Around noon we stopped for lunch at a battered old house that could have fitted into Goue with the Wind and had a fine lunch that started off badly when the large colored man said, “Today is our chicken day … the specials of the house, yes sur, chicken.”
“No, thank you,” said Mama.
“Fried, stuffed with rice, sliced in wine sauce, chicken potpie with spices and candied crab apple, chicken patties and …”
Gramp said grimly, “The lady said no.”
“The prime delight of our menu, yes Sur, chicken à la King with lender baby peas …”
Gramp rose and said, “NO CHICKEN!”
We had fried catfish, a fine barley soup, shrimp in a red-hot sauce, corn bread, and a side dish of cold roast suckling pig in aspic. Everyone else had thicken in some form or other. Gramp felt fine until he read the newspaper after lunch and saw the old spelling of the family name.
He got even by sending a hundred dollars to the Richmond people to buy a fancy gold frame for General Long-Screet. They may have; the last time I was in Richmond a few years ago, the old boy looked pretty fancy in his frame. But he was still in the hall, not in the inner shrine.
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