Chapter Ninety-Three: The Farm Gathering

At last a flock of girls had arrived, something like lotus blossoms rising from the water—after all, they were all upperclasswomen and underclasswomen, and their youth alone made them a sight for sore eyes.

There is some truth to the saying that there are no ugly ones at eighteen. It was especially true of the foreign girls. Their beauty peaked early; once they passed twenty-five, they began to go downhill.

It had a lot to do with diet. Vegetable salad was basically their main vegetable, and though it looked like a whole basinful, there was really not much to it. Toss it in a pan with oil, and two bites would finish the lot.

With too little vegetable intake, the body’s wastes did not clear out easily, so they liked to drink soda water.

That stuff worked much like senna, mainly helping with bowel movements. It had an effect, yes, but it did nothing for the toxins inside the body.

The dishes at the White family’s table were basically French in style. Aside from the lack of extravagant silverware, everything was quite refined.

One could imagine this crowd was thoroughly tired of sweet-and-sour Hawaiian fare and would now need something high in calories.

A young people’s gathering did not demand much etiquette. As long as one felt comfortable, that was enough. A few of the girls still held back a little, but the other bastards had already started drinking each other under the table.

Under American law, none of them were even supposed to be drinking in bars. Even if they slipped inside, all they could have was cola.

It was truly hard to make sense of it: how could such strict laws produce such an eccentric generation?

Perhaps extremes reverse themselves. Young people nowadays did things in the most chaotic way possible. The ones here tonight were still relatively reliable, after all, they all came from decent families.

They were allowed to drink at home, but never in excessive amounts.

Without liquor they were already chaotic enough; if they drank too much, who knew what madness might follow.

The farm banquet was nothing special, though for a place like this it already counted as quite elaborate. If one wanted to experience farm life, one had to rise early and sleep early. There was horseback riding here too, genuine riding, not the theatrical sort the British preferred.

After dinner, those who liked games kept playing, and those who liked cards could play cards.

Though it was Texas hold ’em, the stakes were kept modest. It was only for amusement; there was no need for life-changing wins or losses.

Texas hold ’em really was a strange thing. Fine stud poker, all of a sudden, had changed its flavor. William White had specially asked some cowboys about it, and the answer he got was that Texas hold ’em could be played by many people at once.

William White had been a little stunned by that answer—so the reason was that simple.

Oddly enough, this style of play had gradually replaced traditional stud poker and become a competitive sport.

From the way they played cards, one could see the Texan temperament: they truly craved excitement and loved uncertainty. Gentlemanly grace was utterly alien to them.

The crowd had only just returned from Hawaii. However young they were, they would still feel tired. Before long, some of them had drifted back to their rooms in twos and threes; whether they continued with very hard work or not was anyone’s guess, though they probably did. The high-calorie meal tonight certainly had the effect of an arsenal.

William White also intended to go to bed early. He would be riding first thing in the morning. His skills were only average, perhaps not even as good as some tough girls’. To avoid embarrassing himself, preserving his strength was necessary.

Speaking of which, the rich man was rather miserable too. Everyone else had a partner, yet he alone had to lie awake in lonely solitude.

“Where the hell is my protagonist halo? Aren’t they all supposed to throw themselves at me? Then I can start the Teddy mode.”

William White fell asleep amid his own torment. Having consumed too much protein, little William was also very restless.

“Ah, when on earth will this miserable single life of mine end?”

Someone was being sentimental again. Finding a girlfriend was easy enough for him. Wanting to blast the whole map with indiscriminate fire was just dreaming. Even if he was not some great figure, at the very least he counted as a successful man. Being a little rakish was nothing; being filthy was something people despised.

As for the girlfriend matter, of course he could not just go around carelessly. If he got stuck with someone, it would still be very troublesome. Especially with the girls from school—none of them had yet been tempered by society, and at heart they were all innocent and sweet. Though very easy to handle, they would bring plenty of trouble afterward.

After a whole night of indecent dreams, William White could only secretly hide his little underwear; it was rather embarrassing indeed.

“Man, just how starved am I? Maybe I should spar with Elizabeth again?”

William White was mocking himself, but he quickly abandoned the idea. A match once a year was called a friendly; frequent matches became a regular season.

Changing the rules of the game too abruptly would easily lead both sides to misread each other. That was not a good thing.

Texans did not ride horses with the fussiness of the British. A suit was inappropriate, but a jacket or denim was absolutely fine.

The British were far more particular. They wore different clothes for riding and hunting, claiming it was gentlemanly etiquette.

The White family had done the same in their ancestors’ day, but later they had followed local custom. They still kept their traditions, only without quite so much fuss.

“Jason, want to try that bull?” Seeing the fellow dressed head to toe in flashy cowboy gear, William White could not help laughing.

“No, boss. The little one’s not bad. Bill, though—forget it.”

Texas farms raised bulls too; it was one way to build a ranch’s reputation. A famous ranch had to have excellent bulls and racehorses.

The White family’s racehorses were not as good as the Hunters’, but their bulls were formidable. The bull named Bill was a competition bull.

Americans were truly experts at courting disaster. Every year, bull-riding contests not only brought honor and money to some cowboys, they also brought business to the ranches when the bulls performed well.

That sport was for brave men. His bunch of hooligans were not fit for it. No joking—one wrong move and someone would get hurt.

“Go to hell. That’s a cow. Are you sure you want to do this?”

William White wore a wicked grin, and the people around them had already laughed themselves silly.

The White ranch had not been this lively in a long time, and the cowboys were all having a great time. In general, Texans were cheerful people and pretty hospitable too.

“Boss, why do I feel like your ranch got bigger again?” Jason could only change the subject. He had no intention of becoming a joke.

“Mm. Times are tough this year. Even our ranches are losing money, let alone the small ones.”

Though William White did not say more, everyone understood: the White ranch’s expansion meant the smaller ranches were going under.

The topic did not continue. Everyone was here to have fun, and talk of the economy was simply depressing. Aside from the damn gold and silver, everything else was collapsing.

Like everyone else, they had completely given up on the donkeys. That was normal in Texas. Donkeys were never popular here to begin with, and this time they were probably going to lose badly too.

In truth, it made no difference who was in charge. Economic problems were not decided by the president. In fact, what he could do was very limited.

The movement of the Federal Reserve was the true barometer of the national economy. In the struggle for that post, the president had only the right to advise; whether anyone listened was another matter entirely.

Playing with a rope to lasso calves was rather fun. The speed was slow enough, so they probably would not fall too hard.

It was really hard to understand why something cowboys could handle in a minute took the four of them half an hour and still was not done. The calf they had captured as a prize was practically falling asleep.