The corner table in question was the favourite meeting place of a group
of young men of the G. Selden type, who usually took possession of it at
dinner time--having decided that Shandy's supplied more decent food
for fifty cents, or even for twenty-five, than was to be found at other
places of its order. Shandy's was "about all right," they said to each
other, and patronised it accordingly, three or four of them generally
dining together, with a friendly and adroit manipulation of "portions"
and "half portions" which enabled them to add variety to their bill of
fare.
The street outside was lighted, the tide of passers-by was less full and
more leisurely in its movements than it was during the seething, working
hours of daylight, but the electric cars swung past each other with
whiz and clang of bell almost unceasingly, their sound being swelled, at
short intervals, by the roar and rumbling rattle of the trains dashing
by on the elevated railroad. This, however, to the frequenters of
Shandy's, was the usual accompaniment of every-day New York life and was
regarded as a rather cheerful sort of thing.
This evening the four claimants of the favourite corner table had met
together earlier than usual.
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