The Mornin'-Glory Girl

								

much better than I would. He brought Miss Gordon to ‘The Golden West’
where I had recovered sufficiently to speak to her.”
“To think you let that good-fer-nothin’ Ken Judson, meet our
schoolmarm,” wailed Mrs. Wopp. “Why he is the most ungodly feller in
town. His folks in England send him a lot of money so’s he will keep
away from them, an’ he spends it all in drinkin’ an’ gamblin’.”
“Never mind, Mrs. Wopp,” said Nell pleasantly, “he is a perfect
gentleman in manners and he wasn’t drinking or gambling when I saw
him. May I have a little more of your beautifully cooked meat?”
Mr. Wopp looked up in approval and brandished a formidable looking
piece of fat meat, precariously poised on one prong of his fork and in
his efforts to lose none of its dripping flavor, described an
uncertain spiral in the air.
His fork having safely landed its cargo, Mr. Wopp laid it carefully
down and remarking, “I must make a note of that,” he began to inscribe
Nell’s diplomatic request. As he leaned over the paper, his head shone
like a round china lamp-shade, its shining expanse relieved here and
there, by long wisps of grey hair.
At this point Moses looked up from his plate and complained, “Mar,
this piece o’ meat I got, is so tough it hurts yer eyes to look at
it.”
“Moses, yer manners is shockin’, did you expect to be sarved the best
piece when company’s here?”
By this time, Nell was struggling with a dish of hard underdone
crab-apples. She chased a refractory apple round and round in its
small dish. Finally, with a feeling of triumph, she brought the apple
to a halt. Alas! it did not yield to the prodding of the spoon, but
bounced up and with an accuracy worthy of a better cause, landed on
the eye of Howard Eliot. Betty, all this time feasting her eyes on the
new-comer, and enjoying the unusual opulence of the table, burst into
hearty laughter.
“Biff on the eye!” she cried.
“Gee! Did you hear it splash?” screamed Moses.
The cheerful clatter of knives and forks against Mrs. Wopp’s best blue
willow plates was a gentle accompaniment to the ripple of laughing
apology that Nell offered to the victim. Any constraint that might
have been felt hitherto among the circle, decreased perceptibly as the
rancher wiped the sweet syrupy drops from his face.
By the time the deep apple-pie was brought in, raised in the centre by
a cup, he had become facetious, and turning a mirthful countenance to
Nell, he whispered audibly, “Isn’t it just like Fuji Yama?” Before
Nell could answer, Betty broke in.
“What is Fuji Mamas?”
“A new kind of hen,” retorted Moses.
“Oh Miss Gordon,” cried Betty suddenly roused to fresh interest, “you
must see my pet turkey after supper. He has only one eye an’ he walks
corner ways an’ his name is Job an’ I jist love him.” Betty’s breath
was all used up and she sat back exhausted.