They also
insisted upon passing things that he could very well reach for himself,
and their "bon soir, m'sieu'" was quite unfailing in its regularity.
"This shaggy town may have a silver lining, after all," he would think;
"but you've got to turn things inside out to find it."
Near the exit Truesdale noticed Theodore Brower sitting with a
_demi-tasse_ before him. "Hallo!" he called to Brower, "I didn't know you
came here."
"Once in a while," returned Brower. "I shop around. I'm a tramp. I eat
anywhere. And I'm getting tired of it, too." He rose. "Give me a lift
with this coat and I'll go along with you."
Brower was too incorruptibly native to give a fee; usually therefore, he
put on his coat for himself. "Well, what's the programme?" he asked,
feeling for his inside sleeves.
"Nothing," said Truesdale; "or anything. Only, I bar law, and
philanthropy, and the _Complete Letter-writer_. What have you got in
mind yourself?
"I though of going up to the Consolation Club; this is their night."
"Sounds sort of soothing," observed Truesdale. "Well, what do _they_
do?--nothing like the pow-wow at the Crepuscular, I hope. Are strangers
admitted?"
"What do they do? They try to show that the world isn't so bad as it
seems. They'll let you in all right."
"Because I'm not so bad as I seem? Thanks. They don't have a dinner, I
hope."
"No dinner."
"But they give you a bite later on, don't they? I was almost famished at
the Simplicity.
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