At 28th Street he entered a cheap restaurant, its bill of fare, written on a pasteboard card and tacked on the outside, indicating the modest prices of the several viands.
He had had no particular reason for selecting this eating-house from among the others.

He had passed several just like it, and was only accustoming himself to his new line of search; for that purpose, one eating-house was as good as another.
Drawing out a chair from a table, he sat down and ran his eye over the interior.
What he saw was a collection of small tables, flanked by wooden chairs, their tops covered with white cloths and surmounted by cheap casters, a long bar with the usual glistening accessories, and a flight of steps which led to the floor above.

His entrance, quiet as it had been, had evidently attracted some attention, for a waiter in a once-white apron detached himself from a group of men in the far corner of the room and, picking up, as he passed, a printed card from a table, asked him what he would have to eat.
"Nothing--not now.

I will sit here and smoke." He loosened his mackintosh and drew his pipe from his pocket, adding: "Hand me a match, please." The waiter looked at him dubiously.

"Ain't you goin' to order nothin' ?" "Not yet--perhaps not at all.