“I'll have fried aiggs,” said the Virginian. “Cooked both sides.”
“White wings!” sang the colonel through the hole. “Let 'em fly up and down.”
“Coffee an' no milk,” said the Virginian.
“Draw one in the dark!” the colonel roared.
“And beefsteak, rare.”
“One slaughter in the pan, and let the blood drip!”
“I should like a glass of water, please,” said I. The colonel threw me a look of pity.
“One Missouri and ice for the professor!” he said.
“That fello's a right live man,” commented the Virginian. But he seemed thoughtful. Presently he inquired, “Yu' say he was a foreigner, an' learned fancy cookin' to New Yawk?”
That was this cow-puncher's way. Scarcely ever would he let drop a thing new to him until he had got from you your whole information about it. So I told him the history of Lorenzo Delmonico and his pioneer work, as much as I knew, and the Southerner listened intently.