A Case of Proper Etiquette

Written by Desert Sun - First Published in 2002 - Revised September, 2003

Send Feedback to Desert Sun          Printable Pages:  3          Rating: G

(Please note: the characters of the Lancer television series do not belong to me and were used without permission. This was written for fun, not profit.)

Summary: A bit of fun at the dinner table.

Timing: A few weeks after Johnny was shot in the first episode but before the signing of the partnership agreement. This takes place a week or so after my story, "First Cattle Drive".

"Bet I catch it from the old man for bein' late for supper," muttered the dark-haired son of Murdoch Lancer, a California rancher of considerable holdings, as he slipped the bit from between the palomino's teeth. "Oh well, it was worth it. Doc's had me on such a tight string I ain't been more'n a couple miles from the house." He scratched the horse's ears then rubbed the tips of his fingers in little circular motions down the length of the crest of its neck while continuing to talk. "Besides, you needed a good run, didn't yuh, Boy. Don't guess you like bein' cooped up any more'n I do, huh, Barranca?"

Johnny gave the horse one final slap on the shoulder then left the corral. He was still a little stiff from the wound he'd received a few weeks earlier in the final confrontation with a gang of land-grabbers, but he didn't mind. He was finally recovered enough to be free of the restrictions put on him by Doctor Jenkins, and being able to ride where he wanted and at the speed he wanted had felt good.

A few minutes later, Johnny quietly entered the house through the front door and treaded lightly across the corner of foyer. Upon reaching the archway into the main living room, he paused for a quick glance to his left. He was right about being late. His father was already seated in his customary place at the far end of the table. Flanking him was Scott, Johnny's older brother, and Teresa O'Brien, their father's ward.

Upon slipping soundlessly between the table and the bookshelves that lined the wall, Johnny slid back the chair next to Teresa and sat down. As he scooted up to the table, he softly drawled, "Sorry, I'm late. Hope yuh didn't hold up supper on my account."

The girl at his side, brown eyes lighting up her pretty face, glanced over her shoulder at him and saucily tilted her chin upward. "Of course not," she quipped.

Johnny flashed her a grin then, since no one else seemed inclined to comment on his tardiness, he picked up his fork, reached across the table, and stabbed a juicy steak that was on a platter near his brother's elbow. "What?" he asked upon noticing Scott's puckering eyebrows and firmly set jaw line as the piece of meat was lifted from the plate.

"Reaching across the table isn't proper etiquette. One should ask to have things passed," was Scott's censoring reply.

Johnny raised his eyebrows at his brother's superior tone and mouthed a silent, 'Oh'. He then turned his head toward Teresa and grinned. "Mind passin' me those taters?" After accepting the bowl offered by the girl, he slapped a big glob of the fluffy white contents onto his plate. The sly wink Scott gave Teresa went undetected, so when Johnny again looked over at his brother, all he saw was displeasure on the other man's face. With a touch of irritation in his voice, he queried, "Now what?"

"Don't you think you could have cleaned up a little before coming to the table?"

Choosing to ignore his brother's disapproving tone, Johnny just smiled then held up his hands. "I did. See? I washed up in the horse trough." Not waiting for a response, he then grabbed the handle of the odd-shaped dish that Teresa had informed him was a gravy boat and poured a healthy portion of the brown liquid over his potatoes. Next, he slathered butter on his biscuit and crammed about half of it into his mouth. Upon catching the disapproving look in Scott's blue-gray eyes, he demanded, "Now what am I doing wrong?"

"It isn't proper to wear one's hat to the table," his brother chided.

"Is that all?" Johnny returned with an unconcerned shrug. Grasping the brim of the offending item of his attire between thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he flicked his wrist and sent the hat sailing toward the coat tree near the doorway into the foyer. When it neatly caught on the tip of one of the branches, he smirked, "Is that better?"

Scott tipped his head slightly and replied, "Yes, much better."

With a sigh, Johnny went back to eating. A moment later, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a touch of amusement in his father's eyes but just missed the half-smile on his brother's lips. By the time his attention turned back to Scott, the other man's expression had sobered.

Beginning to feel irritated by what seemed to him to be an attitude of superiority on his brother's part, Johnny spoke a bit sharply. "I s'pose your manners are always perfect . . . huh, Boston?"

"I do my best," Scott said, sounding a little smug, then politely asked, "Johnny, would you pass the biscuits, please?"

"Sure, Brother," Johnny replied in a sarcastic tone. He then snatched up a chunk of bread from the plate, gave it a backhanded flip, and watched its flight. The biscuit rose into a high arc and then came down with a 'plop' in his brother's lemonade. As the glass toppled, with a loud clatter, into the china plate in front of Scott--the pale yellow liquid sloshing out to run over the edge of the dish and off the table--Johnny's eyes widened and his mouth gapped open.

"Johnny!" Scott gasped, sending his chair skidding crazily backward as he leapt to his feet.

"Sorry, Scott, it was an accident . . . honest," said Johnny, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head, his eyes darting from his brother to their father and back again.

"Can't you be more careful? These were new pants. I hope they're not ruined." Scott's voice rang with displeasure that was clearly reinforced by the sparks in his eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I change," he stated to no one in particular as he turned away from the table. With head erect and back straight, he then stalked across the room to the exit that was nearest the fireplace.

"Hey, Scott," Johnny called, a thought hitting him just as his brother reached the hall doorway.

Scott stopped, his arms crossing as he twisted to look back. "What?"

"Where's them perfect manners you said yuh had? Weren't yuh tellin' me the other day that you always excuse yourself before leavin' the table because it's proper eddy-kit?" The smile on Johnny's face widened.

With a sweeping bow and mockingly tone, Scott replied, "I beg your pardon. If you will, please, excuse me, I'll change into something a little dryer."

As he watched his brother turn and stiffly stride from the room, Johnny broke into a hearty laugh--a sense of satisfaction washing over him at the sound of his father's deep-throated chuckles joining in.

Teresa, in the meantime, had excused herself and had gone out another way to the kitchen. When she returned a couple minutes later, she sweetly said, "Here, Johnny," as she handed him a damp cloth and sat down in her chair.

"What's this for?" he asked, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

With a wave of her hand in the direction of Scott's place at the table, she mockingly replied, "If you make a mess, it is only proper manners that you clean it up."