The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1915-05-29
Also a Close Relative of Uncle
Toms Cabin.
HE HONORS AN EASY TOPEKAN
Breaks Bread With Him and
Eats Everything in Sight.
Meanwhile He Tells the Story
of His Varied Life.

mentS seldom get notice in the news
papers or their society columns. And
a ''tell-us-about-it" from one of
party of cronies who were Willing
away a dreary, rainy afternoon by
swapping yarns brought out the story
something like this:
81 had just ended the career of the
last link of the Little Pig sausage that
had graced the meat platter. In fact,
| 1 had used it for a chaser for some
strawberries and cream. 1t was so
lonely looking on the big plate that
| took pity on it and sent it to join
several of it's companions. 1 like sau-
sage, anyhow. 1t is my favorite fruit,
and especially the Little Pig kind;
Well, as 1 said, had just demolished
the last link of this delectable stuff
when there was a vigorous knock on
the back porch door. 1 should ex-
plain, perhaps, that we were ENJOYING
our evening meal in the break
fast room, more Familiarity yclept
kitchen. 1t is closer to the
stove and therefore not with
damp and chilly. 1 responded to the
knock, and there appeared before me
a veritable colossus of a man, even II
| his vintage were antique. he was one
fellows, -boned and vigorous de-
spite their years. His head was close
| ly cropped, his heavy gray goatee was
precisely trimmed He was as clean
dressed.
"'Would you be kind enough to give
me little something to eat?' was his
salutation. 1T is impossible to get
any odd jobs of work in such rainy
weather as this and work is scarce
now anyhow. This is the first of the
many times 1 have been through
Kansas when a fellow had any trouble
getting work. I guess it must be on
account of the weather.
THE table was set before his eyes,
and there was food on it, so it seemed
impossible to say no, even though our
other experiences with hoboes had
made US chary of being too kind to
them. Then, too, he seemed to be
such a patriarch of an old man to be
hungry and hunting for food that his
appeal was compelling. So I invited
him in and gave him my place at the
table. All of the meat was gone, as
of warm potatoes, boiled with their
Jackets on, a big dish of milk gravy
Favored with the juice of the Little
Pig sausage, plenty of bread, some
new onions and radishes and a dish
Of strawberries. My better half, or
maybe it would be more correct to say
my better nine-tenths according to
her estimate) poured a cup of hot tea,
and our guest got busy. 1 came near
forgetting to state that there was a
freshly cut quarter section of a pound
print of the best creamery butter on
the table.
You wouldn't think it,, he be-
gan as he peeled one potato after an
other. but 1 come of a distinguished
family, 1 do. Gle talked with a slow
southern drawl which I'll not attempt
to imitate.) That's a fact, though
New Hampshire stock, the old origi-
nal. They are my folk Then he
the gravy, but the butter evidently |
looked better and he began to cut |
chunks from the potatoes which he
plastered entirely with that perfectly |
good butter before sending them on |
their journey to his mouth.
Did you ever hear of Uncle Toms |
Cabin? he asked, or Henry Ward |
Beecher. Well. Harriet and Henry |
you know. wrote Uncle Toms Cabin.
A great book that And this was
emphasized with an unusually large
dab of butter on an unusually small
piece of potato.
my folk left New Hampshire
when 1 was a youngster. They were
lungerS and we went to the Gulf coast
country which was said to be fine for
them it killed them and I was left to
shift for myself, I've been shifting ever
since. 1 was Is years old when the
war broke out, and if 1 hadn't been
crippled, the Johnny Rebs would have
forced me into their army to fight the
people of my own blood And he dis
played the evidence of his being a
cripple by holding up a massive hand
that was completely minus the two
center fingers. I blew 'em off playing
with shotgun when I was a kid he
explained. But it was still most dex-
trous in spreading butter on potatoes.
six or seven of them and was now
reveling in bread and butter, or rather
butter and bread with onions and rad
ishes on the side. Now I'm not
stingy. At any rate L don't think I
am. Any how, I know that Nine
stricken. Neither are we rich. And
We appreciate it when the occasional
guest pays us the compliment to eat
hearty of our food. But the best but
ter on the market is our one luxury
our one table extravaganza, and while
We use all of it we need, we always
make the gravy do its share of the
work and are careful in other ways
to conserve our butter supply. And
when our eyes met they joined each
other in trip to the butter dish. Even
the Six-year old boy of the family was
the magician at our table
stage his butter disappearing act with
eyes of wonder and astonishment, as
well. The butter was holding out
pretty well. but there was a goodly
supply of it to begin with. But the
bread was nearing its end of four or
five fat slices, when Butter Bill spied
a plate of crackers at the far end of
the table. And it is remarkable the
facility of reach he had with that
crippled hand. Then came a veritable
orgy with crackers and butter. or but
ter and crackers. and regardless of
how our guest stuffed his mouth, his ,
flow of talk was uninterrupted.
L didn't fight in the war he went
on. but I wandered out through the !
west and fought Indians. Wild Bill,
Buffalo Bill, Pawnee Bill, and all the
old Indian fighters were pals of mine.
Many a close call did we have togeth- {
er. Why, I remember one time when ]
the four of us and then he stopped !
short, the supply of butter was ex-
tod al ~ co. l