Read Online Guestward Ho! by Patrick Dennis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patrick Dennis
Tags: Memoir
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Cheaper, as a matter of fact, than we had expected only one servant to be.
And charming! Evangeline, who did the talking, almost bowled us over with her sunny nature. Nothing she liked to do better than cook for hungry folks! Her pastry just melted in your mouth! Her sweetbreads amandine, her truffled grouse, her squab pâté, her filet of sole Marguery, her creme brûlée—all were so good that she just didn't know which was the best. Oh, she adored to run up a baked alaska and to make her own ice cream and there was no task she preferred above getting together a rich afternoon tea with lots of crisp pastry swimming in drawn butter. Oh, and they were wild about ranch life and . . . Well, we put them in the station wagon right then and there.
There were vague signs of discontent and hypochondria on the part of Evangeline all the way home.
"I get a little carsick, Mr. Hooton," she said, turning quite pale. "Could we take another road?"
"I don't believe there is another road, Evangeline," Bill said.
"All my family got carsick, too," Evangeline said. "Mama and Papa and Uncle Gus. And my Granny was so carsick that. . ." From Albuquerque to Santa Fe Evan geline regaled us with the nausea of her forefathers, carry ing the family failing of carsickness back to the invention of the wheel. By the time we reached the Plaza in Santa Fe, I was a little carsick just from hearing about it and feeling queasy enough to do something about it. So we stopped at a drugstore and I went in for a quick Alka- Seltzer. Buck got out of the car a bit behind me and kept mumbling things about having to buy shoelaces. But just as I was going into the druggist's I caught a glimpse of him scooting into the saloon next door, which seemed an un usual place to look for shoelaces.
"Mighty dusty out on these roads," Evangeline said, coughing dramatically. "It's very bad for my asthma. As thma just runs in our family. Mama died of it in '32 and poor Papa . . ."
I began gasping and coughing so loudly that I couldn't hear the rest of her respiratory monologue.
We should have been on to them right away, but we were much younger in 1953.
Once home, I showed them their room, introduced them to Curly and the kitchen, got out of my hot girdle, and headed straight for the chaise—but not for longue, if you'll pardon an unpardonable pun.
Evangeline was a hypochondriac and Buck a drunk. Al though he did wax the tables to such a sheen that every dish skated right off onto the floor, he didn't do anything else and he also managed to do nothing so slowly that I was nearly driven out of my mind just watching him. As for Evangeline, I believe that her mother was frightened by a medical student. Every morning she awoke with a new disease, in alphabetical order. We started out with anthrax, bubonic plague, cancer, dandruff, epilepsy, and so on. On the twenty-sixth day Evangeline got Zulu fever, Buck got drunk, and they both got the boot.
I got into my girdle again and went back to the agency.
Next came Clytie.
Clytie was flighty. She flew right off to a new job at Bishop's Lodge, thence to Hotel La Fonda, thence to El Gancho. After that I lost track of her.
After that came James B. Smith, with not one, but two wives.
Then there were Delphine, a religious fanatic; Maude and Claud; Astrid; Crazy Kate—well, I'm getting ahead of the story.
Anyhow, at last we had a wrangler in the corral, a couple in the kitchen, guests in half the bedrooms, and hope in our hearts. (And not a brain in our heads, I can tell you from the wisdom of hindsight.) June was in sight. Every mail brought inquiries, or, better, reservations, and, as far as I was concerned, we were open for the season.
7. Rules and regulations
I’ve talked so far, it seems, only about the problems of Rancho del Monte and none of the pleasures. And even though I found those first months of running the ranch a supreme pain in the head, arms, back, and knees, both Bill and I drew an enormous amount of
And charming! Evangeline, who did the talking, almost bowled us over with her sunny nature. Nothing she liked to do better than cook for hungry folks! Her pastry just melted in your mouth! Her sweetbreads amandine, her truffled grouse, her squab pâté, her filet of sole Marguery, her creme brûlée—all were so good that she just didn't know which was the best. Oh, she adored to run up a baked alaska and to make her own ice cream and there was no task she preferred above getting together a rich afternoon tea with lots of crisp pastry swimming in drawn butter. Oh, and they were wild about ranch life and . . . Well, we put them in the station wagon right then and there.
There were vague signs of discontent and hypochondria on the part of Evangeline all the way home.
"I get a little carsick, Mr. Hooton," she said, turning quite pale. "Could we take another road?"
"I don't believe there is another road, Evangeline," Bill said.
"All my family got carsick, too," Evangeline said. "Mama and Papa and Uncle Gus. And my Granny was so carsick that. . ." From Albuquerque to Santa Fe Evan geline regaled us with the nausea of her forefathers, carry ing the family failing of carsickness back to the invention of the wheel. By the time we reached the Plaza in Santa Fe, I was a little carsick just from hearing about it and feeling queasy enough to do something about it. So we stopped at a drugstore and I went in for a quick Alka- Seltzer. Buck got out of the car a bit behind me and kept mumbling things about having to buy shoelaces. But just as I was going into the druggist's I caught a glimpse of him scooting into the saloon next door, which seemed an un usual place to look for shoelaces.
"Mighty dusty out on these roads," Evangeline said, coughing dramatically. "It's very bad for my asthma. As thma just runs in our family. Mama died of it in '32 and poor Papa . . ."
I began gasping and coughing so loudly that I couldn't hear the rest of her respiratory monologue.
We should have been on to them right away, but we were much younger in 1953.
Once home, I showed them their room, introduced them to Curly and the kitchen, got out of my hot girdle, and headed straight for the chaise—but not for longue, if you'll pardon an unpardonable pun.
Evangeline was a hypochondriac and Buck a drunk. Al though he did wax the tables to such a sheen that every dish skated right off onto the floor, he didn't do anything else and he also managed to do nothing so slowly that I was nearly driven out of my mind just watching him. As for Evangeline, I believe that her mother was frightened by a medical student. Every morning she awoke with a new disease, in alphabetical order. We started out with anthrax, bubonic plague, cancer, dandruff, epilepsy, and so on. On the twenty-sixth day Evangeline got Zulu fever, Buck got drunk, and they both got the boot.
I got into my girdle again and went back to the agency.
Next came Clytie.
Clytie was flighty. She flew right off to a new job at Bishop's Lodge, thence to Hotel La Fonda, thence to El Gancho. After that I lost track of her.
After that came James B. Smith, with not one, but two wives.
Then there were Delphine, a religious fanatic; Maude and Claud; Astrid; Crazy Kate—well, I'm getting ahead of the story.
Anyhow, at last we had a wrangler in the corral, a couple in the kitchen, guests in half the bedrooms, and hope in our hearts. (And not a brain in our heads, I can tell you from the wisdom of hindsight.) June was in sight. Every mail brought inquiries, or, better, reservations, and, as far as I was concerned, we were open for the season.
7. Rules and regulations
I’ve talked so far, it seems, only about the problems of Rancho del Monte and none of the pleasures. And even though I found those first months of running the ranch a supreme pain in the head, arms, back, and knees, both Bill and I drew an enormous amount of
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