GARRETT VAN HOESEN. 131 



Many a dinner did I eat after that one, but this was 

 so exceptionally good that it stands out in bold relief. 

 During weary months in military prisons the odor of 

 those sausages came in hungry dreams. The white 

 bread from Jonas Whiting's bakery and the butter from 

 Dennison's farm were often remembered in days when 

 such remembrance was more substantial than anything 

 in sight. 



That dinner is memorable for another thing. It 

 opened up a human mind. John Atwood had said: 

 "Garry Van Hooser never talks because he doesn't know 

 anything to talk about. He just knows enough to weigh 

 a pound of tea and say, 'Yes'm, fifty cents.' ' When I 

 told John a little of this trip he was incredulous. The 

 eels were in evidence, however; he couldn't deny them. 



After we had destroyed the dinner and Garry had 

 lighted his pipe, he remarked between puffs: "When 

 spring comes we will go down in the dead creek and 

 shoot ducks. I often go there alone, but have felt that 

 I wanted some one to be with me, some one to talk to 

 at times. I went down there once with John Atwood, 

 but he talked all the time and scared the ducks away. 

 Now you don't break in when a man is thinking, and 

 we've had a good time. I don't know what you were 

 thinking about when we were spearing, but I thought 

 that if it is true that this world is round and turns over 

 every day, how is it that the water does not spill out of 

 the holes we cut in the ice, and why the weight of the 

 trees does not pull 'em out of the ground when they're 

 upside down. I don't say that I don't believe it, but I 

 can't understand it; and men that know more than I 

 seem to believe it, but they can't tell just how it is. I 

 never had much schooling, and this thing has bothered 

 me for years. It keeps me awake nights and bothers me 



