The Founders' Plot

“Let me buy you a nice big steak. Believe it or not, they have very good ones here—porterhouse, strips, rib eyes. I’ve had them.”

“No, no,” the man said, waving his hand. “I don’t want to impose or take charity.” He stopped. “Do you think I need charity?”

“No, but you brought back pleasant memories, and I’d like to pay you back.”

The man tilted his head. “Well, to be honest, I haven’t had a steak in a while.”

“Great. Then you’ll let me buy it for you?”

The man thought it over. “That’s truly kind of you. Okay, I’ll have it.”

Mike called over to the cook. “Danny, give this man a steak.” He looked at the old-timer. “What kind?”

The man pursed his lips. “The porterhouse. That’s the biggest.” He paused. “Don’t know if I can finish it, though.”

“That’s why God created doggie bags,” Mike said and turned to the cook. “A Porterhouse, Dan. A big one.”

Sure thing,” Dan said and went into the refrigerator next to the grill.

Mike discreetly reached into his pocket and took out two fifties. He slipped them to the cook. “That’s for his meal.” he said softly. “Take a tip for yourself and keep the rest for another few dinners for him.”

Mike held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you.”

The man shook Mike’s hand. “Thanks very much. You’re a good man. What’s your name?”

“Mike. Yours?”

“Joe.”

Mike laughed. “How do you like that? Joe was my father’s name.”