A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



They did good work; that is, they kept the flies 

 moving but persistent. 



Mr. Armour had an intimate friend who was the 

 glass of fashion, a fine fellow, but fastidious in every 

 way — a man who called the head waiter to com- 

 plain of the temperature of the wine served. He 

 would never go anywhere with us because he did 

 not like the country, and was always suspicious that 

 we would steer him up against something queer. 

 When we went to the German restaurant Mr. Ar- 

 mour would always say, "If you can get Bob to 

 come down here and eat pounded steak, and fight 

 flies with us, I will buy you a whole winter outfit." 

 I never landed the outfit. 



I can close my eyes and still see Mr. Armour and 

 "Billy" Cummings sitting across the table, burdened 

 with a mammoth pounded steak, fried potatoes, cot- 

 tage cheese with chives, potato salad, wilted lettuce, 

 a bottle of home-grown grape sour wine, and bowls 

 of strawberries filling in the space. I must not forget 

 several breads. Fhes did not count. "Billy" re- 

 marked that he would sit down with a swarm of bees 

 in order to get so good a meal. 



My first visit to Gudgell & Simpson was in the 

 summer of 1893, shortly before their show herd 

 was shipped to the Chicago World's Fair. That was 

 my first look at a real show herd, and there was a 

 master to answer all questions. Perhaps it was a 

 young man's earnestness, an ignorance frankly con- 



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