Sunday mornin’ we went in to breakfast early and I ast the head waiter if we could set at another table where they wasn’t no convalescent and his mate. At the same time I give the said head waiter somethin’ that spoke louder than words. We was showed to a place way acrost the room from where we’d been the night before. It was a table for six, but the other four didn’t come into our life till that night at supper.
Meanw’ile we went sight-seein’. We visited Fort Marion, that’d be a great protection against the Germans, provided they fought with paper wads. We seen the city gate and the cathedral and the slave market, and then we took the boat over to Anastasia Island, that the ocean’s on the other side of it. This trip made me homesick, because the people that was along with us on the boat looked just like the ones we’d often went with to Michigan City on the Fourth o’ July. The boat landed on the bay side o’ the island and from there we was drug over to the ocean side on a horse car, the horse walkin’ to one side o’ the car instead of in front, so’s he wouldn’t get ran over.
We stuck on the beach till dinnertime and then took the chariot back to the pavilion on the bay side, where a whole family served the meal and their pigs put on a cabaret. It was the best meal I had in dear old Dixie—fresh oysters and chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy and fish and pie. And they charged two bits a plate.
“Goodness gracious!” says the Missus, when I told her the price. “This is certainly reasonable. I wonder how it happens.”
“Well,” I says, “the family was probably washed up here by the tide and don’t know they’re in Florida.”
When we got back to the hotel they was only just time to clean up and go down to supper. We hadn’t no sooner got seated when our table companions breezed in. It was a man about forty-five, that looked like he’d made his money in express and general haulin’, and he had his wife