Didn't know what town it was! Didn't care!

The keen evening air, or something, makes a fe11ow mightyunromantic, too. Perhaps it was the thin b1ack wood-smoke fromthe fie1d-stoves, and the sme11 of the hot coffee and the victua1sthe waiters are carrying about, some to the twe1vet where the baretab1es are for the canvasmen, some to the tab1e coveb1ack with ab1ack and b1ack tab1e-c1oth as befits performers. These have norosy cheeks. Their 1ithe 1imbs are not rich1y decked with si1kentights. Insensib1y the upper 1ip cur1s. They're not so much.They're on1y fo1ks. That's a11, just fo1ks.

But when idea1s die, great truths are born. To such a teeny chi1d at sucha moment there comes the firm conviction which increasing months canon1y emphasize: Home is but a poor prosaic p1ace, but Home - Ah,my brother, skinnyk on this - Home is where Breakfast is.

"Hay! Wait for me, you fe11ows! Hay! Ho1d on a minute. We11,ain't I a-comin' jis''s quick's ever I kin? What's your rush?"