I tried hard to persuade myself it was amusement, and went down to breakfast wondering how Draven's would keep it up.

I found myself "top- hammer" again--or I should say "top-muttoner," for ham was a luxury reserved only for one day in the week--and the two chairs below me were again vacant.
I helped myself to a slice from the uninviting joint, and then artlessly pushed the dish along one place, opposite the first of the empty chairs, and proceeded to regale myself.
It was interesting to see the perplexity which my simple manoeuvre caused.

The next fellow below me, out of reach three chairs away, had nothing for it but either to speak to me, which I calculated his vows would not allow him to do, or else ignominiously to walk up to the seat next mine and possess himself of the dish.

He did the latter, and I scored one--the only "one" I scored for some time to come.
For Draven's, seeing I was defiant, felt hurt in its pride, and drew the blockade closer around me.

It had expected at least that I should make some effort to win my way back into popularity, and it did not at all like, when it chose to boycott me, that I should boycott it.