The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1894-11-13
| Written for The PROGRESSIVE FARMER.
RETALIATION;
Or,
NORTH CAROLINA HOSPITALITY.
BY r. D. WICKER.

1t was December gath, 1892, that
Frank Foster a in his comfortable
office on Blank street, Boston. before a
cheerful coal fire. smoking, his atten-
ton divided between the curls of smoke
which assembled ceilingward and the
efforts of two little sparrows who were
trying to get through the glass win
dow. It was n of those cold, dreary
mornings, and the clouds hung thick
n dark over the city, and fine fakes
OF snow were driven through the air in
biting and binding gusts. Suddenly
the door was thrown open, and his
friend and former college mate, Tom
Williams, came clustering in, com
pletely mufaed in great coat, speckled
with snow flakes, nothing clearly Wis
IDLE but a pair of laughing brown eyes
Come in, old boy; / was just think
ing of you, and you know the old say
ing-''think of the -"
"Ohl one of that, now, for I am
only here for a day or two, and I wish
to make as good use of my time as pos,
sible. I am straight through from
North Carolina, where I must say I
did a pretty good business, but we
commercial tourists sometimes have
tough time of it in certain sections
wretched accommodations at times,
slow trains, bad weather, beastly coffee,
and the balance of it. But pass the
cigars and give us an account Of your
self since last we met"
And thus the two friends ratified on,
until Frank suddenly looked up and
asked:
Did you spend much time in the
Western portion of the old North Statep
mo, not very long-in fact, I only
remained a short time in any of the
towns, as l had a big territory to work,
and time, in such cases, counts. But
why's"
Nothing, only I was going to tell
you of how l spent last Christmas in
the Western part of North Carolina"
Let us have it, by all means, espe-
cially if there ia the least inkling of
romance In it. Proceed"
You remember that young Tar-heel
friend of ours who graduated with such
high honors two years ago-Jack
Thornton9"
What. the young fellow we played
so many jokes on, and with whom we
had to fight that sham duel about the
little waiter girl down 1t Thompson's9"
"The same"
"Ha! ha! ha! Yes, I remember him
well. By the way, Frank, there was
good stuff in old Jack if he was a little
tender. But go on"
Last December I received a press
ing invitation to spend the Christmas
holidays with him, and for want of
something better to do, perhaps, Imade
up my mind To accept and telegraphed
him I would be there either on the 22d
or 23d, and to meet me at Big Dog
Station, on the Western North Caro-
lima r 4ilroad, about fifteen miles from
his home, which was digniied by the
name of 'Aspin Hail. Tt was about 8
D. m. on the oath when / arrived at
Big Dog Station, where / had no idea
of finding any to meet me, as I had
to lay over in Richmond, and / began
to feel rather out of sorts as | looked
around at the depot and few scattering
houses, while the snow came down in
fine fakes, faster and faster, indicat
ing that we were to have, as the station
master said, quite a little spell of it,"
81 had not more than got my trunk
off before I was struck quite a blow in
the back, and Jack Thornton said:
Welcome, Frank. Words are in
adequate to express my pleasure. Come
right this way land we proceeded over
to the little hotel, where he accosted a
red-nosed, sandy haired, freckled faced
bar-keeper.
"Here, Flipper, two hot punches,
and make 'em strong, for WI have a
duced rough drive before us. This is
nv friend from Boston, Mr.. Foster"
sit was not many minutes before we
were seated behind two high stepping
bays, in an open buggy, and Jack was
describing the scenery as we passed.
1t was intensely cold, but being we'll
wrapped up, we experienced no incon-
venience, and jacks description of
scenes and people was truly edifying,
and the windings of a mountain road
is some hing to claim ones attention
where one is not use to them, and |
more than once found myself on the
verge of being precipitated from the