The writer was recently in Spokane for a few days, and ran across the young man of varied occupations.
“I want you to come out to my house and see my baby and my piano and take dinner with me and my wife,” said the ex-playwright. “You will have a nice time and I’ll feed you well, you must come.”
Yielding to these importunities, a day was set and an automobile took us to the Pragues.
Introductions to the family speedily followed, and the baby, Webster by name, came in for a large share of attention. He was dandled and tossed in the air till he fairly shrieked with joy.
“Come, let me show you my $550 piano and my $250 phonograph. And here’s dinner, too, and I’ll tell you what I have for you to eat today. There is two kinds of soup, oyster and consomme, then there are three sirloin steaks, some ham and boulogne sausage, a dozen hard boiled eggs, tea, coffee and milk, there is three kinds of pie, mince, lemon and custard, two kinds of cake, some canned strawberries and peaches, two kinds of cheese, mashed potatoes, pickles, chow chow, apple sauce and ice cream and it is all on the table to save time.”
The table was set for eight persons, but there were only four of us to partake of this banquet, including the baby. Every available bit of space on the table was covered and there was enough edibles in sight to feed 20 hungry laborers.
Arthur sat at the head of the table, his young hopeful on his right and the writer at the foot, the little wife flitting around to add a little more to her already elaborate dinner.
“I say, Hazel, I want to have our guest hear our $550 piano, please play us some rag time while we eat.”
There was no use protesting and the dutiful spouse sat down to the piano and began to play, when the telephone rang and the young papa went out to answer it.
Little wee Webster set up a yell, but the mother was so bent on her rag time piece that she did not notice him.