No Good Deed 21

The saloon bar seemed an unsuitable place for the entertainment of ladies - even such as came from Missouri - so I invited them both to the restaurant. It was a short walk along the deck to the entrance. Forming the starboard half of the superstructure housing the saloon bar, said restaurant was therefore of similar size - and as sparsely populated. I surmised that the general run of passengers could not afford to eat in it. In contrast to the furniture of the saloon bar, the tables in the restaurant had the benefit of napery, albeit the colour of same bore only a distant relation to white. The seating, of necessity, was not so delicate as might be found in a London house of quality; nor indeed did they match, as I found when I drew one each backward to seat my guests. The table was bare of crockery and cutlery, I supposed to ensure that no irregular motion of the riverboat caused their precipitous departure therefrom.

We had hardly taken our places, when Tom, the "Texas Tender", arrived at the table side. The white parts of his uniform shamed both the cloth on the table and the napkins in front of us.

'Missuh Northrup! Kin ah git y'all sump'n?'

Mrs Hatfield's eyebrows raised, ' You are known aboard, Mr Northrup?'

'More than you might guess, Mrs Hatfield.'

'Call me Octavia, Mr Northrup.'

The women in this country were indeed so bold, that I felt a certain Miss Pardoner of old acquaintance would surely have passed for a native.

'Very well, Octavia, are you Missourians yourselves?'

'For myself, Mr Northrup, no more than you.' She sat a little straighter in her chair and lifted a charmingly retroussé nose. 'I am of the Hatfields of Mingo County. Myra Maybelle-'

She was interrupted by the girl.

'May 'r' Belle, one or 'tother, ah cain't stand both and as fer Myra-'

'Myra Maybelle is returning to Carthage, after we visit cousins in Hannibal,' the older woman continued.

'Hell, Ah hate that name,' she gave a most attractive pout.

'That's enough Myra Maybelle.'

The girl rolled her eyes, and Octavia Hatfield's diction slid a little as she informed her niece that she was not too far grown to 'git her a spankin''. I felt it best not to dwell on this not unpleasant image and turned to the waiter to enquire;

'Well, Tom, what can you recommend?'

'Not much, Missuh Northrup, 'at's a fac''

His honesty was to be admired, I supposed.

'What should we order then? Do tell,'

I winked at the two women, who had not thus far acknowledged the presence of the man. Both continued to look anywhere but at Tom, as if some contagion might afflict them should their gaze fall upon his skin.

Tom continued to address me, 'Allus best to have whut the Cap'n has, Missuh Northrup.'

'And what is the Captain's preference today?'

I could admit to no great shock when the waiter proclaimed, with some satisfaction,

'Pork Chops!'