Part 47

“How much will you sell a couple for?” inquired the enthusiast.

The Virginian looked at him with friendly surprise. “Why, help yourself! We’re all together yet awhile. Help yourselves,” he repeated, to Trampas and his followers. These hung back a moment, then, with a slinking motion, set the cheese upon the earth and came forward nearer the fire to receive some supper.

“It won’t scarcely be Delmonico style,” said the Virginian to the passengers, “nor yet Saynt Augustine.” He meant the great Augustin, the traditional chef of Philadelphia, whose history I had sketched for him at Colonel Cyrus Jones’s eating palace.

Scipio now officiated. His frying-pan was busy, and prosperous odors rose from it.

“Run for a bucket of fresh water, Shorty,” the Virginian continued, beginning his meal. “Colonel, yu’ cook pretty near good. If yu’ had sold ’em as advertised, yu’d have cert’nly made a name.”

Several were now eating with satisfaction, but not Scipio. It was all that he could do to cook straight. The whole man seemed to glisten. His eye was shut to a slit once more, while the innocent passengers thankfully swallowed.

“Now, you see, you have made some money,” began the Virginian to the native who had helped him get the frogs.

“Bet your life!” exclaimed the man. “Divvy, won’t you?” And he held out half his gains.

“Keep ’em,” returned the Southerner. “I reckon we’re square. But I expaict they’ll not equal Delmonico’s, seh?” he said to a passenger.

“Don’t trust the judgment of a man as hungry as I am!” exclaimed the traveller, with a laugh. And he turned to his fellow-travellers. “Did you ever enjoy supper at Delmonico’s more than this?”

“Never!” they sighed.

“Why, look here,” said the traveller, “what fools the people of this town are! Here we’ve been all these starving days, and you come and get ahead of them!”

“That’s right easy explained,” said the Virginian. “I’ve been where there was big money in frawgs, and they ’ain’t been. They’re all cattle hyeh. Talk cattle, think cattle, and they’re bankrupt in consequence. Fallen through. Ain’t that so?” he inquired of the native.

“That’s about the way,” said the man.

“It’s mighty hard to do what your neighbors ain’t doin’,” pursued the Virginian. “Montana is all cattle, an’ these folks must be cattle, an’ never notice the country right hyeh is too small for a range, an’ swampy, anyway, an’ just waitin’ to be a frawg ranch.”

At this, all wore a face of careful reserve.

“I’m not claimin’ to be smarter than you folks hyeh,” said the Virginian, deprecatingly, to his assistant. “But travellin’ learns a man many customs. You wouldn’t do the business they done at Tulare, California, north side o’ the lake. They cert’nly utilized them hopeless swamps splendid. Of course they put up big capital and went into it scientific, gettin’ advice from the government Fish Commission, an’ such like knowledge. Yu’ see, they had big markets for their frawgs,--San Francisco, Los Angeles, and clear to New York afteh the Southern Pacific was through. But up hyeh yu’ could sell to passengers every day like yu’ done this one day. They would get to know yu’ along the line. Competing swamps are scarce. The dining-cyars would take your frawgs, and yu’ would have the Yellowstone Park for four months in the year. Them hotels are anxious to please, an’ they would buy off yu’ what their Eastern patrons esteem as fine-eatin’. And you folks would be sellin’ something instead o’ nothin’.”

“That’s a practical idea,” said a traveller. “And little cost.”

“And little cost,” said the Virginian.

“Would Eastern people eat frogs?” inquired the man.

“Look at us!” said the traveller.

“Delmonico doesn’t give yu’ such a treat!” said the Virginian.

“Not exactly!” the traveller exclaimed.

“How much would be paid for frogs?” said Trampas to him. And I saw Scipio bend closer to his cooking.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the traveller. “We’ve paid pretty well, you see.”

“You’re late for Tulare, Trampas,” said the Virginian.

“I was not thinking of Tulare,” Trampas retorted. Scipio’s nose was in the frying-pan.

“Mos’ comical spot you ever struck!” said the Virginian, looking round upon the whole company. He allowed himself a broad smile of retrospect. “To hear ’em talk frawgs at Tulare! Same as other folks talks hawsses or steers or whatever they’re raising to sell. Yu’d fall into it yourselves if yu’ started the business. Anything a man’s bread and butter depends on, he’s going to be earnest about. Don’t care if it is a frawg.”