The mirror., 1914-06-25

sipa which read: MRS. Smiths
Cave. Meals at all Hours" The
word cave, was spelled wrong, they
bad 1t, cafe, but / knew it meant
cave just the same.
| was feeling sort of hungry after
my all mornings ride on that fast
slow train; SO / stepped across the
avenue, thinking I'd invest some of
my sixty-fve cents in Mrs. Smiths
cave. After a fellows punched COWS
r. few years he amt so particular
whether he eats in cave, or where
it is.
Is was just reaching for the door
when | noticed another sign down
hi one corner of the window, Cook
Wanted Just those two lonesome
words; cook wanted. l began to do
some thinking about then, because
Iknew my sixty-five cents was go
/ ing to last about as long as snow
would last on the roof of foundry,
and l naturally needed job.
/ remembered one morning few
months back, when I'd got up at
four a. m. on the roundup and
cooked breakfast for the bunch. At
eight, O'Clock. when it was ready,
the punchers all said | was sure
some cook.
| A. nu..ee
OF course / knew cooking in a
restaurant would be nothing like
cooking on roundup, but then |
thought of what Mr.. Good Advice
had told me an hour or so before.
Always make bluff. was what he
had said. So being ready, and will
ing to make bluff, I opens the door
and walks in.
Mrs. Smith was sitting over be-
hind glass chow case. counting the
mornings gate receipts. She was
one of those tall, lanky females,
that incline more to altitude than
circumference. She had a sort of
eaved in affect about her, and I've
Eoften wondered why that sign didn't
Iread-Mrs. Smiths Caved-
of what il did.
Good afternoon lady," l says,
when she looked up. Have you
hired cook yet?''
why no | haven't" she said,
NDo you know one?"
You bet / do." | answers breezy
like. I'm a cook"
She sort Of gasped and began look
ing me over in startled way. First
she sizes up my boots, with their
Two inch heels; then she looks at my
corduroy strides, and on up the line
past my sheepskn vest and gray
flannel shirt, and finally centers her
gaze upon my ten dollar John B.
which that Chicago ambulance SER
geant had been kind enough to res
cue for me. When she finally re-
covered her speech, she asked.
For heavens sake, where did
you ever cUOK!
The last job / had," l answers,
was working in a waffle house in
New Orleans. / was so fast, and
business so heavy, that they had to
have twenty-five nlgger boys on
roller SHAKES greasing griddles for
me-"
She laughed at that, and | was
pleased to see that she had sense
of humor, anyway.
well, she explains, "Pll give you
trial; but you must be an all
around good cook, short-order, veg
etable, pastry, and also good meat
cutter"
| Lands the Job
Pm all of that" l tells her. Pm
there anyway you put it,"
She pilots me back into the kitch-
en-, and shows me the stove, (just as
if couldn't see it), then the coal
bin and the ice box, and a couple
thousand other things that she told
me I'd need on the job. l would
like to say, that if any cook put in an
appearance at six a. M, and started
to pick up, and Immediately drop
different articles that she pointed out
to me, he'd be busy until six p. M,
and then there would be fifteen or
twenty skillets and stew pans left
oyer. That place was a regular
tool house, with granite ware es-
tablishment thrown in.
She told me she had to go to a
lodge meeting that afternoon, and
that her new Chicago waitress. whom
she had hired the week before,
would be working in the dining
room the rest Of the day, if [ needed
anything could ask her.
Just before she left, she came
l. a. 1x.<oho~ opI fa1lo a