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 “Well,” said Steve, polishing off the last of his
coffee, “what should we discuss this fine morning?”
“I’m awful glad you asked, ol’ pard,” came the cheerful voice of
Windy Wilson, emerging through the swinging doors that came from the
kitchen of the Mule Barn truck stop. “Yessir. Awful glad.”
Steve and the other members of the world dilemma think tank looked
in amazement as this old camp cook and cowboy came over with the
coffee pot and topped off their coffee mugs. Windy had found a dish
towel and wrapped it around his waist, too.
“Windy?” said Doc. “Mighty fine-looking dish towel you’re wearing.”
“Thanks, Doc. I cornsider it the aplex of dining room fashion for a
volunteer coffee guy. Took me a while to talk Loretta into lettin’
me wear it, howsomever. I guess she ain’t up on dining room
fashions.”
“Let me guess,” said Doc. “This must be your helping day, right?”
“Right as grain, Doc,” Windy said, cheerfully. “I thought about it
and decisioned I’d devote my helpin’ day to the good ol’ Mule Barn.” [to top of second
column] |
We all knew Windy dedicated one
day each week to helping others. This sometimes meant helping them
when they really didn’t need it, but hey, the older folks in our
town get some trash picked up in the yard and some kindling split.
You know.
“So fer a conservational subject this sparklin’ a.m.,” Windy said,
“I believe I’d meanderate through the mystericals of ancient
history, beginnin’ with them Egypt guys. Whadda ya think?”
“Might just do that, Windy,” said Steve. “But if you don’t mind me
asking, why are you helping out with the coffee in here rather than
cleaning up somebody’s yard.”
Windy looked around to see if the other 43 people in the café could
hear, then leaned down toward Steve. “Lot warmer in here than it is
in somebody’s yard, and thassa fact.”
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to
you by Slim’s latest novel “Cock-a-Doodle Death” What happens when a
chicken’s ghost haunts Home Country. Not yet available, but start
saving up.
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