I hailed him, and inquired how the crop was turning out. "A
wunnerful fine crop," he said, "and thank the Lord, there ain't a spot o'
disease in 'em." And as he straightened his back, pointed to the tubers
strewn about him, and beamed like the sun at his good fortune, he looked
the very picture of autumn's riches.
ON TASTE
I was in a feminine company the other day when the talk turned on war
economies, with the inevitable allusion to the substitution of margarine
for butter. I found it was generally agreed that the substitution had been
a success. "Well," said one, "I bought some butter the other day--the sort
we used to use--and put it on the table with the margarine which we have
learned to eat. My husband took some, thinking it was margarine, made a wry
face, and said, 'It won't do. This margarine economy is beyond me. We must
return to butter, even if we lose the war.' I explained to him that he was
eating butter, _the_ butter, and he said, 'Well, I'm hanged!' Now, what do
you think of that?"
I said I thought it showed that taste was a matter of habit, and that
imagination played a larger part in our make-up than we supposed.
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