Kearns could only gasp in astonishment. “The Waldorf-Astoria,” repeated the bartender meditatively; “oh, yes! I think I remember now. Isn’t that the big restorang and commercial lodging-house ’way down below Forty-second Street somewhere? Sure, I remember, now. I couldn’t tell you what they may sell in a place like that. I’ve always worked in first-class places. How did you say that drink is made?” “Simply a little whiskey and a long dash of seltzer,” said Kearns, wearily. “Oh!” answered the bartender airily; “that’s a Marquanna--called after the famous Marquis Marquanna.” “Call it what you like,” said Kearns testily, “but serve it up; I’m parched with thirst. Give me Hunter whiskey.” “What whiskey?” “Hunter.” “Never heard of it!” “Great Scott!” cried Kearns. “What have you, then?” “What brands? Why, we have both.” “Both? How do you call them?” “Imperial Court and Consolidated Trust.” “Never heard of either of them,” retorted Kearns, maliciously. “However, give me either one; only hurry.” The bartender produced a long-necked bottle of Rhine wine and a peculiar wicker-covered bottle of seltzer. The whiskey he measured out and poured into a tall glass. Then he added the seltzer. Both the wayfarers emptied their glasses in one long, greedy draught. “That really went down well!” remarked the Professor as he laid aside his glass. “So well,” replied Kearns, “that I think we might venture once again. What say you, Professor?” “I rarely--” began the Professor. “Fill them up again,” ordered Kearns of the bartender. At this moment there was a commotion at the other end of the bar-room which attracted general attention. Ranged against the wall were three strange looking machines, remotely suggestive of barber chairs. There was a man seated in each of two of the machines, which, with a gentle whirr of wheels, were in operation. They were automatic shaving machines, operated by depositing a coin in the slot. The commotion which had been caused grew out of the fact that one of the machines had apparently become disordered, which resulted in the occupant of its chair receiving a slight gash upon one side of his chin. The person thus mutilated was furious. He sprang from the chair and, seizing his walking stick, began furiously belaboring the machine. “The Chinese pest seize (whack! whack!) this confounded, infernal machine (whack! whack!) it’s gone and cut me nearly clean through to the teeth (whack! whack! whack!) I’ll----” “Hi! Hold on there!” yelled the man in the adjoining machine. “You’re shaking this automat of mine, sir, so that it’s trembling all over; just at the moment, too, when the knife’s over my gullet.” “I don’t care!” howled back the man with the stick. “I’ve been cut and I’ll never stop until I’ve smashed this infernal thing into bits.” And he banged away at the machine.