Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 212, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 September 1912 — MRS. L. F. M’BRIDE OF LITTLE POWDER [ARTICLE]

MRS. L. F. M’BRIDE OF LITTLE POWDER

Being the Story of the Powers and Properties of a Plate of Salad. BY OLIVE ROBERS BARTON. - Craig Gillette read the telegram hastily', gave the Indian boy a coin and said tersely, “No wait.” The boy galloped away on his little pony. ig He stood looking after the Indian, the telegram flipping in the wind. He received few messages from the east. Indians, miners and cow punchers had been his companions for twelve years, in fact ever since t,he family fortune had gone to smash and he had left New York forever. He had said “forever” because Lois Fleming, the girl he loved, broke her engagement to him when the money was gone. Disgusted with life he left New York, vowing never to return and refusing to see Lois, although she had asked for a last interview. The Indian boy disappeared in the «WatanoA and Craig read the message. It was from Kirkland. - Expect crowd of us on ninth. Berger, Watson, little Grayson and some -others. Girls, too. Going with Dad on inspection tour over his road. Mother to chaperon. Do not wire. We leave tonight. Truby Kirkland.” The names were familiar. All had been intimates of his, but in twelve years were almost forgotten. Craig wondered who the girls would be — neither the younger, nor the youngest set when he left home. Twelve years! They would be decidedly new to him. They had been the infant set then. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. He knew there was gray in it. He walked slowly back to .the house, hardly knowing whether to he glad or sorry at the prospective Interruption to his rough way of living. But the hard life he had led, prospecting and mining, had been like medicine to his sick soul. The sting had changed to a dull ache and the ache was almost gone now. He had become rich, very rich. The mine, the camp, the ground were all his and the mine yielded a fortune in silver every day. As he stepped on to the rough covered platform of his house which answered for a porch he stopped and looked the place over. Then he went [Aside wandering through the four bare unattractive rooms, and Into the kitchen where Pete, the half-breed, held sway as cook. Craig looked him over, too —the soiled blue shirt and trousers, braided black hair, and dirty face and hands. His feet showed bare above low moccasins. For the first time in twelve years Craig felt a misfit in his surroundings. Why had he not noticed before how was furnished?. There was one bunk In the * bedroom, a small deal table and a few chairs in the dining room, the same in the living room, and the kitchen a heterogeneous collection of Junk. He sat down to think. It was already the sixth. Three days yet! Jennings the mine foreman could take the big wagon to Little Powder and bring home cots, tents, tables, chairs, beds and bedding. He could make two or three trips, for travel was slow and difficult over the rough road covered with thick white alkali dust. Then too he could get a half dozen extra men to scrub and clean a bit, • Craig frowned. The trouble 'was with the cook. Pete, the slovenly Indian, could never cook for a day, probably two or three, for a set of New York’s fastidious diners. Pete had never heard of caviar npr truffles, lobster a la a hundred things nor spring duckling in February—not that It was winter now. Spring had advanced almost into summer. The days were hot —the sun scorching. Furthermore, Pete knew nothing of glaces and ices, cool salads nor frozen punch. The height of his culinary achievement was a huge hunk of roasted beef or pork, perhaps with potatoes. Setting the table for a meal usually took him one minute, throwing on a red cover, a plate, cup, saucer, bone-handled knife and fork and a few spoons. No; Pete would not do. Jennings brought a wagon load of things that day. Also the Little Powder Gazette. In a corner of the second page of the paper, Craig’s eye fell upon a tiny advertisement: Mrs. L. F. Mcßride CATERING Weddings, Dinners and Banquets Drop a Card or Phone. 26 Saunder 8t:, Little Powder. The very thing! He would put the •whole thiDg into the hands of a white woman who could serve decent clean meals and serve them correctly. The next dav Jennings, on his second trip for things, carried to Little Powder a letter addressed to Mrs. McBride. It requested her to supervise In person the cooking at Diana mine for' three dayß and enclosed a generous check for supplies. Craig added an explanation of the circumstances • with a request to go ahead and do it right. fiy the ninth, everything at the house was ready. Early in the morning a motor truck with two neat negro boys arrived at the “big house" at Dian* mine. They carried baskets, hampers, boxes and kettles. 1 Craig was beginning to enjoy his own house party. After all, it was not *<K>d for a man to live like a hermit. He could scarcely wait until the guegta arrived. He was a little flftpbtful about the girls. Would a rough, almost middle aged fellow Hgfci* hifUMtt pass muster under the

keen critical eyes of eighteen? He laughed a Httle bitterly. Perhaps his money would make up a little for what he had lost In looks. One of the colored boys came up. "Well, what is it?” asked Craig. “Please, Mistah Craig, I have a message. Will you please not to come Into the kitchen at all or let anyone else In. It bother-s the missus. She will be here in a little while, suh, and doesn’t want to see nobody. She says it bothers her, sur." “Very well,” laughed Craig. “It sounds familiar. I have heard cooks talk that way before. I will remember." The boy grinned. “Thank you, suh.” • —. ; The party soon arrived. All were In excellent spirits, though hot and dusty. Just behind their machines came a little car which, in the confusion, slipped back to the kitchen unnoticed, and a woman got out. Craig needed to have no doubt about his friends. The men nearly twisted his hand off. The girls fluttered about him saying all the nice things they could think of. Oh, it was good to be among his own kind once more. Kirkland’s father and mother greeted him like a son. The trip through the mine was arranged for afternoon. -The morningwas spent inspecting the little settlement. Craig’s, all of it. It was picturesquely situated in the quaint jagged foothills of Stoney Ridge. Hungry as hunters they returned for luncheon. The dining room was exquisite. The bare board walls were covered /with boughs. Great brass bowls of long stemmed cut flowers stood around the rooms. The table was beautiful in heavy satin damask, crystal, silver and flowers. Craig was astonished. He had not expected this. The delicious luneheon was a revelation to starved lips. The boys were trained servants, indeed, serving the entire party noiselessly and well. But the dinner several hours later was wonderful. The dining room was again exquisite, being lighted only by numerous, tall, uncapped candles In crystal sticks. Everybody was merry. Craig, however, was a trifle quiet. He was thinking of Lois tonight more than he had allowed himself to do for years. Kirkland had told him that she was somewhere In the west trying to get strong. “I don’t think she is very well off," he had said. It was time for the salad. Craig glanced at his plate and half started from his chair. The only person In the world who could make a salad look like that was Lois Fleming. She used to make it for him with her own hands.

Lois was a splendid cook. Often after the theater instead of going for supper she would whisper that she had made him some salad and they would have a cozy hour by themselves in the den with a dainty littlesupper she had arranged herself. Craig drew his breath sharply. He must be dreaming, He stared at it a moment then slowly lifted his fork and cut into it and tasted. Surely Lois had made it. The dessert and coffee were endless. He left the dessert untasted but drank the black coffee. At last dinner was over. On some pretense he made for the kitchen. The others strolled outside. A boy tried to stop him but he got past in time to see someone in white dart out of the kitchen door. He gave chase. He caught up to her as she reached a clump of greasewood. “Lois,” he said softly. “Lois.” He took her hand. t She turned her head away but her breast was heaving and he knew she was crying. He reached for her other hand and drew her into his arp*s. “Lois, you are mine by right. I have tried to forget and can’t. I cj»n’t. I love you better than oil the world. Look at me, dear one. I don’t know why you are here and I don’t care. T only know I hive you and I will never, let you go. You love me? Tell me, dear.” “I love you. Craig,” said she. softly. (Copyright, 1912, by Associated Literary Press.)