"Yes, sir?"

"He won't eat you," and Dale laughed with intense enjoyment of his
humor. "He's not a bad chap really, though his neighbors say he's a
bit of a Tartar. I give you my word he'll receive you, decently, and
stand you dinner into the bargain. I know he will--and for why?
Because I am that gentleman myself."

He could not resist the pleasure of rounding off his sentence with the
grand word "Gentleman," and he was gratified by the waiter's meekly
obsequious reception of the word.

"Thank you, sir. Much obliged, sir."

When leaving, he gave the waiter a generous tip.

To-day his walk through the gaily-crowded streets was sweet to him as
a lazy truant ramble in the woods during church-time. Everything that
he looked at delighted him--the richness of shop-windows, showing all
the expensive useless goods that no sensible person ever wants; the
liveries worn by pampered servants standing at carriage wheels; the
glossy coats of mettlesome, prancing horses; the extravagant dresses
of fine ladies mincingly walking on the common public pavement; the
stolid grandeur of huge policemen, and the infinite audacity of small
newspaper boys; the life, the color, the noise. It seemed as if the
busy city and the pleasure-loving West-end alike unfolded themselves
as a panorama especially arranged for one's amusement; and his
satisfaction was so great that it mutely expressed itself in words
which he would have been quite willing to shout aloud. Such as:
"Bravo, London! You aren't a bad little place when one gets to know
you. There's more in you than meets the eye, first view."

And because he was so happy himself, he could sympathize with the
happiness of everybody else. He was glad that the rich people were so
rich and the poor people so contented; he admired a young swell for
buying flowers from a woman with a shawl over her head; he mused on
all the honest, well-paid toil that had gone to the raising of the
grapes and peaches at a Piccadilly fruiterer's. "Live, and let
live"--that'

William Babington Maxwell (18661938) was a British novelist. He was a son of novelist Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Though nearly 50 years old at the outbreak of the First World War, he was accepted as a lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers and served in France until 1917.

Cyrus Townsend Brady (December 20, 1861 January 24, 1920) was a journalist, historian and adventure writer. His most well-known work is Indian Fights and Fighters. He was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, and graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1883. He was also a deacon in the Episcopal church. His first wife was Clarissa Guthrie, who died in 1890. His second wife was Mary Barrett.

Rebecca Sophia Clarke (1833-1906), also known as Sophie May, was an American author of childrens fiction. Using her nieces and nephews as inspiration, she wrote realistic stories about children. She wrote 45 books between 1860 and 1903. The most popular being the Little Prudy books. She lived most of her life in her native town of Norridgewock, Maine, where she lived out her life with her sister, who was also a successful author.