We entertained a high regard for this veteran, because he
seldom got drunk, and always drove cattle _slowly_. To him the
sly Gloriana served Anglo-Saxon viands: pies, "jell'" (compounded
according to a famous Wisconsin recipe), and hot biscuit, light as the
laughter of children! What misogynist can withstand such arts? I
remembered that at the fall calf-branding Uncle Jake had expressed his
approval of our _cordon bleu_ in no measured terms.
"You've noted," he said, "that a greaser jest naterally hates ter
handle mares. He rides a horse, an' he's right. The best o' mares will
kick. Now, Glory Anne can't help bein' a woman, but I swear she's bin
mighty well broke. She works right up into the collar--quiet an'
steady, an' keeps her tongue, whar it belongs, shet up in her mouth.
I've seen a sight o' wimmen I thot less of than Glory Anne."
I repeated these words to Ajax. He admitted their significance, in
connection with bonnets and furbelows, and we both went to bed with a
sound of marriage-bells in our ears. We slept soundly, convinced that
neither Gloriana nor Uncle Jake would leave our service, and at
breakfast the next morning discoursed at length upon the subject of
wedding presents.
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