<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/7f/Marshallbadge.png)</div>True to Mr. Solomon's word, the staff were beginning to move out platters from the back - large silver-washed trays piled high with pulled pork, ribs that filled the room with the scent of dry rubs and wet, cornbread and small tureens of honey and butter, bowls of grits and large platters of cheesy biscuits, the cheese still sliding down the sides, and garnished with a healthy sprinkle of bacon.  Wooden plates were set down as well, and a small sign that offered 'silverware upon request.'  Only the grits had spoons on hand.  Two of the prettier waitresses nearby remained by the tables, using tongs to serve up the ribs and pulled pork, rather than see two dozen grubby hands plunging into the platters.<br/><br/>"Plenty more where that came from," promised one of the girls, to one of the miners.  "Eat up!  Ain't no sense letting it go to waste."<br/><br/>Around the side of the building, a dozen Whippersnappers slipped away through the shadows between buildings, cheeks wet from rib sauce, and pockets stuffed with biscuits and cornbread to bring back to their fellows.