82 Life and Sport on the Pacific Slope 



cold plum pudding, caviare, or pickled clams. " I 

 like my babies around me," he observed tenderly. I 

 feared that he would n't have them long, but he as- 

 sured me that they were none the worse for these 

 nodes amhrosiance. 



All the children of the poorer class eat too much 

 salt meat, and drink tea that is little better than 

 poison. The cooking on the ranches is inconceiv- 

 ably bad. Soda and cheap baking-powders take the 

 place of honest yeast; steaks and chops are fried, 

 not broiled, and served sodden with grease ; the vege- 

 tables, particularly the peas, are tough and tasteless *, 

 the puddings alone are palatable. As a rule, these 

 viands are gulped down in a few minutes. The 

 children fill their pockets with doughnuts (the 

 Western word "sinkers" is expressive) and scurry 

 away to their lessons and games. The elders take 

 a dose of some patent medicine, and fondly believe 

 that they have enjoyed a square meal. 



The amount of medicine sold on the Pacific Slope 

 is significant of either stupendous credulity or stu- 

 pendous ill-health on the part of the people. And 

 the children get more than their share of the drugs. 

 The weakening of a general belief in the Great 

 Physician has quickened faith in the quacks. If 

 Tommy cuts his finger the doctor is summoned ; if 

 Mamie coughs, a lung specialist must be consulted ; 

 if the baby has a pain, he must be dosed with pare- 

 goric. In a country where health once reigned 

 supreme, where doctors were unknown, where drugs 

 were sold by the grocers, you may hardly find to- 

 day a perfectly healthy family. One child has lost 



