"'Wait a minute,' says I. "I called the waiter, and slapped 'S. Mills' on the back of the check for thirteen dollars and fifty cents. "'What do you mean,' says I, 'by serving gentlemen with a lot of truck only suitable for deck-hands on a Mississippi steamboat? We're going out to get something decent to eat.' "I walked up the street with the unhappy plainsman. He saw a saddle-shop open, and some of the sadness faded from his eyes. We went in, and he ordered and paid for two more saddles--one with a solid silver horn and nails and ornaments and a six-inch border of rhinestones and imitation rubies around the flaps. The other one had to have a gold-mounted horn, quadruple-plated stirrups, and the leather inlaid with silver beadwork wherever it would stand it. Eleven hundred dollars the two cost him. "Then he goes out and heads toward the river, following his nose. In a little side street, where there was no street and no sidewalks and no houses, he finds what he is looking for. We go into a shanty and sit on high stools among stevedores and boatmen, and eat beans with tin spoons. Yes, sir, beans--beans boiled with salt pork. "'I kind of thought we'd strike some over this way,' says Solly. "'Delightful,' says I, 'That stylish hotel grub may appeal to some; but for me, give me the husky _table d'goat_.' "When we had succumbed to the beans I leads him out of the tarpaulin-steam under a lamp post and pulls out a daily paper with the amusement column folded out. "'But now, what ho for a merry round of pleasure,' says I. 'Here's one of Hall Caine's shows [30], and a stock-yard company in "Hamlet," and skating at the Hollowhorn Rink, and Sarah Bernhardt, and the Shapely Syrens Burlesque Company. I should think, now, that the Shapely--' [FOOTNOTE 30: Sir Thomas Henry Hall Caine (1853-1931) was a very popular British novelist and playwright in his day, but his works have now been largely forgotten. As of July, 2004, two of his books, _The Christian_ and _The Scapegoat_, can be found in Project Gutenberg's library.] "But what does this healthy, wealthy, and wise man do but reach his arms up to the second-story windows and gape noisily. "'Reckon I'll be going to bed,' says he; 'it's about my time. St. Louis is a kind of quiet place, ain't it?' "'Oh, yes,' says I; 'ever since the railroads ran in here the town's been practically ruined. And the building-and-loan associations and the fair have about killed it. Guess we might as well go to bed. Wait till you see Chicago, though. Shall we get tickets for the Big Breeze to-morrow?' "'Mought as well,' says Solly. 'I reckon all these towns are about alike.'