It was his usual supper.

He had done the same thing for ten years, off and on, whenever he was not inclined for company.
"But I suppose it is incongruous," he soliloquised, "that, being a millionaire, I should fetch my own supper." Once more he laughed aloud in the crowded street, for it was warm and the people were sitting in front of their houses, Simpelmayer the shoemaker, and Blech the tinman, and all the rest, each with his children and his pot of beer.

As the Doctor laughed, the little boys laughed too, and Blech remarked to Simpelmayer that the Herr Doctor must have won the great prize in the Hamburg lottery, for he had not heard him laugh like that in three years.
"Freilich," returned the crooked shoemaker, "but he was used to laugh loud enough ten years ago.

I can remember when he first moved in there, and his corps-fellows locked him in his room for a jest, and stood mocking in the street.

And he climbed right down the woodwork and stepped on the signboard of the baker and jumped into the street, laughing all the while, though they were holding in their breath for fear he should break his neck.