Parnassus on Wheels Christopher Morley (no david read aloud txt) š
- Author: Christopher Morley
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āWell, see here,ā said the little manā āand about this time I noticed that he had the bright eyes of a fanaticā āāIāve been cruising with this Parnassus going on seven years. Iāve covered the territory from Florida to Maine and I reckon Iāve injected about as much good literature into the countryside as ever old Doc Eliot did with his five-foot shelf. I want to sell out now. Iām going to write a book about āLiterature Among the Farmers,ā and want to settle down with my brother in Brooklyn and write it. Iāve got a sackful of notes for it. I guess Iāll just stick around until Mr. McGill gets home and see if he wonāt buy me out. Iāll sell the whole concern, horse, wagon, and books, for $400. Iāve read Andrew McGillās stuff and I reckon the propositionāll interest him. Iāve had more fun with this Parnassus than a barrel of monkeys. I used to be a school teacher till my health broke down. Then I took this up and Iāve made more than expenses and had the time of my life.ā
āWell, Mr. Mifflin,ā I said, āif you want to stay around I guess I canāt stop you. But Iām sorry you and your old Parnassus ever came this way.ā
I turned on my heel and went back to the kitchen. I knew pretty well that Andrew would go up in the air when he saw that wagonload of books and one of those crazy cards with Mr. Mifflinās poetry on it.
I must confess that I was considerably upset. Andrew is just as unpractical and fanciful as a young girl, and always dreaming of new adventures and rambles around the country. If he ever saw that travelling Parnassus heād fall for it like snap. And I knew Mr. Decameron was after him for a new book anyway. (Iād intercepted one of his letters suggesting another āHappiness and Hayseedā trip just a few weeks before. Andrew was away when the letter came. I had a suspicion what was in it; so I opened it, read it, andā āwell, burnt it. Heavens! as though Andrew didnāt have enough to do without mooning down the road like a tinker, just to write a book about it.)
As I worked around the kitchen I could see Mr. Mifflin making himself at home. He unhitched his horse, tied her up to the fence, sat down by the wood pile, and lit a pipe. I could see I was in for it. By and by I couldnāt stand it any longer. I went out to talk to that bald-headed pedlar.
āSee here,ā I said. āYouāre a pretty cool fish to make yourself so easy in my yard. I tell you I donāt want you around here, you and your travelling parcheesi. Suppose you clear out of here before my brother gets back and donāt be breaking up our happy family.ā
āMiss McGill,ā he said (the man had a pleasant way with him, tooā ādarn himā āwith his bright, twinkling eye and his silly little beard), āIām sure I donāt want to be discourteous. If you move me on from here, of course Iāll go; but I warn you I shall lie in wait for Mr. McGill just down this road. Iām here to sell this caravan of culture, and by the bones of Swinburne I think your brotherās the man to buy it.ā
My blood was up now, and Iāll admit that I said my next without proper calculation.
āRather than have Andrew buy your old parcheesi,ā I said, āIāll buy it myself. Iāll give you $300 for it.ā
The little manās face brightened. He didnāt either accept or decline my offer. (I was frightened to death that heād take me right on the nail and bang would go my three yearsā savings for a Ford.)
āCome and have another look at her,ā he said.
I must admit that Mr. Roger Mifflin had fixed up his van mighty comfortably inside. The body of the wagon was built out on each side over the wheels, which gave it an unwieldy appearance but made extra room for the bookshelves. This left an inside space about five feet wide and nine long. On one side he had a little oil stove, a flap table, and a cozy-looking bunk above which was built a kind of chest of drawersā āto hold clothes and such things, I suppose; on the other side more bookshelves, a small table, and a little wicker easy chair. Every possible inch of space seemed to be made useful in some way, for a shelf or a hook or a hanging cupboard or something. Above the stove was a neat little row of pots and dishes and cooking usefuls. The raised skylight made it just possible to stand upright in the centre aisle of the van; and a little sliding window opened onto the driverās seat in front. Altogether it was a very neat affair. The windows in front and back were curtained and a pot of geraniums stood on a diminutive shelf. I was amused to see a sandy Irish terrier curled up on a bright Mexican blanket in the bunk.
āMiss McGill,ā he said, āI couldnāt sell Parnassus for less than four hundred. Iāve put twice that much into her, one time and another. Sheās built clean and solid all through, and thereās everything a man would need from blankets to bouillon cubes. The whole thingās yours for $400ā āincluding dog, cook stove, and everythingā ājib, boom, and spanker. Thereās a tent in a sling underneath, and an ice box (he pulled up a little trap door under the bunk) and a tank of coal oil and Lord knows what all. Sheās as good as a yacht; but Iām tired of her. If youāre so afraid of your brother taking a fancy to her, why donāt you buy her yourself and
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