He turned out and went up Merchant street, still ciphering; and chewing a bit of stick, as is the way of starving men.
He passed before the lights of Martin's restaurant, the most aristocratic in the city, and stopped.

It was a place where he had often dined, in better days, and Martin knew him well.

Standing aside, just out of the range of the light, he worshiped the quails and steaks in the show window, and imagined that may be the fairy times were not gone yet and some prince in disguise would come along presently and tell him to go in there and take whatever he wanted.

He chewed his stick with a hungry interest as he warmed to his subject.

Just at this juncture he was conscious of some one at his side, sure enough; and then a finger touched his arm.