"There ain't any call for that play.
If you're in wrong somewhere--well, stranger, just take that chair and I'll have some ham-and in front of you inside of a minute." She had slammed through the door before Buck turned, and he sat down, smiling pleasantly to himself.

Half of a mirror decorated the wall beside his table, and into this Buck peered.

His black locks were sadly disarrayed, and he combed them into some semblance of order with his fingers.

He had hardly finished this task when the door was kicked open with such force that it whacked against the wall, and the waitress appeared with an armful of steaming food.

Before Buck's widening eyes she swiftly set forth an array of bread, butter in chunks, crisp French-fried potatoes, a large slab of ham on one plate and several fried eggs on another, and above all there was a mighty pewter cup of coffee blacker than the heart of night.