Parnassus on Wheels Christopher Morley (no david read aloud txt) š
- Author: Christopher Morley
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And all the time I was counting eggs and turning out three meals a day, and running the farm when Andrew got a literary fit and would go off on some vagabond jaunt to collect adventures for a new book. (I wish you could have seen the state he was in when he came back from these trips, hoboing it along the roads without any money or a clean sock to his back. One time he returned with a cough you could hear the other side of the barn, and I had to nurse him for three weeks.) When somebody wrote a little booklet about āThe Sage of Redfieldā and described me as a ārural Xantippeā and āthe domestic balance-wheel that kept the great writer close to the homely realities of lifeā I made up my mind to give Andrew some of his own medicine. And thatās my story.
IIIt was a fine, crisp morning in fallā āOctober I dare sayā āand I was in the kitchen coring apples for apple sauce. We were going to have roast pork for dinner with boiled potatoes and what Andrew calls Vandyke brown gravy. Andrew had driven over to town to get some flour and feed and wouldnāt be back till noontime.
Being a Monday, Mrs. McNally, the washerwoman, had come over to take care of the washing. I remember I was just on my way out to the wood pile for a few sticks of birch when I heard wheels turn in at the gate. There was one of the fattest white horses I ever saw, and a queer wagon, shaped like a van. A funny-looking little man with a red beard leaned forward from the seat and said something. I didnāt hear what it was, I was looking at that preposterous wagon of his.
It was coloured a pale, robinās-egg blue, and on the side, in big scarlet letters, was painted:
R. Mifflinās Travelling Parnassus
Good Books for Sale
Shakespeare, Charles Lamb, R. L. S. Hazlitt, and All Others
Underneath the wagon, in slings, hung what looked like a tent, together with a lantern, a bucket, and other small things. The van had a raised skylight on the roof, something like an old-fashioned trolley car; and from one corner went up a stove pipe. At the back was a door with little windows on each side and a flight of steps leading up to it.
As I stood looking at this queer turnout, the little reddish man climbed down from in front and stood watching me. His face was a comic mixture of pleasant drollery and a sort of weather-beaten cynicism. He had a neat little russet beard and a shabby Norfolk jacket. His head was very bald.
āIs this where Andrew McGill lives?ā he said.
I admitted it.
āBut heās away until noon,ā I added. āHeāll be back then. Thereās roast pork for dinner.ā
āAnd apple sauce?ā said the little man.
āApple sauce and brown gravy,ā I said. āThatās why Iām sure heāll be home on time. Sometimes heās late when thereās boiled dinner, but never on roast pork days. Andrew would never do for a rabbi.ā
A sudden suspicion struck me.
āYouāre not another publisher, are you?ā I cried. āWhat do you want with Andrew?ā
āI was wondering whether he wouldnāt buy this outfit,ā said the little man, including, with a wave of the hand, both van and white horse. As he spoke he released a hook somewhere, and raised the whole side of his wagon like a flap. Some kind of catch clicked, the flap remained up like a roof, displaying nothing but booksā ārows and rows of them. The flank of his van was nothing but a big bookcase. Shelves stood above shelves, all of them full of booksā āboth old and new. As I stood gazing, he pulled out a printed card from somewhere and gave it to me:
Roger Mifflinās
Travelling Parnassus
Worthy friends, my wain doth hold
Many a book, both new and old;
Books, the truest friends of man,
Fill this rolling caravan.
Books to satisfy all uses,
Golden lyrics of the Muses,
Books on cookery and farming,
Novels passionate and charming,
Every kind for every need
So that he who buys may read.
What librarian can surpass us?
Mifflinās Travelling Parnassus
By R. Mifflin, Propār.
Star Job Print, Celeryville, Va.
While I was chuckling over this, he had raised a similar flap on the other side of the Parnassus which revealed still more shelves loaded with books.
Iām afraid I am severely practical by nature.
āWell!ā I said, āI should think you would need a pretty stout steed to lug that load along. It must weigh more than a coal wagon.ā
āOh, Peg can manage it all right,ā he said. āWe donāt travel very fast. But look here, I want to sell out. Do you suppose your husband would buy the outfitā āParnassus, Pegasus, and all? Heās fond of books, isnāt he?ā
āHold on a minute!ā I said. āAndrewās my brother, not my husband, and heās altogether too fond of books. Booksāll be the ruin of this farm pretty soon. Heās mooning about over his books like a sitting hen about half the time, when he ought to be mending harness. Lord, if he saw this wagonload of yours heād be unsettled for a week. I have to stop the postman down the road and take all the publishersā catalogues out of the mail so that Andrew donāt see āem. Iām mighty glad heās not here just now, I can tell you!ā
Iām not literary, as I said before, but Iām human enough to like a
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