The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VI. (of X.) by Marshall P. Wilder (read novels website TXT) 📖
- Author: Marshall P. Wilder
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"Oh, yes! had an early caller this morning."
"Ah, and who was she?"
"It wasn't a 'she' at all; it was a gentleman,—a book-agent."
"A what?"
"A book-agent; and to get rid of his importuning I bought his book,—the 'Early Christian Martyrs.' See, here it is," she exclaimed, advancing toward her husband.
"I don't want to see it," said Watson, frowning terribly.
"Why, husband?" asked his wife.
"Because that rascally book-agent sold me the same book this morning. Now we've got two copies of the[Pg 1125] same book,—two copies of the 'Early Christian Martyrs,' and—"
"But, husband, we can—"
"No, we can't, either!" interrupted Mr. Watson. "The man is off on the train before this. Confound it! I could kill the fellow. I—"
"Why, there he goes to the depot now," said Mrs. Watson, pointing out of the window at the retreating form of the book-agent making for the train.
"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not dressed. I've taken off my boots, and—"
Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, drove by, when Mr. Watson pounded on the window-pane in a frantic manner, almost frightening the horse.
"Here, Stevens!" he shouted, "you're hitched up! Won't you run your horse down to the train and hold that book-agent till I come? Run! Catch 'im now!"
"All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse and tearing down the road.
Mr. Stevens reached the train just as the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"
"Book-agent!" he yelled, as the book-agent stepped on the train. "Book-agent, hold on! Mr. Watson wants to see you."
"Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the seemingly puzzled book-agent. "Oh, I know what he wants: he wants to buy one of my books; but I can't miss the train to sell it to him."
"If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take it back to him. How much is it?"
"Two dollars, for the 'Early Christian Martyrs,'" said the book-agent, as he reached for the money and passed the book out of the car-window.
Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, in[Pg 1126] his shirt-sleeves. As he saw the train pull out he was too full for utterance.
"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens,—"just got it, and that's all."
"Got what?" yelled Watson.
"Why, I got the book,—'Early Christian Martyrs,'—and paid—"
"By—the—great—guns!" moaned Watson, as he placed his hands to his brow and swooned right in the middle of the street.[Pg 1127]
THE COQUETTE A Portrait BY JOHN G. SAXESaid my beautiful cousin Lisette,
As we sat by the window alone,
"But say, can you paint a Coquette?"
"Nay, nay!" said the laughing Lisette,
"Now none of your joking,—but try
And paint me a thorough Coquette."
In the ear of the eager Lisette,
"I'll paint you as well as I can
That wonderful thing, a Coquette.
("Of course!" said the pretty Lisette),
"And isn't deficient in grace,
Or else she were not a Coquette.
(A smile from the dainty Lisette),
"By people expert in the trade
Of forming a proper Coquette.[Pg 1128]
("Go on!"—said the winning Lisette),
"But there isn't a man of them knows
The mind of the fickle Coquette!
(A sigh from the tender Lisette),
"But her weeping is all in my eye,—
Not that of the cunning Coquette!
("Oh hush!" said the frowning Lisette),
"With merely the ghost of a heart,—
Enough for a thorough Coquette.
("Now don't!" said the angry Lisette),
"The lady is always in love,—
In love with herself,—the Coquette!
My dear little cousin Lisette,
You told me a moment ago
To paint you—a thorough Coquette!"
[Pg 1129] A SPRING FEELING BY BLISS CARMAN
All broken up and thawed.
I'm sick of everybody's "wheel";
I'm sick of being jawed.
Cold-sour through and through.
O Heavenly Barber, come and give
My soul a dry shampoo!
Who weep through yards of verse,
And all these sonneteering dupes
Who whine and froth and curse.
Tagged to some paltry line,
While this old corpus without shame
Sits down to meat and wine.
And all these Bodley Heads;
I'm sick of all these freaks and spooks
And frights in double leads.[Pg 1130]
Was dangled from a limb,
He should have had an editor
On either side of him.
Under a foreign name;
For when you call it decadent,
It's rotten just the same.
And namby-pamby rot,—
A Pegasus you have to thrash
To make him even trot!
For all their plotless plays,
One round Flagstaffian adjective
Or one Miltonic phrase.
In bilious green and blue;
I'm tired to death of taking stock
Of everything that's "New."
All maimed and blind and halt!
And all the fads of the New Fools
Who can not earn their salt.
Good Lord, she's worst of all.
Her rights, her sphere, her point of view,
And all that folderol![Pg 1131]
Inside of Eden's wall,
To give the tree another shake,
And see another fall.
I like sufficiency;
But just the common garden kind
Is good enough for me.
And lie down, and keep still;
And swear a little; and feel good;
Then loaf on up the hill,
Where all this stuff is crammed;
And let my heart grow sweet again;
And let the Age be damned.
[Pg 1132] WASTED OPPORTUNITIES[6] BY ROY FARRELL GREENE
How they pair off by the dozens when my memory goes back
Across the current of the years aboard of Fancy's ferry,
Which shuns the shores of What-We-Have and touches What-We-Lack.
The girl I took t' singin'-school one night, who vowed she'd never
Before walked with a feller 'thout her mother bein' by,
I reckon that her temptin' mouth will haunt my dreams forever,
The lips I might have tasted if I'd had the nerve t' try!
Who rode beside me in a sleigh one night through snow an' sleet,
An' both my hands I kept in use a guidin' good ol' Dobbin—
One didn't need them any mor'n a chicken needs four feet.
Too scared was I to hold her in, or warm her cheeks with kisses,—
I know, now, she expected it, for once I heard her sigh—
To-day I'd like t' kick myself for these neglected blisses,
The lips I might have tasted if I'd had the nerve t' try.
[Pg 1133]
I never kissed Alvira, though I took her home one night,
That city cousin of the Smiths, a Miss Myrtilla Baker,
Though scores of opportunities slipped by me, left an' right.
It makes me hate myself to-day when I on Fancy's ferry
Have crossed the current of the years to olden days gone by,
T' think of all the lips I've missed, ripe-red as topmost cherry,
The lips I might have tasted if I'd had the nerve t' try.
[Pg 1134] THE WEDDIN' BY JENNIE BETTS HARTSWICK
Well, it's over, it's all over—bein' the last to leave I know that—and I declare, I'm that full of all the things we had to eat that John and me won't want any supper for a good hour yet, so I just ran in to tell you about it while it's on top of my mind.
It's an everlastin' shame you had to miss it! One thing, though, you'll get a trayful of the good things sent in to you, I shouldn't wonder. I know there's loads left, for I happened to slip out to the kitchen for a drink of water—I was that dry after all those salty nuts, and I didn't want to trouble 'em—and I saw just heaps of things standin' round.
Most likely you'll get a good, large plate of cake, not just a pinchin' little mite of a piece in a box. The boxes is real pretty, though, and they did look real palatial all stacked up on a table by the front door with a strange colored man, in white gloves like a pall-bearer, to hand 'em to you.
How did I get two of 'em? Why, it just happened that way. You see, when I was leavin' I missed my sun-shade and I laid my box down on the hatrack-stand while I went upstairs to look for it. I went through all the rooms, and just when I'd about given it up, why, there it was, right in my hand all the time! Wasn't it foolish? And when I came downstairs I found I'd clean forgot where I'd laid that box of cake. I hunted everywhere, and then[Pg 1135] I just had to tell the man how 'twas, so he handed me another one, and I was just walkin' out the front door when, would you believe it! if there wasn't the other one, just as innocent, on the hatrack-stand where I had laid it. So now I have three of 'em, countin' John's.
I just can't seem to realize that Eleanor Jamison is married at last, can you? She took her time if ever anybody did. They do say she was real taken with that young college professor with the full beard and spectacles that visited there last summer, and then to think that, after all, she went and married a man with a smooth face. He wears glasses, though; that's one point in common.
Eleanor's gone off a good deal lately, don't you think so? You hadn't noticed it? But then you never was any great hand at noticin', I've noticed you weren't. Why, the other day when I was there offerin' to help 'em get ready for the weddin' I noticed that she looked real worn, and there was two or three little fine lines in her eye-corners—not real wrinkles, of course—but we all know that lines is a forerunner. Her hair's beginnin' to turn, too; I noticed that comin' out of church last Sunday. I dare say her knowing this made her less particular than she'd once have been; and after all, marryin' any husband is a good deal like buyin' a new black silk dress pattern—an awful risk.
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