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Updated: May 27, 2025
He had died of sheer exhaustion, on guard and on his own land, as befit an honest citizen who had never intruded upon the peace of other men. First let me explain how I came to be sitting in so unsavoury a place as Gorson's "fifteen cent oyster and chop house" that night. Most newspaper men the rank and file receive remuneration by the week.
A bowl of oatmeal is the least expensive item on the bill of fare at Gorson's. When I hear a man ordering oatmeal in a cheap eating-house, my heart aches for him. I had just the money and the intention to procure another bottle of beer and another box of cigarettes. The sum required to obtain these necessaries of life is exactly the price of a bowl of oatmeal and a steak at Gorson's.
I having gone to unusual lengths of good cheer in the early part of that week, had now fallen low, and was duly thankful for what I could get even at Gorson's. As my glance wandered over my table, over the beer-bottles and the oysters, beyond the crowd of ravenous and vulgar eaters and hurrying waiters, to the street door, some one opened that door from the outside and entered.
"I suppose it means that Gunderson is with you." "But how can that be?" "Were you at Mrs. Gorson's party?" "No." "Jean was there, though." "Yes." "So was Mrs. Gunderson." The man's face was a study worth the scrutiny. For a moment or two he uttered no word. The whole measurement of it was dawning on him. "The little rhinoceros-bird!" he said, softly.
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