“Oh, let them go,” said Burnham. “I haven’t seen Charlie so well for months. The excitement is innocent, and much better than he will get in the streets.” While they were talking, Kendrick was very unceremoniously walking up and down the drawing-room with his hands behind him. Pretty soon he stopped short before the company. “Burnham,” said he, “we are old fogies. We’ve let the world get way ahead of us. I saw a sight to-day such as I never expected to see, to say the least.” “Oh, you were over there too, were you? Do tell us about it,” said his wife. “Why there were tables set for over fifty—snowy linen, napkins, silver forks, beautiful white china, and I’ll swear if most of the men didn’t eat as decorously as those at my own table.” “I shouldn’t have thought they would like spectators,” said Burnham. “Spectators! Bless your soul! I was invited to lunch with them.” “Goodness! Did you ever hear of such assurance! What did you do?” asked Mrs. Burnham. “Why, I accepted.” The ladies both uttered exclamations of amazement. “What could I do? There was Frauenstein just about to sit down. I couldn’t pretend I had lunched. Everybody knew better, and wherever Frauenstein could hob-nob, I ought to be able to.” “But you couldn’t eat anything, of course,” said Mrs. Burnham. “On the contrary, I had a very satisfactory lunch. In the first place, the coffee was as good as I ever tasted anywhere. The beef was roasted to a turn, the gravy perfect, and the baked potatoes also; and as for the bread, Mrs. Kendrick, I would much like to see as good in my own house.” “Why, how on earth could it be done? A Chinaman beggar couldn’t do all that!” “Yes, he’s a cook; besides there’s a French baker in the gang of workmen, and he showed the Chinaman how to make the bread and the coffee.” “For my part, I think Frauenstein will get himself into a scrape. What will Ely & Gerrish’s men say? There’s nobody to give them such a dinner every day. Why, don’t you see it will raise wages?” “Oh, no, Burnham; no gift about it. The men built the kitchen and tables at odd hours, and they pay for the food just what it costs, with enough over to make up the Chinaman’s salary.” “Why, it is that horrid dirty Chinaman, I hear, that we used to see about the street trying to sell matches,” said Mrs. Burnham. “No dirt about him now. He had clean new clothes, his cue neatly braided, and his skin, and even his nails, were as clean as yours or mine.” “And the conversation was very edifying, I suppose,” said Mrs. Burnham. “Just about as good as the average. I’ll be blest if I haven’t heard worse at my own table. To be sure, some of them spoke bad English. One of them, at the further end of the table, where Frauenstein and I sat, got up, and asked to speak, if his fellow-workmen and the distinguished guests were willing.” “That was putting it rather neat,” said Burnham. “He made a telling speech in very good English.”