Well, ol’ Delbert zipped into the Mule Barn truck stop the other
day, plopped down at the empty Round Table, and motioned for those
of us at the philosophy counter to join him. We did.
“Boys,” he said, when we were seated and sipping, “I want to bounce
an idea off you and see how it goes.”
He almost whispered, “Two words … knife sharpening!”
“Sure,” said Dud, pulling a diamond steel from a holster on his
belt. “I’ll sharpen it for you, Delbert.”
“No, I don’t mean I need a knife sharpened,” he said, “I mean … a
knife-sharpening contest. Actually, a knife-sharpening fiesta!”
His face beamed, he spread his arms, his hands palms up toward
Heaven as the sheer Divine magnitude of the idea settled in. Doc
reached for another sugar packet.
“Just think of it, guys,” Delbert said, “A veritable bevy of blade
bevellers descending on our community, spending money in our
restaurants, buying the latest in knife gear from the hardware
store, filling the rooms at the motel.”
[to top of second
He looked around. Steve’s coffee made him
cough. Doc chuckled into his hand. Dud put his diamond steel away.
“Sounds like a sharp idea to me, Del,” said Doc. “I like the way you
came right to the point.”
“An edgy proposition,” Dud said, “but one that whets the appetite.”
Steve recovered from his coughing fit. “You could hold it out in the
pasture and call it ‘Hone on the Range.’”
Delbert ignored the groaning and smiled. “That’s it, boys. Think on
it. Let’s come up with some good angles.”
And Doc said, “I hear 10 to 15 degrees is best for a really sharp
Cracker packets flew.
[Text from file received from
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