Parnassus on Wheels Christopher Morley (no david read aloud txt) đ
- Author: Christopher Morley
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âDo tell!â exclaimed Mrs. Pratt. âWhy the Perfessor thought a terrible lot of him. He read us all to sleep with one of his books one night. Said he was the best literature in this state, I do believe.â
I smiled to myself as I thought of the set-to on the road from Shelby.
âWell,â said Pratt, âif the Perfessorâs got any better friends than us in these parts, Iâm glad to meet âem. He come here first time âbout four years ago. I was up working in the hayfield that afternoon, and I heard a shout down by the mill pond. I looked over that way and saw a couple oâ kids waving their arms and screaminâ. I ran down the hill and there was the Perfessor just a pullinâ my boy Dick out oâ the water. Dickâs this one over here.â
Dick, a small boy of thirteen or so, grew red under his freckles.
âThe kids had been foolinâ around on a raft there, anâ first thing you know Dick fell in, right into deep water, over by the dam. Couldnât swim a stroke, neither. And the Perfessor, who jest happened to be cominâ along in that bus of his, heard the boys yell. Didnât he hop out oâ the wagon as spry as a chimpanzee, skin over the fence, anâ jump into the pond, swim out there anâ tow the boy in! Yes, maâam, he saved that boyâs life then anâ no mistake. That man can read me to sleep with poetry any night he has a mind to. Heâs a plumb fine little firecracker, the Perfessor.â
Farmer Pratt pulled hard on his pipe. Evidently his friendship for the wandering bookseller was one of the realities of his life.
âYes, maâam,â he went on, âthat Perfessor has been a good friend to me, sure enough. We brought him anâ the boy back to the house. The boy had gone down three times anâ the Perfessor had to dive to find him. They were both purty well all in, anâ I tell you I was scared. But we got Dick around somehowâ ârolled him on a sugar barâl, anâ poured whiskey in him, anâ worked his arms, anâ put him in hot blankets. By and by he come to. Anâ then I found that the Perfessor, gettinâ over the barbwire fence so quick (when he lit for the pond) had torn a hole in his leg you could put four fingers in. There was his trouser all stiff with blood, anâ he not sayinâ a thing. Pluckiest little runt in three states, by Judas! Well, we put him to bed, too, and then the Missus keeled over, anâ we put her to bed. Three of them, by time the Doc got here. Great old summer afternoon that was! But bless your heart, we couldnât keep the Perfessor abed long. Next day he was out lookinâ fer his poetry books, anâ first thing you know he had us all rounded up anâ was preachinâ good literature at us like any evangelist. I guess we all fell asleep over his poetry, so then he started on readinâ that Treasure Island story to us, wasnât it, Mother? By hickory, we none of us fell asleep over that. He started the kids readinâ so they been at it ever since, and Dickâs top boy at school now. Teacher says she never saw such a boy for readinâ. Thatâs what Perfessor done for us! Well, tell us âbout yerself, Miss McGill. Is there any good books we ought to read? I used to pine for some oâ that feller Shakespeare my father used to talk about so much, but Perfessor always âlowed it was over my head!â
It gave me quite a thrill to hear all this about Mifflin. I could readily imagine the masterful little man captivating the simplehearted Pratts with his eloquence and earnestness. And the story of the mill pond had its meaning, too. Little Redbeard was no mere wandering crankâ âhe was a real man, cool and steady of brain, with the earmarks of a hero. I felt a sudden gush of warmth as I recalled his comical ways.
Mrs. Pratt lit a fire in her Franklin stove and I racked my head wondering how I could tread worthily in the Professorâs footsteps. Finally I fetched the Jungle Book from Parnassus and read them the story of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. There was a long pause when I had finished.
âSay, Pa,â said Dick shyly, âthat mongoose was rather like Professor, wasnât he!â
Plainly the Professor was the traditional hero of this family, and I began to feel rather like an impostor!
I suppose it was foolish of me, but I had already made up my mind to push on to Woodbridge that night. It could not be more than four miles, and the time was not much after eight. I felt a little twinge of quite unworthy annoyance because I was still treading in the glamour of the Professorâs influence. The Pratts would talk of nothing else, and I wanted to get somewhere where I would be estimated at my own value, not merely as his disciple. âDarn the Redbeard,â I said to myself, âI think he has bewitched these people!â And in spite of their protests and invitations to stay the night, I insisted on having Peg hitched up. I gave them the copy of the Jungle Book as a small return for their hospitality, and finally sold Mr. Pratt a little copy of Lambâs Tales from Shakespeare which I thought he could read without brain fever. Then I lit my lantern and after a chorus of goodbyes Parnassus rolled away. âWell,â I said to myself as I turned into the high road once more, âdrat the gingersnap, he seems to hypnotize everybodyâ ââ ⊠he must be nearly in Brooklyn by this time!â
It was very quiet along the road, also very dark, for the sky had clouded over and I could see neither moon nor stars. As it was a direct road
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