A friend was an iterant preacher and member of a musical quartet in the '50s, that made a meager living traveling the upper Midwest, performing at tent revivals and small town churches.

The quartet relied on generosity of the church faithful, including food and bed most nights.

When lucky,they'd share a local farm family’s dinner table and fare.

The musical group's lifestye was one part religious fervor and one part snake oil salesmenship. 

All that singing, traveling and living together bred  more than a bit of familiarity. “Many an evening, we’d end up kicking each other under the dinner table,” my minister friend recalled.

One quartet member had his own Harold-Hill like sales pitch at the dinner table.

“That's mighty fine asparagus!,” he’d say, complimenting the household missus, while brushing off gravy stains and bread crumbs from his shirt front.

“Oh, you think so?” missus would say, acting surprised by the compliment. “Well, how about you havin’ a second helpin of that asparagus, then!”

After dinner coffee and dessert served.

Before table could be cleared of dishes, the siren song repeated.

“Oh, yes. Ma'm, that's mighty fine peach cobbler. Mighty fine peach cobbler.”

“Don't say, you tell me?” missus would respond, proud as a 4-H blue ribbon winner at the County Fair. 

 “I got a nice second piece for you rite here.”