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Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3)

User: silviya
Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3)
The Junior Officers Of Fort Crockett Had Organized A Mess At The
Post-Trader's. "And A Mess It Certainly Is," Said Lieutenant Ranson.
The Dining-Table Stood Between Hogsheads Of Molasses And A Blazing
Log-Fire, The Counter Of The Store Was Their Buffet, A Pool-Table
With A Cloth, Blotted Like A Map Of The Great Lakes, Their Sideboard,
And Indian Pete Acted As Butler. But None Of These Things Counted
Against The Great Fact That Each Evening Mary Cahill, The Daughter Of
The Post-Trader, Presided Over The Evening Meal, And Turned It Into A
Banquet. From Her High Chair Behind The Counter, With The Cash-
Register On Her One Side And The Weighing-Scales On The Other, She
Gave Her Little Senate Laws, And Smiled Upon Each And All With The
Kind Impartiality Of A Comrade.

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