America

America

America

America

Excerpt

The Guild of the Grocers was in dreadful straits. Their supply of spices was well-nigh exhausted. But the demand surpassed anything that had ever been seen before. The Guild of the Grocers was in dreadful straits. And thereby hangs a story.

It is a law recognized both by the professors of political economy and the judges of our police courts that those who have for a considerable time dined at the Ritz will not willingly return to Jack Mulhaly's far-famed fish-chowder and beans. Of course, in case of actual need they will content themselves with the simple fare of the excellent John. But before they reach that point of open and avowed defeat, they will fight tooth and nail to maintain the standard of excellence to which they have become accustomed.

The barbarians who overran the greater part of western Europe during the first ten centuries of our era were men of simple taste, which usually means men of no taste at all. With them, quantity came before quality, and a continent that had lain practically unscratched since the last great glacial epoch easily satisfied their demands for a wooden bench, a greasy slab of beef and unlimited ale.

Besides, there was so much to be done and there were so few people to do what needed being done that their surplus energy was entirely exhausted by the chores of every-day life. Roughly . . .

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