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Updated: May 26, 2025


He's a clever man if he distinguishes between Irish butter and English butterine I'm sure I couldn't. And things really are looking up at the Stores? 'Oh, distinctly. 'By-the-by, I had rather a nasty letter from Lord Mountorry yesterday. He's beginning to ask questions: wants to know when we're going to conclude our contract with that tenant of his I've forgotten the fellow's name.

There was usually a rump steak and potatoes, bread and "creamery" butterine, and the inevitable New England doughnuts.

"You mean butterine, don't you?" "No, I sold butter and butterine and a few other things." "And buttermilk and cheese," the officer amended. No answer. "How much did you charge for butter?" "Fifty cents a pound," the prisoner replied, desperately or doggedly, it was difficult to determine which. "Do you know that butter is selling now for thirty-nine or forty cents a pound?"

These suspicious-minded people are sure that every man is a scoundrel at heart more or less and needs to be watched; no man or woman is to be trusted; every grocer will sand his sugar, chicory his coffee, sell butterine for butter, and cold-storage eggs for fresh if he gets a chance.

"That great big, enormous ole dead butterine factory across the street from our lot," the man said. "Nothin' like settin' an example to bring real estate to life. That place is full o' carpenters startin' in to make a regular buildin' of it again. Guess you ought to have the credit of it, because you was the first man in ten years to see any possibilities in this neighbourhood."

"It was something in butterine," said another guest negligently and swore, softly and intensely, at a shoulder strap. "Oh, damn the thing! .

But the question is worth considering, whether the English people do not now lose more by taxation resulting from the chronic state of rebellion in Ireland than she gains by bringing in American beef and flour, and foreign butter and butterine, free, to the impoverishment of Ireland, and of the agricultural portions of England and Scotland?

She took in at a glance the blue lettered placard announcing the current price of butterine, and walked around to the other side of the store, on Holmes Street, where the beef and bacon hung, where the sidewalk stands were filled, in the autumn, with cranberries, apples, cabbages, and spinach.

A change is rapidly coming over our food habits. The price of butter has been soaring beyond our reach, and the market for "butterine," "nut margarine," "oleomargarine," or whatever the substitute table fat may be called, has expanded tremendously. It is excellent household economy to buy milk and a butter substitute rather than cream or butter.

"It hasn't been down that low anywhere that I know of since the war." "I meant butterine," "corrected" the "sweat subject" hurriedly. "Well, you've hit it about right, by accident, of course. Now, let's see if you know anything more about grocery business. What did you sell eggs and potatoes for the last day you worked?" "I didn't sell any." "All you sold was butter?" "Yes."

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