Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1871-11-17

called out by two framed lithographic
bellies, who in richness of color and
scantiness of raiment flanked the bar
mirror "a dazzling reflector chiefly
destined to portray the par-keeper's
back hair, which work of art involved
much affectionate labor.
A second bell and rolling away of
doors revealed long dining-room, with
three parallel tables, cleanly set and
watched over by Cinnamon, whose fresh
white clothes and bright olive-buff skin
made contrast of color which was al
ways chief among my yearnings for the
Nile.
While l loitered in the background
every seat was taken, and [ found N.Y.
self with a few dilatory teamsters des-
tined to await second table.
The dining-room communicated with
a kitchen beyond by means of two
square apertures cut in the partition
wall. Through these portfolios a glare
of red light poured, except where the
square framed a Chinese cooks head,
or discharged hundreds of little dishes.
The teamsters sat down in patience, a
few of the more elegant sort cleaned
UIlClI Ildllo WlOll GuS U1I00- Ulu6 IOfhS,
others picked their teeth with them,
and nearly all speared with this nipple
ment small specimens from the dishes
before them, securing a pickle or o
square inch of pie or even that luxury,
dried apple; a few, on tilted back
chairs, drummed upon the bottom of
their plates the latest tune of the road.
When fairly under way the scene be-
came active and animated beyond
belief. Walters, balancing upon their
arms twenty or thirty plates, hurried
along and shot them dexterously over
the teamsters' heads with crash and
spatter. Beans swimming in fat, meats
slimed with pale, ropy gravy, and over
everything faint Mongol odor-the
flavor of moral degsperacy and of
disintegrating race. Sharks and wolves
may no longer be figured as types of
prandial haste. My friends, the team
sters, stuffed and swallowed with a
rapidity which was alarming but for the
dexterity they showed, and which could
only have come of long practice. In
fifteen minutes the room was empty,
and those fellows who were not feeding
grain to their mules lighted cigars and
fingered around the bar.
just then my artist rushed in, seized
me by the arm, and said in my ear,
"We'l have oar supper over to Mrs.
Copples's. no, | guess not-Sarah
Jane-arms peeled-cooking up stuff
old woman gone into the milk-room
with a skinner" He then added that
if [ wanted to see what I had been
spared, might follow him. We went
round an angle of the building and
came upon a high bank, where, through
wide-open windows. ] could look into
the Chinese kitchen. By this time the
second table of teamsters was under
way, and the walters yelled their orders
through to the three cooks. This large
unpainted kitchen was lighted up by
kerosene lamps. Through clouds of
smoke and steam lodged and sprang
the cooks, dripping with perspiration
and grease, grabbing a steak in the
hand and slapping it down on the grid
iron, slipping and sliding around on the
floor, dropping card of biscuits and
picking them up again in their fists,
which were garnished by the whole bill
of fare. The red papers with Chinese
inscriptions, and little joss-sticks here
and there pasted upon each wall, the
spry devils themselves, and that faint,
sickening odor of China which pervaded
the room, combined to produce a sense
of deep, sober gratitude that l had not
risked their fare.
"Now," demanded Smith, ''you see
that little white building yonder ?"
did.
He struck a contemplative position,
leaned against the house, extending one
hand after the manner of the minstrel |
sentimentalist, and softly chanted:
"'Tis, O It's the cottage of my love;
and that's where they are getting up as
nice little supper as can be found on
this road, or any other. Let's 60 over"
So we strolled across an open space
where two giant pines lowered sombre
against the twilight, little mountain
brooklet and a few quiet COWS.
Stop" said Smith, leaning his back |
against pine and encircling my neck
with an arm; ~ told
you, as regards Sarah Jane, how my
feelings stand. Well now you Just bet |
she's on the reciprocate! When told |
old woman Copples that I'd like to in
vite you over Sarah Jane she past me |
in the doorway, and said she: Glad to |
see your friends" Then sotto voce, for
we were very near, he sang again.
IT'S, Q tits the cottage of my love;
and, G.. K" he continued familiarly,
" you're a judge of wimmen," chuck
ing his knucklcs into my ribs, whereat |
Jumped, when he added: "There, l
knew you was. Well, Sarah Jane is a
derned magnificent female; number
three boot; just the height for me-
Venus de Copples, I call her-and would
make the most touching artists wife in
this planet. If design to paint head,
a foot or an arm get my little old Sarah
Jane to peel the particular charm and |
just whack her in the canvas"
We passed in through low doors, |
turned from small dark entry into the |
family sitting-room, and were alone
there in the presence of CHEEKY log
fire, which good-naturedly bade us
welcome, cracking freely and tossing
its sparks out upon the floor of pine
and coyote-skin rugs. A few old framed |
prints hung upon dark walls, their faces |
looking serenely down upon the scanty, |
old fashioned furniture, and windows
full of blossoming plants. A low-cush.
ioned chair, not long since vacated, was
drawn close by the centre e-table, whereon
were lamp and a large open Bible,
with a pair of silver-bowed spectacles
lying upon its lighted page.
Smith made gesture of silence to- |
ward the Bible and whispered: Here's
where the old woman Copples lives, and |
it's a good thing: | read it aloud to her |
evenings, and | can just feel the high |
local lights of it. It'll fetch Ii. G. yeti"
At this juncture the door opened a