I saw that she was referring to the black and his wife whom I had met at the New York camp, though it seemed quaint to me that they should be called "coons," which is, I take it, a diminutive for "raccoon," a species of ground game to be found in America.
Truth to tell, I enjoyed myself immensely at this simple but satisfying meal, feeling myself one with these homely people, and I was sorry when we had finished.
"That was some little dinner itself," said the Mixer as she rolled a cigarette; "and now you boys set still while I do up the dishes." Nor would she allow either of us to assist her in this work. When she had done, Cousin Egbert proceeded to mix hot toddies from the whiskey, and we gathered about the table before the open fire.
"Now we'll have a nice home evening," said the Mixer, and to my great embarrassment she began at once to speak to myself.
"A strong man like him has got no business becoming a social butterfly," she remarked to Cousin Egbert.
"Oh, Bill's all right," insisted the latter, as he had done so many times before.
"He's all right so far, but let him go on for a year or so and he won't be a darned bit better than what Jackson is, mark my words. Just a social butterfly, wearing funny clothes and attending afternoon affairs."
"Well, I don't say you ain't right," said Cousin Egbert thoughtfully; "that's one reason I got him out here where everything is nice. What with speaking pieces like an actor, I was afraid they'd have him making more kinds of a fool of himself than what Jackson does, him being a
