RATTLESNAKES ON TOAST.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 6, Issue 1708, 11 June 1884, Page 3

RATTLESNAKES ON TOAST.

A typical cowboy, fresh from his herd, went into Mitch's chop-house for a square meal. The tables were all filled with the exception of one, at which the terror of tlio plains seated himself. As ho pulled off his hat and untied the red bandanna handkerchief from around his throat lie looked disdainfully around. Tlio \\imWo waiter brushed an imaginary bread crumb from the cloth, whisked a bill of faro from the castor and placed it before tlio festive and untamed youth, "Take it away," ho snarled,"! can't eat that. I want rattlesnakes on toast I" "Rattlesnakes on toast!" yelled the waiter. "Rattlesnakes on toast!" responded the cook. There was a slight flutter among tho guests at the strange order, and tlio cowboy was scanned by many curious eyes. Ho looked a little disconcerted at having his order so promptly taken, and glanced furtively towards the front of tlio house. He saw the cook and waiter engaged in filling orders, ami looking as solemn as graveyards after midnight. He assumed it nonchalant air, and picked his teeth with his fork. A cook deftly removed the skin from a pickerel, and cutting a strip the, proper shape, placed it on a spider. The waiter who had taken the order came tripping back to the bold buccaneer of the pamps. " Will you have your snake well done or rare?" "Hare, with oodles of milk and gravy on it." " Gimme that snake rare-milk gravy on tho side," was hallooed to tho cook. "Snake rare; milk gravy-side," the cook shouted buck. "Stay!"siwlthcbovine steercr

ns tho waiter passed him, "Make it well done." " Make it well done," was answered back, The lariat wrestler began to grow nervous, Tho devil-may-care expression had left his eyes, nnd a soft, subdued melancholy shade had taken its place. He fidgeted in his chair, and seemed to bo nerving himself for an ordeal. " Mere you are sir," said the culinary Ganymede, placing n dish in which was something nicely coiled, which looked like a fried specimen of a genus crotalus. "Have fi little Worcester sauce 1 Gives a very fine flavor. Somo folks like mushrooms with their snakes. Others prefer Chili colorow, A little salad dressing don't go bad. There's vinegar and olive oil in the castor, Will you have tea or coffee? Verv lino snake. 1

Caught yesterday, Tat nnd tender," When the waiter was delivering himself of this eulogy on the meal the steer-puncher shoved his chair back. His eyes bulged out and he became pale around the gills. "I don't think I'll eat anything, 1 ain't hungry," ho said, as he rose unsteadily to his feet and reached for his hat. "Maybe you'd prefer br'iled moccasin," insinuatingly suggested the waiter. "No." he replied, as the ashen palor deepened on his face. " I ain't a bit hungry." He cast another glance at the dish he had ordered, and made a break for tho

door. He forgot to "pay at tho counter."