The Wit and Humor of America Volume VIII Part 5

BY GEORGE ADE

The Fable of the Hoosier Bill of Fare and How the Women Folks Cooked Up Things for the Well-known Citizen.

Once upon a Time there was a Hired Hand who felt that he was cut out to be Somebody. Among the Agriculturists he was said to be too dosh-burned Toney because he wore gloves when he Toiled and on Sundays put on a slew of Agony, with sheet-iron Shoes pointed at the End and a neat Derby purchased in Terry Hut.

Now this Freckled Swain, whose name was Ransom, wanted to hop on the Inter-Reuben and go zipping away to see the Great World. He wanted to live in a Big Town where he would not have to walk on the Ploughed Ground and where he could get something Good to Eat. He was tired of the plain Vittles out on the Farm. They very seldom had anything on the Table except Chicken with Gravy, Salt-Rising Bread, Milk, seven or eight Vegetables, Crulls, Cookies, Apple b.u.t.ter, Whortleberry Pie, Light Biscuit, Spare Ribs, Pig's Feet, Hickory Nut Cake and such like. This thing of drawing up every A. M. to the same old Lay Out of home-made Sausage, Buckwheat Cakes, Recent Eggs, Fried Mush and Mother's Coffee was beginning to wear on him. Often he dreamt of being in the Metropolis, where he could get an Oyster Stew, Sardines, and Ice Cream in the Winter Time.

At last his Dream came out of the Box. He went up to the City to attend a Law School and found himself domiciled in a Refined Joint that was a Cross between a Salon and a Beanery. It was one of those Regular Places kept by a thin Lady who had once ridden in her Own Carriage. Her Long Suit was Home Atmosphere. She had the Hall-Ways filled with it. What is more, she came from an Old Family. Lord Cornwallis once stopped at their House to get a Drink of Water and George Washington came very near sleeping in one of the Bed-Rooms. So that made the Board about 50 cents more on the Week.

Like all high cla.s.s Boarding Houses, it was infested by some Lovely People. There was the girl who spelled it Edythe and was having her voice done over. She had a Mother to keep Cases on her and do the Press Work. Also there was the Gra.s.s Widow who remembered her Husband's name but had mislaid the Address. Also the Old Boarder who was always under the influence of Pepsin. He would come down to Breakfast wearing the Hoof-Marks of a Nightmare Seventeen Hands high and holler about the Food and tell the Young Lawyer how you can't believe anything you see in the Papers. Also there was a young man employed in a Furniture Store who knew that he could put Eddie Sothern on the Fritz if he ever got a Whack at the Drama. Unless some one got out an Injunction he would recite Poe's "Raven" while Edythe played Chills and Fever music on the Once-Piano. So the Astute Reader will understand that this was a sure enough Boarding House.

Ranse could have stood for the Intellectual Environment if there had been a little more doing in the Food Line. Instead of stacking it up on the Table and giving the word to Pitch In, the Refined Landlady had it brought on in stingy little Dabs by several Beautiful Heiresses who hated to hold Converse with Ordinary Boarders. About the time that Ranse, with the Farm Appet.i.te, began to settle down to Business he would notice all the other People rolling up the Red Napkins and trying to get them into the Rings. If he kept on eating after that, they would give him the Eye.

Cereals were strongly featured at the polite Prunery. Ransom, while employed on the Farm, had often mixed up Chop Feed and Bran for the Shoats and Yearlings, but he never thought he would come down to eating it himself. Another Strong Card was a Soup that was quite Pale and had a couple of Vermicelli swimming around in it. And every Tuesday they served Dried Currants with Clinkers in them.

Before Ranse had been against the Health Food Proposition many moons he began to hanker for the yellow-legged Plymouth Rocks, the golden b.u.t.ter and the kind of milk that comes from the Cow--take a Tin Cup and go right out to the Spring House and dip it up for yourself. Poor, eh?

Still, he figured that as soon as he got into Practice and began to connect with the Currency he could shake the Oatmeal Circuit and put up at an A1 Hotel.

Like all the other Country Boys of the Story Books, Ransom made a Ten-Strike in the City. He worked 18 hours per and in Due Time he was taken into the Firm and stopped shaving his Neck and wore Pajamas instead of a home-made Nightie.

Then he moved into a Hotel that had $40,000 worth of Paintings on the First Floor, so that no one had a right to kick even if the Push b.u.t.ton failed to work. All the Furniture was Louie Something. You take an ex-Farm-Hand and let him sit in a Gold Chair with Satin Monogram that is too Nice to lean against, and you can see at a Glance that he is sure enjoying himself. Ranse now began to go against the a la Carte Gag. The Menu was prepared by a Near-French Chef. For Fear that People might find Fault with the Food he always smothered it and covered it over with Goo.

Ranse began to find out that Goulasch meant Boiled Dinner with Perfumery in it, and also that there were seven different names for Hash. The only Thing that saved it from being Hash was the Piece of Lemon Peel tucked on the Side.

Ranse was not very strong for the French Cooking. Sometimes he would find himself Chicken-Hungry and he would order what he thought was Chicken and he would get a half section of cold storage Poulet covered with Armor Plate, a neat Ruffle around the Ankle and an Olive reposing on the Bosom. If he ordered Ice Cream he got something resembling a sample Paper Weight from the Quarries at Bedford, Indiana. And the Buckwheat Cakes! They looked like Doilies and tasted like Blotters. And the Demi-Ta.s.se is an Awful Joke to spring on the Man who wants a Cup of Coffee.

Here was the Hon. Ransom, rich and prosperous and apparently happy, but in reality he was Dead Sore. Things appeared to be coming very Soft for him and yet that which he wanted most of all he could not get. He wanted the real old simon-pure Home Cooking: He recalled the Happy Days of Bean Soup and Punkin Pie and Cottage Cheese. Time and again he would see one of those old Friends on a Score-Card in a Restaurant and he would order it and get some Fake Imitation with Smilax all around the edges. So, after a while, he became discouraged and ate all the Junk that was set before him--Dope, Lemon Peel, Floral Decoration and all.

Often he would go to Banquets that cost as much as Ten a Throw. He would dally with Fish that had Glue Dressing on top of it and Golf b.a.l.l.s lying alongside. He would tackle Siberian Slush that had Hair Tonic floating on top of it. Then the Petrified Quail and the Cheese that should have been served in 1884. Often, sitting at these Magnificent Spreads, he thought to himself that he would willingly trade all the Tiffany Water on the Table for one Goblet of real b.u.t.termilk.

After Ransom had insulted his Digestive Apparatus for many years with the horrible Concoctions of the Gents' Cafe he resolved to go back to his native Town and visit some of his Blood Relations so that he could get at least one more Crack at real American Grub.

He wrote that he was coming and his Kin became greatly Agitated.

"Our celebrated Cousin, the Hon. Ransom Peabody, is coming to visit us,"

they said. "We must make unusual Preparations to receive the big Battleship. He is Rich and High-Toned and has been living at one of those $6-a-Day Palaces and we must cut a big Melon when he shows up. He is accustomed to City Food and we must not insult him with ordinary Provender."

So they began framing up Dishes out of a Subscription Cook Book purchased the year before from a Lady with Gold Gla.s.ses and a grand flow of Language.

The Hon. Ransom arrived late one Evening and all Night he lay awake in the Spare Bed-Room, gloating over the prospect of a Home Breakfast.

"Me for the Sausage Cakes with the good old Sage rubbed into them," said Ranse. "I will certainly show the Buckwheats how to take a Joke and the way I'll dip into that Coffee will be a Caution. And mebbe I won't go to those Eggs direct from the Hen!"

He arose early, but had to wait two Hours. As he was from the City, the Family had postponed Breakfast until 9 o'clock. When he faced up to the Table he was Wolfish. First they gave him Grape Fruit au Kirsch. Then the Finger Bowl with the cute Rose Leaves floating idly on the dimpled Surface. Then a dainty Lamb Chop with an ornamental Fence around it and a sweet little cup of Cocoa in the China that Uncle Henry bought at the World's Fair. Then French Toast and Eggs a la Gazaza, with Christmas Trees stuck into them.

The Hon. Ransom arose and howled like a Siberian Wolf, which was Impolite of him. Before he went Home he did manage to get a little real Eating, but every one said he was very Eccentric to prefer such a simple dish as Fried Chicken.

Moral--Hurry up and get it before the Chef and the Cook-Book have us entirely Civilized.

NOTHING TO WEAR

BY WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER

Miss Flora M'Flimsey, of Madison Square, Has made three separate journeys to Paris, And her father a.s.sures me, each time she was there, That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris (Not the lady whose name is so famous in history, But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery), Spent six consecutive weeks, without stopping, In one continuous round of shopping-- Shopping alone, and shopping together, At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather, For all manner of things that a woman can put On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot, Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist, Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced, Or tied on with a string, or st.i.tched on with a bow In front or behind, above or below; For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars and shawls; Dresses for breakfast, and dinners, and b.a.l.l.s; Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in; Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in; Dresses in which to do nothing at all; Dresses for winter, spring, summer and fall; All of them different in color and shape, Silk, muslin and lace, velvet, satin and c.r.a.pe, Brocade and broadcloth, and other material, Quite as expensive and much more ethereal; In short, for all things that could ever be thought of, Or milliner, _modiste_ or tradesman be bought of, From ten-thousand-franc robes to twenty-sous frills; In all quarters of Paris, and to every store, While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded and swore, They footed the streets, and he footed the bills!

The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer _Arago_, Formed, M'Flimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo, Not to mention a quant.i.ty kept from the rest, Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest, Which did not appear on the ship's manifest, But for which the ladies themselves manifested Such particular interest, that they invested Their own proper persons in layers and rows Of muslin, embroideries, worked underclothes, Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those; Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circa.s.sian beauties, Gave _good-by_ to the ship, and _go by_ to the duties.

Her relations at home all marveled, no doubt, Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout For an actual belle and a possible bride; But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out, And the truth came to light, and the dry-goods besides, Which, in spite of Collector and Custom-House sentry, Had entered the port without any entry.

And yet, though scarce three months have pa.s.sed since the day This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway, This same Miss M'Flimsey of Madison Square, The last time we met was in utter despair, Because she had nothing whatever to wear!

Nothing to wear! Now, as this is a true ditty, I do not a.s.sert--this, you know, is between us That she's in a state of absolute nudity, Like Powers's Greek Slave or the Medici Venus; But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare, When at the same moment she had on a dress Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less, And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess, That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!

I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers, I had just been selected as he who should throw all The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections, Of those fossil remains which she called her "affections,"

And that rather decayed but well-known work of art Which Miss Flora persisted in styling her "heart."

So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted, Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove, But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted, Beneath the gas-fixtures, we whispered our love.

Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs, Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes, Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions, It was one of the quietest business transactions, With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any, And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany.

On her virginal lips, while I printed a kiss, She exclaims, as a sort of parenthesis, And by way of putting me quite at my ease, "You know I'm to polka as much as I please, And flirt when I like--now, stop, don't you speak-- And you must not come here more than twice in the week, Or talk to me either at party or ball, But always be ready to come when I call; So don't prose to me about duty and stuff, If we don't break this off, there will be time enough For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be That, as long as I choose, I am perfectly free-- For this is a kind of engagement, you see, Which is binding on you, but not binding on me."

Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey and gained her, With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her, I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder At least in the property, and the best right To appear as its escort by day and by night; And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball-- Their cards had been out a fortnight or so, And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe-- I considered it only my duty to call, And see if Miss Flora intended to go.

I found her--as ladies are apt to be found, When the time intervening between the first sound Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter Than usual--I found; I won't say--I caught her, Intent on the pier-gla.s.s, undoubtedly meaning To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.

She turned as I entered--"Why, Harry, you sinner, I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner!"

"So I did," I replied; "the dinner is swallowed, And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more, So, being relieved from that duty, I followed Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door; And now will your ladyship so condescend As just to inform me if you intend Your beauty, and graces, and presence to lend (All of which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow) To the Stuckups' whose party, you know, is to-morrow?"

The fair Flora looked up, with a pitiful air, And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, _mon cher_, I should like above all things to go with you there, But really and truly--I've nothing to wear."

"Nothing to wear! Go just as you are; Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, I engage, the most bright and particular star On the Stuckup horizon--" I stopped, for her eye, Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery, Opened on me at once a most terrible battery Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply, But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose (That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say, "How absurd that any sane man should suppose That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes, No matter how fine, that she wears every day!"

So I ventured again: "Wear your crimson brocade;"

(Second turn up of nose)--"That's too dark by a shade."

"Your blue silk"--"That's too heavy." "Your pink"--"That's too light."

"Wear tulle over satin"--"I can't endure white."

"Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch"-- "I haven't a thread of point-lace to match."

"Your brown _moire antique_"--"Yes, and look like a Quaker."

"The pearl-colored"--"I would, but that plaguy dressmaker Has had it a week." "Then that exquisite lilac, In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock;"

(Here the nose took again the same elevation)-- "I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation."

"Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it As more _comme il faut_"--"Yes, but, dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it, And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen."

"Then that splendid purple, the sweet Mazarine; That superb _point d'aiguille_, that imperial green, That zephyr-like tarletan, that rich _grenadine_"-- "Not one of all which is fit to be seen,"

Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.

"Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed Opposition, "that gorgeous _toilette_ which you sported In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation, When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation, And by all the grand court were so very much courted."

The end of the nose was portentously tipped up And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation, As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation, "I have worn it three times, at the least calculation, And that and most of my dresses are ripped up!"

Here I _ripped out_ something, perhaps rather rash, Quite innocent, though; but to use an expression More striking than cla.s.sic, it "settled my hash,"

And proved very soon the last act of our session.

"Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling Doesn't fall down and crush you--you men have no feeling; You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures, Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers, Your silly pretense--why, what a mere guess it is!

Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities?

I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear, And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care, But you do not believe me" (here the nose went still higher).

"I suppose, if you dared, you would call me a liar.

Our engagement is ended, sir--yes, on the spot; You're a brute, and a monster, and--I don't know what."

I mildly suggested the words Hottentot, Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief, As gentle expletives which might give relief; But this only proved as a spark to the powder, And the storm I had raised came faster and louder; It blew and it rained, thundered, lightened and hailed Interjections, verbs, p.r.o.nouns, till language quite failed To express the abusive, and then its arrears Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears, And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs- Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.