The waiter suppressed surprise. A New Yorker may dine simply, but that a still obvious stranger in New York should dine upon less than five courses--that was beyond his experience. "What cocktail, sir?" he enquired. "None," said Stainton. "Very good, sir. Shall I send the wine-card?" "No." Stainton spoke briefly this time, even sharply, and his tone had the effect that he desired for it. He ate his dinner undisturbed. A more pleasant disturbance than that of the waiter was, however, in store for him. As he left the dining-room and returned to the lobby, ready now for the opera, there brushed by him, _en route_ from the bar-room, a stout man of about thirty-five, with a round face and a high hat perched at the extreme rear of a head almost completely bald. The two looked at each other. "I beg your pardon," said the stranger. "I beg your par----" Stainton began to echo. But he did not finish, for the stranger, suddenly a stranger no longer, was fairly shouting: "Hello, hello, hello! What in the name of all that's----" Stainton's lips broke into a delighted smile, which showed square, white teeth. "Holt," he said: "George Holt!" "Alive and well--thanks to you, old man." Holt seized the proffered hand and began to pump it. "And you!" he continued. "Think of it! _You!_ I saw about your luck in the papers, and I meant to write. Upon my soul, I did. I don't know how it was I didn't----" "Oh, that's all right." "But I was glad. I never was so glad. And you're here--here in little old New York?" "So it seems." "For good? Of course it is. Everybody comes here to spend his money." "Well, I hope it's not for harm." Holt ceased pumping, dropped the hand, put both his hands on Stainton's shoulders, and held him at arm's length. "Great Scott, but it's good to see you again," he said. "Five years, isn't it?" "All of that." "And then I was out there in the last of the Wild and Woolly, and we were sworn brother-adventurers and all that, and you saved my life----" "Nonsense." "Yes, you did--saved my life, by the great horn spoon, just as the knife-claws of that big grizzly were raised to rip out what passes with me for a heart. I'll never forget it as long as I live." Stainton wished it forgotten. "How's the world treating you?" he asked. "So, so; I mean, badly. In fact, it's not treating me at all; I have to pay for myself, and just enough to pay and none to save, at that. But you--you! Oh, you lucky beast, you!" He shook Stainton by the shoulders and again studied his smiling face. "Good old Jim!" he said. Stainton's smile went somewhat awry. "Old?" he echoed. "Oh, I don't know." "What? No, of course not." Holt thrust a playful thumb between Stainton's ribs. "Young as ever, eh? So am I. Still, you know, time does pass. Oh, well, what of it? I certainly am glad to see you." He hooked his arm into Stainton's. "Come on and have a drink." "Thank you, no," said Stainton; "I scarcely ever take anything, you know."