“Say, he’s a polite son-of-a-gun,” Pink commented when they were riding back to town. “‘The U fich flies’—that’s a good one! What is he, do you thing? French?”
“He’s liable to be most anything, and I’ll gamble he can build a good dinner for a hungry man. That’s the main point,” said Weary.
At daybreak Weary woke and heard him humming a little tune while he moved softly about the cook-tent and the mess-wagon, evidently searching mostly for the things which were not there, to judge from stray remarks which interrupted the love song. “Rolled oat—I do not find him,” he heard once. And again: “Where the clean towels they are, that I do not discover.” Weary smiled sleepily and took another nap.
The cook’s manner of announcing breakfast was such that it awoke even Jack Bates, notoriously a sleepy-head, and Cal Emmett who was almost as bad. Instead of pounding upon a pan and lustily roaring “Grub-pi-i-ile!” in the time-honored manner of roundup cooks, he came softly up to the bed-tent, lifted a flap deprecatingly and announced in a velvet voice:
“Breakfast is served, gentlemen.”
Andy Green, whose experiences had been varied, sat up and blinked at the gently swaying flap where the cook had been standing. “Say, what we got in camp?” he asked curiously. “A butler?”
“By golly, that’s the way a cook oughta be!” vowed Slim, and reached for his hat.
They dressed hastily and trooped down to the creek for their morning ablutions, and hurried back to the breakfast which waited. The new cook was smiling and apologetic and anxious to please. The Happy Family felt almost as if there were a woman in camp and became very polite without in the least realizing that they were not behaving in the usual manner, or dreaming that they were unconsciously trying to live up to their chef.
“The breakfast, it is of a lacking in many things fich I shall endeavor to remedy,” he assured them, pouring coffee as if he were serving royalty. He was dressed immaculately in white cap and apron, and his mustache was waxed to a degree which made it resemble a cat’s whiskers. The Happy Family tasted the coffee and glanced eloquently at one another. It was better than Patsy’s coffee, even; and as for Happy Jack—
There were biscuits, the like of which they never had tasted before. The bacon was crisp and delicately brown and delicious, the potatoes cooked in a new and enticing way. The Happy Family showed its appreciation as seemed to them most convincing: They left not a scrap of anything and they drank two cups of coffee apiece when that was not their habit.
Later, they hitched the four horses to the mess-wagon, learned that the new cook, though he deeply regretted his inefficiency, did not drive anything. “The small burro,” he explained, “I ride him, yes, and also the automobile drive I when the way is smooth. But the horses I make not acquainted with him. I could ride upon the elevated seat, yes, but to drive the quartet I would not presume.”
“Happy, you’ll have to drive,” said Weary, his tone a command.
“Aw, gwan!” Happy Jack objected, “He rode out here all right last night—unless somebody took him up in front on the saddle, which I hain’t heard about nobody doing. A cook’s supposed to do his own driving. I betche—”
Weary went close and pointed a finger impressively. “Happy, you drive,” he said, and Happy Jack turned without a word and climbed glumly up to the seat of the mess-wagon.
“Well, are yuh coming or ain’t yuh?” he inquired of the cook in a tone surcharged with disgust.
“If you will so kindly permit, it give me great pleasure to ride with you and to make better friendship. It now occurs to me that I have not yet introduce. Gentlemen, Jacques I have the honor to be name. I am delighted to meet you and I hope for pleasant association.” The bow he gave the group was of the old school.
Big Medicine grinned suddenly and came forward. “Honest to grandma, I’m happy to know yuh!” he bellowed, and caught the cook’s hand in a grip that sent him squirming upon his toes. “These here are my friends: Happy Jack up there on the wagon, and Slim and Weary and Pink and Cal and Jack Bates and Andy Green—and there’s more scattered around here, that don’t reely count except when it comes to eating. We like you, by cripes, and we like your cookin’ fine! Now, you amble along to town and load up with the best there is—huh?” It occurred to him that his final remarks might be construed as giving orders, and he glanced at Weary and winked to show that he meant nothing serious. “So long, Jakie,”he added over his shoulder and went to where his horse waited.
Jacques—ever afterward he was known as “Jakie” to the Flying U—clambered up the front wheel and perched ingratiatingly beside Happy Jack, and they started off behind the riders for the short mile to Dry Lake. Immediately he proceeded to win Happy from his glum aloofness.
“I would say, Mr. Happy, that I should like exceeding well to be friends together,” he began purringly. “So superior a gentleman must win the admiration of the onlooker and so I could presume to question for advisement. I am experience much dexterity for cooking, yes, but I am yet so ignorant concerning the duties pertaining to camp. If the driving of these several horses transpire to pertain, I will so gladly receive the necessary instruction and endeavor to fulfil the accomplishment. Yes?”
Happy Jack, more in stupefaction at the cook’s vocabulary than anything else, turned his head and took a good look at him. And the trustful smile of Jakie went straight to the big, soft heart of him and won him completely. “Aw, gwan,” he adjured gruffly to hide his surrender. “I don’t mind driving for yuh. It ain’t that I was kicking about.”
“I thank you for the so gracious assurement. If I transgress not too greatly, I should like for inquire what is the chuck for which I am told to fill the wagon. I do not,” he added humbly, “understand yet all the language of your so glorious country, for fich I have so diligently study the books. Words I have not yet assimilated completely, and the word chuck have yet escape my knowledge.”
“Chuck,” grinned Happy Jack, “is grub.”
“Chuck, it is grub,” repeated Jakie thoughtfully. “And grub, that is—Yes?”
Happy Jack struggled mentally with the problem. “Well, grub is grub; all the stuff yuh eat is grub. Meat and flour and coffee and—”
“Ah, the light it dawns!” exclaimed Jakie joyously. “Grub it is the supply of provision fich I must obtain for camping, yes? I thank you so graciously for the information; because,” he added a bit wistfully, “that little word chuck she annoy me exceeding and make me for not sleep that I must grasp the meaning fich elude. I am now happy that I do not make the extensive blunder for one small word fich I apprehend must be a food fich I must buy and perhaps not to understand the preparation of it. Yes? It is the excellent jest at the expense of me.”
“There ain’t much chuck in camp,” Happy observed helpfully, “so yuh might as well start in and get anything yuh want to cook. The outfit is good about one thing They don’t never kick on the stuff yuh eat. The cook always loads up to suit himself, and nobody don’t ask questions or make a holler—so long as there’s plenty and it’s good.”
Jakie listened attentively, twisting his mustache ends absently. “It is simply that I purchase the supplies fich I shall choose for my judgment,” he observed, to make quite sure that he understood. “I am to have carte blanche, yes?”
“Sure, if yuh want it,” said Happy Jack. “Only they might not keep it here. Yuh can’t get everything in a little place like this.” It is only fair to Happy Jack to state that he would have understood the term if he had seen it in print. It was the pronunciation which made the words strange to him.
Jakie looked puzzled, but being the soul of politeness he made no comment—perhaps because Happy Jack was at that moment bringing his four horses to a reluctant stand