The next, he is down the block in pursuit of a receding trolley.
To any one fresh from the Continent, where the entire machinery of trade comes to a standstill from eleven to one o'clock, that dejeuner may be taken in somnolent tranquillity, the nervous tension pervading a restaurant here is prodigious, and what is worse--catching! During recent visits to the business centres of our city, I find that the idea of eating is repugnant. It seems to be wrong to waste time on anything so unproductive. Last week a friend offered me a "luncheon tablet" from a box on his desk. "It's as good as a meal," he said, "and so much more expeditious!"
The proprietor of one down-town restaurant has the stock quotations exhibited on a black-board at the end of his room; in this way his patrons can keep in touch with the "Street" as they hurriedly stoke up.
A parlor car, toward a journey's end, is another excellent place to observe our native ways. Coming from Washington the other day my fellow-passengers began to show signs of restlessness near Newark. Books and papers were thrown aside; a general "uprising, unveiling" followed, accompanied by our objectionable custom of having our clothes brushed in each other's faces.
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