“Never mind. Here.” And General Casement scribbled upon a pocket pad and tore off the leaf. “You take this to the Home Cooking restaurant, two blocks up and right around the corner to your left. It’s run by two women—regular white women. It’s a fine place. I eat there myself, and so does Mr. Reed.”
“I recommend it without reserve,” Mr. Reed asserted. “The best cooking this side of Omaha. And very clean, pleasant women.”
The leaf said:
Feed these two boys two big meals each. Charge to me.
J. S. Casement, U. P. R. R.
(Late Brig. Gen., U. S. V.)
“Turn your horses in at the Square Deal corral, for feed and water,” bade General Casement. “Tell the man I’ll settle for them when I settle for my own.”
“And be sure to try the apple pie,” added Superintendent Reed. “It’s the real thing.”
“Yes, sir; we will. Thanks very much,” they replied, replying to all instructions at once.
“Don’t forget the apple pie,” Superintendent Reed reminded, after them, as they rode away.
“Do you suppose we can get apple pie for breakfast?” George queried, anxiously.