The Brookings register. [volume] (Brookings, Brookings County, S.D.) 1903-1971, 1919-05-01

country sausage, rump steak ana
spring chicken said Mr.. Bacon in q
cavernOus voice, getting 1T over with
while the list was fresh in his mem
DRY. Fried and boiled potatoes, beans,
%succOtash, onions, stewed tomatoes and
-er-just a moment, please. Fried
and Boiled potatoes, beans"
"Ham and eggs, potatoes and a cup
or two Of coffee" said Barnes, sup
pressing a desire to laugh.
sand apple pie" concluded the
waiter triumphantly. 81 knew I'd get
1t If you gave me time. AS you may
have observed, my dear sir, | am not
waiter. AS q matter of fact, I"
The bell downstairs rang violently.
Mr.. Bacon departed in great haste.
While the traveller performed his alb
lutions Mr.. Dillingford, for the moment
disengaged, sat upon the edge of the
bed and enjoyed himself. He talked.
"We were nine at the start" said he
pensively. Gradually we were re-
uuNCu W SCNVb. hot ihNiuuilS thV hoh
ager. Two Of 'em escaped before the
smash. The low comedian and char
acter old wOman Joe Buckley and his
wife. That left the old mani mean
Mr.. RushcrOft, the star-Lyndon Rush
croft, you knOw-myself and Bacon,
Tommy Gray, Miss Rushcroft, Miss
Hughes and a wOman named Bradley,
seven of us. The woman named Brad
ley said her mother was dying in Buff
falO, so the rest of us scraped together
and sixty cents-and did the right
thing by her. Actors are always do
ing darn-foOl things like that, Mr..
Barnes. And what do you suppose she
did? She took that money and bought
two tickets to Albany, one for herself
and another for the manager of the
cOmpany-the lowest. meanest orner-
lest white man that ever But / am
grabbing the old mans part. You
ought to her what he has to say about
Mr.. Manager. He can use words I
never wen heard of before. So that
leaves just the -four of us here, work
ing off the two days board bill Of
Bradley and the manager, Rushcroft's
ungodly spree, and at the same time
keeping our own slate clean. Miss
will no doubt make up your
bed in the morning. She Is tempo
rarily a chambermaid. Cracking fine
girl, too. Are you all ready? I'll lead
you to the dining room. Or would you
prefer a little appetizer beforehand?
The taprOom is right on the way. You
mustn't call it the bar. Everybody in
that little graveyard town down the
road would turn over completely if
you did. Hallowed tradition, You
81 don't mind having a cocktail. Will
you join meT
"As Il matter of fact, I'm expected
to-" confessed Mr.. Dillingford. "We've
been drawing quite a bit of custom to
the taproOm. The rubes like to sit
around and listen to conversation
about Broadway and Bunker Hill and
Old Point Comfort and other places,
and then go home and tell the neigh
bOrS that they know quite a number
of stage people. Human nature, l
guess. Listen! Hear that? Rush
reciting 'Gunga Dim You can't
hear the thunder for the noise he's
making"
The descended the stairs and en-
tered the taprOom, where a dozen men
seated around the tables, all Of
them with pewter mugs in front OF
them. Standing at the top tabie-that
Is to say, the one farthest removed
from the door and commanding the at
tentiOn of every creature in the room
was the imposing figure Of Lyndon
Rushcroft. He was reciting, in a So
voice and with tremendous fer
vor, the famous Kipling poem. A
genial smile wiped the tragic express
sion from his face. He advanced upon
Barnes and the beaming MI. Dilling-
ford, his hand extended.
"My dear fellow" he exclaimed re-
show are you?" Cordial
ity doomed in his voice. 81 heard you
had arrived. WelcOme-thricefOld well