children, run along; Lafayette,–[**In those old days the average man
called his children after his most revered literary and historical idols;
consequently there was hardly a family, at least in the West, but had a
Washington in it–and also a Lafayette, a Franklin, and six or eight
sounding names from Byron, Scott, and the Bible, if the offspring held
out. To visit such a family, was to find one’s self confronted by a
congress made up of representatives of the imperial myths and the
majestic dead of all the ages. There was something thrilling about it,
to a stranger, not to say awe inspiring.]–stand off the cat’s tail,
child, can’t you see what you’re doing?–Come, come, come, Roderick Dhu,
it isn’t nice for little boys to hang onto young gentlemen’s coat tails–
but never mind him, Washington, he’s full of spirits and don’t mean any
harm. Children will be children, you know. Take the chair next to Mrs.
Sellers, Washington–tut, tut, Marie Antoinette, let your brother have
the fork if he wants it, you are bigger than he is.”
Washington contemplated the banquet, and wondered if he were in his right
mind. Was this the plain family dinner? And was it all present? It was
soon apparent that this was indeed the dinner: it was all on the table:
it consisted of abundance of clear, fresh water, and a basin of raw
turnips–nothing more.
Washington stole a glance at Mrs. Sellers’s face, and would have given
the world, the next moment, if he could have spared her that. The poor
woman’s face was crimson, and the tears stood in her eyes. Washington
did not know what to do. He wished he had never come there and spied out
this cruel poverty and brought pain to that poor little lady’s heart and
shame to her cheek; but he was there, and there was no escape. Col.
Sellers hitched back his coat sleeves airily from his wrists as who
should say “Now for solid enjoyment!” seized a fork, flourished it and
began to harpoon turnips and deposit them in the plates before him “Let
me help you, Washington–Lafyette pass this plate Washington–ah, well,
well, my boy, things are looking pretty bright, now, I tell you.
Speculation–my! the whole atmosphere’s full of money. I would’nt take
three fortunes for one little operation I’ve got on hand now–have
anything from the casters? No? Well, you’re right, you’re right. Some
people like mustard with turnips, but–now there was Baron Poniatowski–
Lord, but that man did know how to live!–true Russian you know, Russian
to the back bone; I say to my wife, give me a Russian every time, for a
table comrade. The Baron used to say, ‘Take mustard, Sellers, try the
mustard,–a man can’t know what turnips are in perfection without,
mustard,’ but I always said, ‘No, Baron, I’m a plain man and I want my
food plain–none of your embellishments for Beriah Sellers–no made
dishes for me! And it’s the best way–high living kills more than it
cures in this world, you can rest assured of that.–Yes indeed,
Washington, I’ve got one little operation on hand that–take some more
water–help yourself, won’t you?–help yourself, there’s plenty of it.
–You’ll find it pretty good, I guess. How does that fruit strike you?”
Washington said he did not know that he had ever tasted better. He did
not add that he detested turnips even when they were cooked loathed them
in their natural state. No, he kept this to himself, and praised the
turnips to the peril of his soul.
“I thought you’d like them. Examine them–examine them–they’ll bear it.
See how perfectly firm and juicy they are–they can’t start any like them
in this part of the country, I can tell you. These are from New Jersey
–I imported them myself. They cost like sin, too; but lord bless me,
I go in for having the best of a thing, even if it does cost a little
more–it’s the best economy, in the long run. These are the Early
Malcolm–it’s a turnip that can’t be produced except in just one orchard,
and the supply never is up to the demand. Take some more water,
Washington–you can’t drink too much water with fruit–all the doctors