Mrs. Hosen how he could sit there year after year.
Haze's mother had never talked much on the train; she mostly listened. She was a Jackson.
After a while Mrs. Hosen said she was hungry and asked him if he wanted to go into the diner. He did.
The dining our was full and people were waiting to get in it. Haze and Mrs. Hosen stood in line for a half hour, rocking in the narrow passageway and every few minutes flattening themselves against the side to let a trickle of people through. Mrs. Hosen began talking to the lady on the side of her. Haze stared stupidly at the wall. He would never have had the courage to come to the diner by himself; it was fine he had met Mrs. Hosen. If she hadn't been talking, he would have told her intelligently that he had gone there the last time and that the porter was not from there but that he looked near enough like a gulch nigger to be one, near enough like old Cash to be his child. He'd tell her while they were eating. He couldn't see inside the diner from where he was; he wondered what it would be like in there. Like a restaurant, he reckoned. He thought of the berth. By the time they got through eating, the berth would probably be made up and he could get in it. What would his ma say at he seen him having a berth in a train! He bet she never reckoned that would happen. As they got nearer the entrance to the diner he could see
