“What is this place?” she asked, when they reached it.
“You’ve never been here?”
“I didn’t even know it existed,” she said. “How in the name of heaven did you find it?”
“I just took a walk yesterday, and here it was. I tried the food and it’s great.”
“Have you been to the Delmonico?”
“This is better.”
She looked at him is disbelief. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Well,” she said, “this I have to see.”
“But I want you to do something for me, before we go in,” he said.
“Does the interview depend on this, too?”
“No, no,” he said, “I’ve already agreed to do the interview. This is a favor.”
“And what is this favor?”
“If you like the food here,” Butler said. “You’ll write the place up in your newspaper, tell people it’s here. You’ll recommend it. Will you do that for me?”
She frowned at him.
“Do you own a piece of this place?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “Like I told you, I just discovered it yesterday by accident.”
“And you liked the food that much?”
“I did.”
She looked at the place, the small, dirty front window, narrow doorway, and, inside, the few tables and chairs. She wasn’t looking at it with distaste, though. If she had he might have been forced to point out the condition of her home. No, she was just eyeing the place with…curiosity.
“What do you say?” he asked, extending his arm again.
“Okay,” she said, linking her arm in his, “it’s a deal.”
They stepped inside.
Hank was thrilled to see Butler back, and even more thrilled that he had brought a lady with him—and such a beautiful one. Butler didn’t bother to tell the man that she was also owner of the Dodge City Times. He decided to save that for later.
“I’ll make you both the best meal you ever had,” he said proudly.
“I’d like a steak, please,” she said, and proceeded to tell him how she wanted it cooked and what she wanted with it. Butler knew she was doing this so that she could compare it to the Delmonico, which was famous for its steaks.
“And you, sir?” Hank asked.
“I’ll have the same, Hank, and some coffee.”
“Something to drink for the pretty lady?”
“Do you have beer?”
“Ice-cold beer,” he said.
“Then that’s what I’ll have.”
“In that case,” Butler said, “bring me the same.”
Hank actually rubbed his two big hands together as he said, “It’ll be my pleasure.”
M.J. looked around the empty place and said, “Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know this place is here.”
“Well,” Butler said, “hopefully, after tonight, that will all change.”
“Let’s see how I like the steak, first, shall we?”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You’ll like it.”
“Why don’t we start the interview?” she asked. “I mean, while we have the time?”
He looked down at her pad and pencil on the table and said, “I’m ready when you are.”
CHAPTER 25
She started out asking him some easy questions: How he got started playing poker, some of the famous people he’s played with, his most difficult game. She continued to ask and he to answer throughout dinner and dessert, and then it was his turn to ask a question.
“So? What did you think?”
“I have to admit,” she said, sitting back. “That was the best steak I’ve ever had. It was cooked to perfection.”
“And the pie?”
“The same,” she said.
“So you’ll write about this place in your newspaper?”
“Definitely.”
“Can we tell him now?”
“Why not?” she asked. “There’s no name outside. If I’m going to tell people to come here, I’m going to need to know the name of the place.”
When Hank came back, Butler introduced M.J. as the editor of the Dodge City Times.
“She wants to write about your place.”
“Write about it?” Hank frowned.
“Tell people to come here and eat,” Butler said. “Once she’s done you won’t have an empty seat in the house, ever.”
Curiously, Hank did not look as happy about this as Butler had thought he would.
“I don’t know, Mr. Butler…” he said.
“What’s the problem?”
Hank looked at M.J.
“I really appreciate the offer, Miss,” he said, “but I’m all alone here. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it if it was crowded all the time. I kinda like it the way it is.”
“But…you’re not making a living here, are you, Hank?” Butler asked. “I thought you wanted people to come?”
“Well, sure…every once in a while.” He looked directly at M.J. again. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful…”
“Hey, don’t worry,” she said. “If you don’t want me to write about it, I won’t write about it.”
“Is it okay if I think about it some?” he asked finally.
“Of course,” she said. “Just let Butler know what you want to do, and he’ll tell me.”
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.” He went back to the kitchen.
“That’s odd,” Butler said.
“Curious,” she said, “but it could be that he’s happy the way things are.”
“That wasn’t the impression I first got when I spoke with him,” Butler said.
“Hey,” she said, “not everybody wants the world to know where they are every minute, you know?”
Actually, he did know that, better than most.
They paid the bill and left. Butler walked her back home and along the way she kept asking questions. As they neared her house she got to the one he didn’t want to answer.
“So, what brought you to the West?”
Suddenly, as he pondered how to answer the question, he realized how Hank must have felt.
“Much like every other young man,” he lied, “I came to see what it was like.”
“And you planned all along to gamble your way across?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” he said. “There’s not much else I can do.”
“You seem pretty intelligent,” she commented. “Seems to me you could do anything you put your mind to. I’ll even bet you’re college educated.”
They stopped right in front of her house.
“Well,” he said, “this was nice.”
She smiled at him, examined his face.
“Don’t want to answer those last few, huh?”
“Too personal,” he said. “I’m not ready to put my person life on display in a newspaper.”
“I see.”
“You see,” he said, “but do you understand?”
She thought a moment, then said, “I suppose so. I mean, as the newspaperwoman—the daughter of a newspaperman—I tend to think everything should be in the newspaper, but then I realize not everyone thinks that way.”
“Your father started the Times?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He came here in 1871, along with the others.”
“The others?”
“He came with Chalk Beeson and Dog Kelley and the other Dodge City fathers.”
“So he was part of the Dodge City Gang?”
“Not part of the Gang, not part of the Reformers. Well, there were hardly any Reformers back then, but my father tried to straddle the fence as much as he could while reporting the news.”
“And what happened to him?”
“Dodge City was a wild town, even just a few years ago. About five years ago he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and he caught a bullet. Since then my brother and I have tried to keep the paper going.”