Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Page 7 text:

STEAK AND POTATO First Prize Story Richard Carlisle HUNCHEON had begun. Merely another meal of the two hundred- odd that composed Copper Kettle's summer season. It was just a pleasant interlude of good food to the guests and transients. But to the kitchen crew it meant two hours of building “Rose Plate Specials from store and ice-box, of pushing mountains of dishes through a one-tray washer, and of forcing minutes into seconds. To Dick Lowell, bookkeeper and kitchen helper, it meant another fast inning of the hotel game—a game of challenging opportunities. Dish washing is not exciting, nor is adding figures, but in a summer inn almost anything can happen and it usually does. “I wish someone would wait on that hen party in the front room, Dick was saying to a waitress. “The big lady in blue was cackling so loud I had to stop ’phoning.” “I was just on my way. Anyhow, this is no time to be 'phoning your sick aunts. Why— “Hey, Dick! the cook informed, “there’s a tramp at the back door. A tramp there was and what a specimen! From the shoulders down he seemed a man in his thirties, but sad eyes peered from a face nearly hidden by whiskers. This full beard was obviously grown to cover scars, for what could be seen of his face was cut into mountains and canyons. “I'd like to work for a meal, sir, the man told Dick. “I can’t think of any work right now, but if you wait in the clothes yard until after lunch, I’ll get you some food. “Thanks. “You seem to have been through quite a lot, remarked Dick, his curi- osity overcoming his natural tact. “I know the brush doesn't cover it all, said the tramp sadly. “That accident—excuse me, I guess my troubles couldn’t interest you. “But they do. The kitchen will not need me for a while. Please go on. “0. K. If you are interested. Right after our honeymoon an auto carved me up and sent me to the hospital. Everyday my wife would come to see me. I knew she was wondering and fearing how I'd look when the band- ages were off. One afternoon after my wife had gone, the ‘doc’ came in and took off the bandages. When I looked into a mirror I wished I was dead. I couldn’t recognize myself. I knew that I could never hold my job. I had been a sales-manager and a good one, too. Right then I decided that

Page 6 text:



Page 8 text:

my wife would never see me again. She hasn’t. I slipped the hospital that night, leaving a check to my bank account for my wife and a note telling why desertion was necessary and that she could get a divorce. It was a hard thing to do. I’ve been on the road twelve years. She remarried seven years ago. But I—.” “Dick, come in and help. We’ve got a rush!” came a summons from the kitchen. “Wait here. I’ll be out later with something for you.” shouted Dick over his shoulder. Noise, odor, and haste dominated the kitchen. The hum of the washer motor united the clitter-clatter of silver and china, the whir of the venti- lators, and the thud-thick-thud of hurried steps into a wild song of haste. The smell of boiling onions clashed with the sharp odor of soapy steam and the pleasant aroma from broiling steaks. Everybody seemed to be rush- ing to get nowhere by yesterday. No place could be so chaotic and yet so efficient as the kitchen of a summer inn. Dick entrenched himself at the receiving end of the washer and attacked the stream of dripping hot dishes with a dry towel. While mechanically drying the contents of tray after tray, he thought about the bewhiskered tramp. Was his story true? The man had told it with strong feeling as he had probably told it to hundreds of others to gain their sympathy. It was his “line”, and he knew how to use it. If the story were true, the tramp deserved a better “break” than he was getting now. About twenty minutes later Dick went to the other end of the washer to have a pile of plates re-washed. A waitress slid a tray onto the dish board. “Your cackler must be dieting,” she laughed to Dick. “Look— she finished the onions and carrots, but just sampled the steak and left her spud unopened.” “Dieting couldn’t hurt her any,” Dick replied, “but she certainly threw the best part of a dollar-fifty away.” Dick took the steak and the potato with some coffee and bread out to the tramp. “It would be rather embarrassing,” mused the tramp as he pounced on the steak, “if I should ever meet Elsie—she’s got all the money she can use, now; but I beg for my meals. How different life would have been if speed had meant less. I wonder if she ever thinks about me.” “I’ve got to get back to the dishes. When you get through, come to the door and knock. I’ll have some work for you to do.” The rush was at its height. Food was running low. Dick was dispatched to the bakery for bread. When he came back by the clothesyard, he did not see the tramp. He delivered the bread and bolted out to find the man. The cup. plate, and silver were on the window sill. No food was left. It [Cominued on page 36]