"That's where you're wrong," I retorted. "I want three of the biggest, yellowest, roundest poached eggs your fattest hen ever laid--and a schooner of milk." The girl vanished into the back of the shop and presently I could smell toast. I discovered I was extremely hungry. In about eight minutes she came back with a tray on which was a large glass of creamy milk and the triple eggs for which I had prayed. They were spherical, white and wabbly. "You're a prize poacher," I remarked, my spirits reviving. She smiled appreciatively. "Going far?" she inquired, sitting down quite at ease at one of the neighboring tables. I looked pensively at her pleasant face across the eggs. "That's a question," I answered. "I can't make out whether I've been moving on or just going round and round in a circle." She looked puzzled for an instant. Then she said shrewdly: "Perhaps you've really been _going back_." "Perhaps," I admitted. I have never tasted anything quite so good as those eggs and that milk. From where I sat I could look far up the Hudson; the wind from the river swayed the red maples round the door of the quick lunch; and from the kitchen came the homely smells of my lost youth. I had a fleeting vision of the party at my house, now playing bridge for ten cents a point; and my soul lifted its head for the first time in weeks. "How far is it to Pleasantdale?" "A long way," answered the girl; "but you can make a connection by trolley that will get you there in about two hours." "Suits me!" I said and stepped to the door. "You can go, James; I'll get myself home." He cast on me a scandalized look. "Very good, sir!" he answered and touched his cap. He must have thought me either a raving lunatic or an unabashed adventurer. A moment more and the car disappeared in the direction of the city. I was free! The girl made no attempt to conceal her amusement. Behind the door was a gray felt hat. I took it down and looked at the size. It was within a quarter of my own. "Look here," I suggested, holding out a five-dollar bill, "I want a Wishing Cap. Let me take this, will you?" "The house is yours!" she laughed. Over on the candy counter was a tray of corncob pipes. I helped myself to one, to a package of tobacco and a box of matches. I hung my derby on the vacant peg behind the door. Then I turned to my hostess. "You're a good girl," I said. "Good luck to you." For a moment something softer came into her eyes. "And good luck to you, sir!" she replied. As I passed down the steps she threw after me: "I hope you'll find--what you're looking for!" * * * * * In my old felt hat and smoking my corncob I trudged along the road in the mellow sunlight, almost happy. By and by I reached the trolley line; and for five cents, in company with a heterogeneous lot of country folks, Italian laborers and others, was transported an absurdly long distance across the state of New York to a wayside station.