bogle

If you do not know Bogle's Chop House and Family Restaurant it is your loss.

Bogle's is situated in that highway of bourgeoisie , that boulevard of Brown-Jones-and-Robinson, Eighth Avenue.

At the cashier's desk sits Bogle, cold, sordid, slow, smouldering, and takes your money.

The needs of Bogle's customers were supplied by two waitresses and a Voice.

With all this feasting and flirting and merry exchange of wit Bogle's came mighty near being a salon, with Aileen for its Madame Recamier.

In steaming, chattering, cabbage-scented Bogle's there was almost a heart tragedy.

Among the customers at Bogle's was a young man named Seeders, who worked in a laundry office.

When trade was slack she went and stood at Bogle's desk.

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half-past seven on the morning following the day of his arrival, and from his clean little white bed watched the movements of Bogle (the generic name by which the successive shoeblacks of the School-house were known), as he marched round from bed to bed, collecting the dirty shoes and boots, and depositing clean ones in their places.

The noise of the room- door closing behind Bogle, as he made his exit with the shoebasket under his arm, roused him thoroughly, and he sat up in bed and looked round the room.