Frank's Ranche; Or, My Holiday in the Rockies: Being a Contribution to the Inquiry into What We Are to Do with Our BoysMarston, E. (Edward)
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Frank's Ranche; Or, My Holiday in the Rockies: Being a Contribution to the Inquiry into What We Are to Do with Our Boys
Marston, E. (Edward)
Rocky Mountains -- Description and travel
I may add that the place has none of the appearance of vulgar show which
"Black Hill miners, gorged with wealth," might be supposed to have given
to it; on the contrary, it has an air of quiet respectability not to be
seen in many other western cities. The inhabitants are well-educated
people, musical and social, and amongst them is a large community of
well-bred English people.
As I have a personal interest in the matter, I will venture to give
another extract from "Green Pastures and Piccadilly."
Mr. Black says that—
"As he was unanimously requested by his party to pay a tribute of
gratitude to the clean and comfortable inn at the station, he must
now do so; only he must also confess that he was bribed, for the
good-natured landlord was pleased, as we sat at supper, to send in
to us, with his compliments, a bottle of real French champagne. Good
actions should never go unrewarded; so the gentle reader is most
earnestly entreated, the first time he goes to Cheyenne, to stay at
this inn and give large orders. Moreover, the present writer not
wishing to have his conduct in this particular regarded as being too
mercenary, would wish to explain that the bottle of champagne in
question was, as was subsequently discovered, charged for in the
bill and honestly paid for too; but he cannot allow the landlord to
be deprived of all credit for his hospitable intentions merely on
account of an error on the part of the clerk."
Just before I left England, and knowing that I contemplated a visit to
the Rockies, Mr. Black was good enough to request me to look into his
book and to see, from the circumstances, as quoted above, whether I was
not fairly entitled to have that bottle of champagne produced: he also
desired me to present his compliments to a "very pretty Scotch lassie"
at the hotel.
Of course I pursued the inquiry; I had by chance stayed at this very
hotel, but I ascertained, alas! that poor old Jones, the good-natured
landlord, had long since made his pile in the good old times when he
could charge crowds of passengers a dollar and a half for their meals
instead of (as now) seventy-five cents only: had retired to a farm
somewhere in Idaho; had died, and left an enormous fortune to his widow.
I may also inform Mr. Black that "the pretty Scotch lassie" is now the
mother of a large family somewhere up in the mountains.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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