfolded the _Tribune_ leisurely. "Bring some ice-cream, George, and some good cigars, and a little old brandy. Yes, Rainsford, it isn't poison."