RICHES
Catherine had a reservation at the Tuscany Cafe as usual, now that the summer had lifted for a comfortable fall season.  New clothes, new arts and entertainment and a new menu from the chef.

  When she arrived in her wispy blue suit, hat with scarf and gloves, her table was not there.  She then proceeded to march up to the concierge desk to demand of LeMont Garcon where her favorite table was--he apologized.
  'Oh Miss Catherine, we are so sorry but your table has been chipped at the edge, we had to replace it,' Garcon said, with such regret in his voice.
  Catherine was not used to such disappointment.  She thrust her fists on her hips in protest.  Several eyes in the cafe waited to see what she would demand.

  'Well, I...' she heaved, looking around in exasperation.

  Just then an older man, a bit bent, silver haired with thin-veined hands stood from his table, coming to her.
  'Young lady, you can have my table.  I have to be going, anyway,' he said softly.
  A certain pause fell between these two, as others watched.
  Catherine thought he looked pathetic, in his old age.  'I wouldn't take your table, sir, though the gesture is appreciated.'

  He did not answer her, he simply walked out of the cafe, to the applause of a few.
  Garcon then said, 'His table is vacant, Miss Catherine.'

  At this time Ralston strode into the Tuscany to join Catherine.  She didn't want to have him see her without a table, it would not be the thing to do here at the Tuscany.  So she sat at the old man's table.  Ralston did not see her at her usual spot--he stopped.  He looked around, finally spying her out in the corner where she hid beneath her hat.

  Coming to her, he quipped, 'Have you been bad?  Are you being punished here in this corner?  He joked mischievously.
  'Now you just sit down,' she told him with some hurt indignation.  She took her hat off.  'My table has a chip on it, so I was given this one.'
  Ralston sat.  He gazed around at the close walls, the new views, the guests arrayed around them.  'It's different, I'll say that,' he said still in a sarcastic mode.
  'I was given this table by an old man who was leaving.'
  Ralston's eyes perked up.  'You mean Hugh Fortress, the silver haired old man with the soft voice?'
  'How did you know?  Do you know him?'
  'I know who he is.  Gave a few million to the symphony last year when they couldn't  make payroll.  Blessed are the merciful, as they say.'
  'Where did you get that?'
  'Oh I don't know, I heard it somewhere, that's all.'

  Catherine said, 'It was a simple thing.  He was leaving, anyway.'  She wondered when a waiter would arrive.
  'Of course he was.  That's the way he is, the soul of generosity.'
  'Ralston, what makes people like him that way?'

  'In his case, he lost a son in the war.  What he lost resculptured his own soul.  It was what he gave up that made him the may he is.'
  'I see.  I've never heard anything like that,' she said looking down at herself.
  'I once attended a talk he gave about life and values.  He told about how his only son ran away from him, joined the military but was lost in battle.  They never said goodbye so everyone he sees is to him a son.  He has spent his life thanking everyone he meets.'
  'That's amazing.'
  'And so it is.  Have you ordered, yet?'
  'I don't want to, till I've understood what you just said.'

  'Then I will,' Ralston said, and then waived for Garcon, who finally came.