Ruggles of Red Gap

by Harry Leon Wilson

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  With a curious friendly glow upon me I set about helping Cousin Egbertin the preparation of our evening meal, a work from which, owing tothe number and apparent difficulty of my suggestions, he presentlywithdrew, leaving me in entire charge. It is quite true that I havepronounced views as to the preparation and serving of food, and I daresay I embarrassed the worthy fellow without at all meaning to do so,for too many of his culinary efforts betray the fumbling touch of theamateur. And as I worked over the open fire, doing the trout to aturn, stirring the beans, and perfecting the stew with deft touches ofseasoning, I worded to myself for the first time a most severeindictment against the North American cookery, based upon myobservations across the continent and my experience as a diner-out inRed Gap.

  I saw that it would never do with us, and that it ought, as a matterof fact, to be uplifted. Even then, while our guest chattered gossipof the town over her brown paper cigarettes, I felt the stirring of animpulse to teach Americans how to do themselves better at table. Forthe moment, of course, I was hampered by lack of equipment (there wasnot even a fish slice in the establishment), but even so I brewedproper tea and was able to impart to the simple viands a touch ofdistinction which they had lacked under Cousin Egbert'sall-too-careless manipulation.

  As I served the repast Cousin Egbert produced a bottle of the brownAmerican whiskey at which we pegged a bit before sitting to table.

  "Three rousing cheers!" said he, and the Mixer responded with "Happydays!"

  As on that former occasion, the draught of spirits flooded my beingwith a vast consciousness of personal worth and of good feeling towardmy companions. With a true insight I suddenly perceived that one mightbelong to the great lower middle-class in America and still matter inthe truest, correctest sense of the term.

  As we fell hungrily to the food, the Mixer did not fail to praise mycooking of the trout, and she and Cousin Egbert were presentlylamenting the difficulty of obtaining a well-cooked meal in Red Gap.At this I boldly spoke up, declaring that American cookery lackedconstructive imagination, making only the barest use of itsmagnificent opportunities, following certain beaten andall-too-familiar roads with a slavish stupidity.

  "We nearly had a good restaurant," said the Mixer. "A Frenchman cameand showed us a little flash of form, but he only lasted a monthbecause he got homesick. He had half the people in town going therefor dinner, too, to get away from their Chinamen--and after I spent alot of money fixing the place up for him, too."

  I recalled the establishment, on the main street, though I had notknown that our guest was its owner. Vacant it was now, and lookingquite as if the bailiffs had been in.

  "He couldn't cook ham and eggs proper," suggested Cousin Egbert. "Itried him three times, and every time he done something French to 'emthat nobody had ought to do to ham and eggs."

  Hereupon I ventured to assert that a too-intense nationalism wouldprove the ruin of any chef outside his own country; there must be acertain breadth of treatment, a blending of the best features ofdifferent schools. One must know English and French methods and yet bea slave to neither; one must even know American cookery and beprepared to adapt its half-dozen or so undoubted excellencies. Fromthis I ventured further into a general criticism of the dinners I hadeaten at Red Gap's smartest houses. Too profuse they were, I said, andtoo little satisfying in any one feature; too many courses,constructed, as I had observed, after photographs printed in the backpages of women's magazines; doubtless they possessed a certainartistic value as sights for the eye, but considered as food they weredevoid of any inner meaning.

  "Bill's right," said Cousin Egbert warmly. "Mrs. Effie, she gets upabout nine of them pictures, with nuts and grated eggs and scrambledtomatoes all over 'em, and nobody knowing what's what, and even whenyou strike one that tastes good they's only a dab of it and youmustn't ask for any more. When I go out to dinner, what I want is tohave 'em say, 'Pass up your plate, Mr. Floud, for another piece of thesteak and some potatoes, and have some more squash and help yourselfto the quince jelly.' That's how it had ought to be, but I keep eatin'these here little plates of cut-up things and waiting for the realstuff, and first thing I know I get a spoonful of coffee in somethinglike you put eye medicine into, and I know it's all over. Last time Iwas out I hid up a dish of these here salted almuns under a fern andet the whole lot from time to time, kind of absent like. It helpedsome, but it wasn't dinner."

  "Same here," put in the Mixer, saturating half a slice of bread in thesauce of the stew. "I can't afford to act otherwise than like I am alady at one of them dinners, but the minute I'm home I beat it for theicebox. I suppose it's all right to be socially elegant, but we hadn'tought to let it contaminate our food none. And even at that New Yorkhotel this summer you had to make trouble to get fed proper. I wantedstrawberry shortcake, and what do you reckon they dealt me? A thinglooking like a marble palace--sponge cake and whipped cream with a fewred spots in between. Well, long as we're friends here together, I maysay that I raised hell until I had the chef himself up and told himexactly what to do; biscuit dough baked and prized apart and buttered,strawberries with sugar on 'em in between and on top, and plenty ofregular cream. Well, after three days' trying he finally managed toget simple--he just couldn't believe I meant it at first, and keptbuilding on the whipped cream--and the thing cost eight dollars, butyou can bet he had me, even then; the bonehead smarty had sweetenedthe cream and grated nutmeg into it. I give up.

  "And if you can't get right food in New York, how can you expect tohere? And Jackson, the idiot, has just fired the only real cook in RedGap. Yes, sir; he's let the coons go. It come out that Waterman hadsneaked out that suit of his golf clothes that Kate Kenner wore in theminstrel show, so he fired them both, and now I got to support 'em,because, as long as we're friends here, I don't mind telling you Iegged the coon on to do it."

  I saw that she was referring to the black and his wife whom I had metat the New York camp, though it seemed quaint to me that they shouldbe called "coons," which is, I take it, a diminutive for "raccoon," aspecies of ground game to be found in America.

  Truth to tell, I enjoyed myself immensely at this simple butsatisfying meal, feeling myself one with these homely people, and Iwas sorry when we had finished.

  "That was some little dinner itself," said the Mixer as she rolled acigarette; "and now you boys set still while I do up the dishes." Norwould she allow either of us to assist her in this work. When she haddone, Cousin Egbert proceeded to mix hot toddies from the whiskey, andwe gathered about the table before the open fire.

  "Now we'll have a nice home evening," said the Mixer, and to my greatembarrassment she began at once to speak to myself.

  "A strong man like him has got no business becoming a socialbutterfly," she remarked to Cousin Egbert.

  "Oh, Bill's all right," insisted the latter, as he had done so manytimes before.

  "He's all right so far, but let him go on for a year or so and hewon't be a darned bit better than what Jackson is, mark my words. Justa social butterfly, wearing funny clothes and attending afternoonaffairs."

  "Well, I don't say you ain't right," said Cousin Egbert thoughtfully;"that's one reason I got him out here where everything is nice. Whatwith speaking pieces like an actor, I was afraid they'd have himmaking more kinds of a fool of himself than what Jackson does, himbeing a foreigner, and his mind kind o' running on what clothes a manhad ought to wear."

  Hereupon, so flushed was I with the good feeling of the occasion, Itold them straight that I had resolved to quit being Colonel Rugglesof the British army and associate of the nobility; that I haddetermined to forget all class distinctions and to become one ofthemselves, plain, simple, and unpretentious. It is true that I hadconsumed two of the hot grogs, but my mind was clear enough, and bothmy companions applauded this resolution.

  "If he can just get his mind off clothes for a bit he might amount tosomething," said Cousin Egbert, and it will scarcely be credited, butat the moment I felt actually grateful to
him for this admission.

  "We'll think about his case," said the Mixer, taking her own secondtoddy, whereupon the two fell to talking of other things, chiefly oftheir cattle plantations and the price of beef-stock, which thenseemed to be six and one half, though what this meant I had no notion.Also I gathered that the Mixer at her own cattle-farm had beenwatching her calves marked with her monogram, though I would neverhave credited her with so much sentiment.

  When the retiring hour came, Cousin Egbert and I prepared to take ourblankets outside to sleep, but the Mixer would have none of this.

  "The last time I slept in here," she remarked, "mice was crawling overme all night, so you keep your shack and I'll bed down outside. Iain't afraid of mice, understand, but I don't like to feel their feeton my face."

  And to my great dismay, though Cousin Egbert took it calmly enough,she took a roll of blankets and made a crude pallet on the groundoutside, under a spreading pine tree. I take it she was that sort. Theleast I could do was to secure two tins of milk from our larder andplace them near her cot, in case of some lurking high-behind, though Isaid nothing of this, not wishing to alarm her needlessly.

  Inside the hut Cousin Egbert and I partook of a final toddy beforeretiring. He was unusually thoughtful and I had difficulty inpersuading him to any conversation. Thus having noted a bearskinbefore my bed, I asked him if he had killed the animal.

  "No," said he shortly, "I wouldn't lie for a bear as small as that."As he was again silent, I made no further approaches to him.

  From my first sleep I was awakened by a long, booming yell from ourguest outside. Cousin Egbert and I reached the door at the same time.

  "I've got it!" bellowed the Mixer, and we went out to her in the chillnight. She sat up with the blankets muffled about her.

  "We start Bill in that restaurant," she began. "It come to me in aflash. I judge he's got the right ideas, and Waterman and his wife cancook for him."

  "Bully!" exclaimed Cousin Egbert. "I was thinking he ought to have agents' furnishing store, on account of his mind running to dress, butyou got the best idea."

  "I'll stake him to the rent," she put in.

  "And I'll stake him to the rest," exclaimed Cousin Egbert delightedly,and, strange as it may seem, I suddenly saw myself a licensedvictualler.

  "I'll call it the 'United States Grill,'" I said suddenly, as if byinspiration.

  "Three rousing cheers for the U.S. Grill!" shouted Cousin Egbert tothe surrounding hills, and repairing to the hut he brought out hottoddies with which we drank success to the new enterprise. For ahalf-hour, I dare say, we discussed details there in the cold night,not seeing that it was quite preposterously bizarre. Returning to thehut at last, Cousin Egbert declared himself so chilled that he musthave another toddy before retiring, and, although I was alreadyfeeling myself the equal of any American, I consented to join him.

  Just before retiring again my attention centred a second time upon thebearskin before my bed and, forgetting that I had already inquiredabout it, I demanded of him if he had killed the animal. "Sure," saidhe; "killed it with one shot just as it was going to claw me. It wasan awful big one."

  Morning found the three of us engrossed with the new plan, and by thetime our guest rode away after luncheon the thing was well forward andI had the Mixer's order upon her estate agent at Red Gap for admissionto the vacant premises. During the remainder of the day, between gamesof cribbage, Cousin Egbert and I discussed the venture. And it was nowthat I began to foresee a certain difficulty.

  How, I asked myself, would the going into trade of Colonel MarmadukeRuggles be regarded by those who had been his social sponsors in RedGap? I mean to say, would not Mrs. Effie and the Belknap-Jacksons feelthat I had played them false? Had I not given them the right tobelieve that I should continue, during my stay in their town, to beone whom their county families would consider rather a personage? Itwas idle, indeed, for me to deny that my personality as well as myassumed origin and social position abroad had conferred a sort ofprestige upon my sponsors; that on my account, in short, the NorthSide set had been newly armed in its battle with the Bohemian set. Andthey relied upon my continued influence. How, then, could I face themwith the declaration that I meant to become a tradesman? Should I bedoing a caddish thing, I wondered?

  Putting the difficulty to Cousin Egbert, he dismissed it impatientlyby saying: "Oh, shucks!" In truth I do not believe he comprehended itin the least. But then it was that I fell upon my inspiration. I mighttake Colonel Marmaduke Ruggles from the North Side set, but I wouldgive them another and bigger notable in his place. This should be noneother than the Honourable George, whom I would now summon. A fortnightbefore I had received a rather snarky letter from him demanding toknow how long I meant to remain in North America and disclosing thathe was in a wretched state for want of some one to look after him. Andhe had even hinted that in the event of my continued absence he mighthimself come out to America and fetch me back. His quarter'sallowance, would, I knew, be due in a fortnight, and my letter wouldreach him, therefore, before some adventurer had sold him a system forbeating the French games of chance. And my letter would be compelling.I would make it a summons he could not resist. Thus, when I met thereproachful gaze of the C. Belknap-Jacksons and of Mrs. Effie, Ishould be able to tell them: "I go from you, but I leave you a betterman in my place." With the Honourable George Augustus Vane-Basingwell,next Earl of Brinstead, as their house guest, I made no doubt that theNorth Side set would at once prevail as it never had before, theBohemian set losing at once such of its members as really mattered,who would of course be sensible of the tremendous social importance ofthe Honourable George.

  Yet there came moments in which I would again find myself in no end ofa funk, foreseeing difficulties of an insurmountable character. Atsuch times Cousin Egbert strove to cheer me with all sorts ofassurances, and to divert my mind he took me upon excursions of theroughest sort into the surrounding jungle, in search either of fish orground game. After three days of this my park-suit became almost atotal ruin, particularly as to the trousers, so that I was glad toborrow a pair of overalls such as Cousin Egbert wore. They were a tidyfit, but, having resolved not to resist America any longer, I donnedthem without even removing the advertising placard.

  With my ever-lengthening stubble of beard it will be understood that Inow appeared as one of their hearty Western Americans of the roughesttype, which was almost quite a little odd, considering my formerprinciples. Cousin Egbert, I need hardly say, was immensely pleasedwith my changed appearance, and remarked that I was "sure a livewire." He also heartened me in the matter of the possible disapprovalof C. Belknap-Jackson, which he had divined was the essential rabbitin my moodiness.

  "I admit the guy uses beautiful language," he conceded, "and probablyhe's top-notched in education, but jest the same he ain't the wholeseven pillars of the house of wisdom, not by a long shot. If he getsfancy with you, sock him again. You done it once." So far was theworthy fellow from divining the intimate niceties involved in mygiving up a social career for trade. Nor could he properly estimatethe importance of my plan to summon the Honourable George to Red Gap,merely remarking that the "Judge" was all right and a good mixer andthat the boys would give him a swell time.

  Our return journey to Red Gap was made in company with the IndianTuttle, and the two cow-persons, Hank and Buck, all of whom professedthemselves glad to meet me again, and they, too, were wildlyenthusiastic at hearing from Cousin Egbert of my proposed businessventure. Needless to say they were of a class that would bother itselflittle with any question of social propriety involved in my enteringtrade, and they were loud in their promises of future patronage. Atthis I again felt some misgiving, for I meant the United States Grillto possess an atmosphere of quiet refinement calculated to appeal toparticular people that really mattered; and yet it was plain that,keeping a public house, I must be prepared to entertain agriculturallabourers and members of the lower or working classes. For a time Idebated having an ordinary for such as these,
where they could be shutaway from my selecter patrons, but eventually decided upon a tariffthat would be prohibitive to all but desirable people. The rougher orBohemian element, being required to spring an extra shilling, woulddoubtless seek other places.

  For two days we again filed through mountain gorges of a most awkwardcharacter, reaching Red Gap at dusk. For this I was rather grateful,not only because of my beard and the overalls, but on account of a hatof the most shocking description which Cousin Egbert had pressed uponme when my own deer-stalker was lost in a glen. I was willing toroughen it in all good-fellowship with these worthy Americans, but Iknew that to those who had remarked my careful taste in dress mypresent appearance would seem almost a little singular. I would ratherI did not shock them to this extent.

  Yet when our animals had been left in their corral, or rude enclosure,I found it would be ungracious to decline the hospitality of my newfriends who wished to drink to the success of the U.S. Grill, and so Iaccompanied them to several public houses, though with the shockinghat pulled well down over my face. Also, as the dinner hour passed, Iconsented to dine with them at the establishment of a Chinese, wherewe sat on high stools at a counter and were served ham and eggs andsome of the simpler American foods.

  The meal being over, I knew that we ought to cut off home directly,but Cousin Egbert again insisted upon visiting drinking-places, and Ihad no mind to leave him, particularly as he was growing more and morebitter in my behalf against Mr. Belknap-Jackson. I had a doubtlessabsurd fear that he would seek the gentleman out and do him amischief, though for the moment he was merely urging me to do this. Itwould, he asserted, vastly entertain the Indian Tuttle and thecow-persons if I were to come upon Mr. Belknap-Jackson and savage himwithout warning, or at least with only a paltry excuse, which heseemed proud of having devised.

  "You go up to the guy," he insisted, "very polite, you understand, andask him what day this is. If he says it's Tuesday, sock him."

  "But it is Tuesday," I said.

  "Sure," he replied, "that's where the joke comes in."

  Of course this was the crudest sort of American humour and not to begiven a moment's serious thought, so I redoubled my efforts to detachhim from our honest but noisy friends, and presently had thesatisfaction of doing so by pleading that I must be up early on themorrow and would also require his assistance. At parting, to myembarrassment, he insisted on leading the group in a cheer. "What'sthe matter with Ruggles?" they loudly demanded in unison, followingthe query swiftly with: "He's all right!" the "he" being eloquentlyemphasized.

  But at last we were away from them and off into the darker avenue, tomy great relief, remembering my garb. I might be a living wire, asCousin Egbert had said, but I was keenly aware that his overalls andhat would rather convey the impression that I was what they call inthe States a bad person from a bitter creek.

  To my further relief, the Floud house was quite dark as we approachedand let ourselves in. Cousin Egbert, however, would enter thedrawing-room, flood it with light, and seat himself in an easy-chairwith his feet lifted to a sofa. He then raised his voice in a balladof an infant that had perished, rendering it most tearfully, therefrain being, "Empty is the cradle, baby's gone!" Apprehensive atthis, I stole softly up the stairs and had but reached the door of myown room when I heard Mrs. Effie below. I could fancy the chillinggaze which she fastened upon the singer, and I heard her coldlydemand, "Where are your feet?" Whereupon the plaintive voice of CousinEgbert arose to me, "Just below my legs." I mean to say, he had takenthe thing as a quiz in anatomy rather than as the rebuke it was meantto be. As I closed my door, I heard him add that he could be pushedjust so far.