"Blue Points on the half-shell, of course," he began, adding to the waiter, "be sure that they are on the deep shell. Green turtle soup--the green turtle here used to be very good fifteen years ago. _Filet de sole, a la Mornay_--the sole is flounder, I suppose, but _a la Mornay_ a man could eat a Hebrew manuscript. Then a canvas-back apiece--two canvas-back, you understand, real canvas-back, not red-head or mallard--with samp, of course, and a mayonnaise of celery. Then a bit of Chedder cheese and a cup of coffee. How will that suit you, White?" "That will suit me," White responded. "And now what wine?" "Wine, too?" Johnny queried. White smiled and nodded. "Well, I'll go you," the guest went on. "I might as well see the thing through, if you are bound to do it in style." He turned over the bill of fare and scanned the wine list on the under side. "Yquem '74 with the oysters; and they tell me there is a Silver Seal Special '84 _brut_ that is better than anything one has tasted before. Give us a quart of that with the duck. And let us have it as soon as you can." He handed the bill of fare to the waiter, and then, for the first time, he ventured to glance about the room. The oysters were brought very soon, and when Johnny had eaten them and part of a roll, and when he had drunk two glasses of the Yquem, White said to him: "Tell me something about yourself. What have you been doing all these years?" Johnny's face fell a little. "I've done pretty nearly everything," he answered, "from driving a Fifth Avenue stage to keeping books for a Third Avenue pawnbroker. I've been a waiter at a Coney Island chowder saloon. Two summers ago I waited on the man who has just taken our order--I waited on him more than once. I've dealt faro, too." The waiter brought the soup and served them. When he left them alone again, White asked: "Can't some of your old friends help you out of this--give you a start and set you up again?" "It's no good trying," Johnny replied. "You can't pull me up now. It's too late. I guess it was too late from the start." "Why don't you drop this place?" White queried, "and go out West, and--" "What's the use of talking about that?" Johnny interrupted. "I can't live away from New York. If I got out of sight of that tower over there I'd die." "You will die here soon enough at this rate," White answered. "That's so, too," admitted Johnny; "but it can't be helped now." He was eating steadily, sturdily, but not ravenously. After the waiter had served the fish, White asked again, "What can we do for you?" "Nothing," Johnny answered--"nothing at all. Yes, you can give me a five, if you like, or a ten; but don't give me your address, or the first time I'm down again I'd look you up and strike you for ten more." A band of undergraduates, twenty of them or more, four abreast, arm in arm, went tramping down Broadway, yelling forth the chorus of a college song. "You used to sing that song, Johnny," said White.