"Besides," added Cy Perkins, "ef old Mammy wants to
turn an honest penny in her old age, let her do it. How would you
like your old mother to make pies on grub wages? eh?" A suggestion
that so affected his hearer (who had no mother) that he bought
three on the spot. The quality of these pies had never been
discussed but once. It is related that a young lawyer from San
Francisco, dining at the Palmetto restaurant, pushed away one of
Mammy Downey's pies with every expression of disgust and
dissatisfaction. At this juncture, Whisky Dick, considerably
affected by his favorite stimulant, approached the stranger's
table, and, drawing up a chair, sat uninvited before him.
"Mebbee, young man," he began gravely, "ye don't like Mammy
Downey's pies?"
The stranger replied curtly, and in some astonishment, that he did
not, as a rule, "eat pie."
"Young man," continued Dick, with drunken gravity, "mebbee you're
accustomed to Charlotte rusks and blue mange; mebbee ye can't eat
unless your grub is got up by one o' them French cooks'? Yet WE--
us boys yar in this camp--calls that pie--a good--a com-pe-tent
pie!"
The stranger again disclaimed anything but a general dislike of
that form of pastry.
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