The Secret Lunch of the Frugal Merchant

There is a young merchant in this city who is at present overcome with the conviction that economy in everything has become, with him, a necessity. No longer is he seen in fashionable up-town restaurants at dinner time, and his friends have been wondering where he has been keeping himself. Saturday afternoon he left his place of business and hurried along Commercial street, dodging at last into a dingy, third-class Japanese restaurant. He went to the further end of the long room and took a seat at a table opposite a stranger, who also appeared to be anxious to keep out of sight. Looking up, the young merchant, to his surprise, recognized his table companion as a man who is in business just across the street from him. The embarrassment at being found in such a place was mutual, and both began making apologies and excuses, and tried in every way to pass the matter off smoothly. Finishing, the young man said: 'It is the first time I ever came here. Funny we should have met. I was passing and dropped in; not exactly hungry, but slightly curious.' 'Just my fix,' hastily explained the other fellow, opposite. 'I just thought I would take in the slums and get a little lunch in a tough place.' At this moment the conversation was broken by a tough-looking waiter, who came forward, leering and bowing in a familiar way at both of the gentlemen. Resting one hand on either corner of the table he looked at first one customer and then the other as if waiting for them to order. Getting no answer he asked cheerfully: 'I s'pose, gents, you both want the same old thing?'