THE SERENADE.
THE SERENADE.
THE SERENADE.
But anyway, whatever was the cause, he bruised up them old men fearful. Eliab was strong and perseverin’, and a good calculator, or he never could have laid up the property he had. Every blow hit jest where it would hurt the worst. He pelted them old men perfectly fearful. They had composed a lot of verses—over 20 they say there was of ’em—that they was a layin’ out to sing to him. They didn’t sing but 3, I believe, when the first boot hit ’em, but they say they kep’ on singin’ the next verse, bein’ determined to mollify him down, till they got so bruised and batteredup that they had to flee for their very lives. The verses run like this:
Who did from the Ohio comeTo visit round in his old home,And make the neighbers happy, some?Eliab.With melody we him will cheer,And keep Eliab Gansey here.Who is this man we love so dear?Eliab.If music sweet as can be hadCan sooth thee, make thee blest and glad,Then never more shalt thou be sad,Eliab.
Who did from the Ohio comeTo visit round in his old home,And make the neighbers happy, some?Eliab.With melody we him will cheer,And keep Eliab Gansey here.Who is this man we love so dear?Eliab.If music sweet as can be hadCan sooth thee, make thee blest and glad,Then never more shalt thou be sad,Eliab.
Who did from the Ohio comeTo visit round in his old home,And make the neighbers happy, some?
Who did from the Ohio come
To visit round in his old home,
And make the neighbers happy, some?
Eliab.
Eliab.
With melody we him will cheer,And keep Eliab Gansey here.Who is this man we love so dear?
With melody we him will cheer,
And keep Eliab Gansey here.
Who is this man we love so dear?
Eliab.
Eliab.
If music sweet as can be hadCan sooth thee, make thee blest and glad,Then never more shalt thou be sad,
If music sweet as can be had
Can sooth thee, make thee blest and glad,
Then never more shalt thou be sad,
Eliab.
Eliab.
I s’pose it was jest at this very minute that the washbowl flew and struck old Bobbet in the small of the back, and crumpled him right down; he was sort o’ bent over the accordeon. They didn’t play the accordeon all the time they was singin’, as I have been told, but between the verses; jest after they would sing “Eliab,” they would play a few notes sort o’ lively.
It was Josiah’s idee, as I heard afterwards, their takin’ the accordeon. They couldn’t one of ’em play a tune, or anything that sounded like a tune, but he insisted it would look more stylish to have some instrument, and so they took that old accordeon that used to belong to Shakespeare Bobbet.
They had planned it all out, and had boasted thatthey had got up something in their own heads that hadn’t never been heerd of in Jonesville. And well they might say so, well they might.
Wall, there wasn’t one of them 8 old fellers that was good for anything for the next 4 weeks. Eliab’s folks try to make the best of it. They say now that Eliab always did, when he was first rousted up out of a sound sleep, act kinder lost and crazy. They tell that now to kind o’ smooth it over, but I think, and I always shall think, that he knew jest who he was a hittin’, and what he was a hittin’ ’em with. It was the glass soap-dish that struck old Dagget’s nose. And I wish you could have seen that nose for the next 3 weeks. It used to be a Roman, but after that night it didn’t look much like a Roman.
Eliab’s boots was the very best of leather, and they had a new-fashioned kind of heels, some sort o’ metal or other, and Cornelius Cook says they hit as powerful as any cannon balls would; he goes lame yet. You know the shin-bone is one of the tenderest bones in the hull body to be hit aginst.
It was the bootjack that hit the Editor of the Augur’ses head. His wife was skairt most to death about him, and she says to me—she had come over to see if she could get some wormwood—and she says:
“He never will get over that bootjack in the world, I don’t believe. His head is swelled up as big as two heads ought to be.”
And says I: “It always happens so, don’t it, that the weakest spot is the one that always gets hit?”
I was sorry for her as I could be. And I gin her the wormwood, and recommended her to use about half and half smartweed. Says I: “Smartweed is good for the outside of his head, and if it strikes in it won’t hurt him none.”
I felt to sympathize with her. Old Sansey hain’t got over the slop-jar yet. It brought on other complaints that he was subject to, and the Dr. says he may get over it, and he may not.
But as bad as it was for all the rest, it was the worst for Josiah Allen—as bad agin.
It wuzn’t so much the hurt he got that night, though I thought for quite a spell that it would have to be operated on, and I didn’t know but it would prove to be his death-blow. And it wuzn’t so much our sufferin’s with Miss Moony, though them was fearful, bein’ up with her all that night, and workin’ over her to keep the breath of life in her, and she a clawin’ at us, and a ketchin’ holt of us, and a laughin’, and a cryin’. We had to send for the neighbors, we was that skairt about her, and Josiah had to go for the doctor right in the dead of night, with his head a achin’ as if it would split open.
And it wuzn’t so much the thought of losin’ Eliab and money, though Josiah was dretfully attached to both, and he felt the loss of both on ’em more deeply than tongue can ever tell. But that wuzn’t where the deepestpiece of iron entered his soul. It was to think his singin’ had got called so all to nort. He thought he was such a sweet, dulcet harmonist; he had gloated and boasted so over his lovely, melodious voice, and thought he was goin’ to be admired so for it; and then to think his singin’ had skairt two wimmen most to death, had skairt one into fits, anyway—for if ever a woman had a historical fit Tamer Moony had one that night. And instead of his serenade winnin’ Liab’s love and money, it had disgusted him so that he had pelted him most to death.
Oh! it was a fearfully humiliatin’ blow to his vanity. The blow on his forward wasn’t to be compared to the soreness of the blow onto his vanity, though the swellin’ on his forward was bigger than a butnut, and as sore as any bile I ever see.
Yes, I have seen Josiah Allen in tryin’ places, time and agin, and in places calculated to make a man meach, but never, never did I see him in a place of such deep meachin’ness and gloom as he was that night after he had come home with Doctor Bamber. There he was, at the very time, the very night, when he had lotted on bein’ covered with admiration and glory like a mantilly, there he wuz lookin’, oh, so pitiful and meek, bowed down by pain, contumily, and water-pitchers. And he happened to pass by the bed where Miss Moony lay, and she, bein’ blind with historicks, laid holt of him, and called him “Mandana.” She clutched right into his vest, and held him tight, and says she:
“Oh Mandana! Oh! them awful voices! Oh! them horrible, screechin’ yells! I can’t forget ’em,” says she. “They are ringin’ through my ears yet.”
And then Dr. Bamber and the neighbors knew all about what it wuz that had skairt her so; there they stood a laughin’ in their sleeves (as it were). And Josiah standin’ there, lookin’ as if he must sink. And there Samantha wuz, who had vainly argued with him, and entreated him to let well enough alone.
MANDANA! MANDANA!
MANDANA! MANDANA!
MANDANA! MANDANA!
Yes, Josiah Allen was in a hard place, a very hard place. But he couldn’t get away from her, so he had to grin and bear it. For he couldn’t onclench herhands; she had a sort of a spazzum right there, a holdin’ him tight. And every time she would come to a little, she would call him “Mandana,” and yell about them “awful, blood-curdlin’ screeches.” It was a curious time—very.
Wall, she got better after a while. Dr. Bamber give her powerful doses of morpheen, and that quelled her down.
But morpheen couldn’t quiet down Josiah Allen’s feelin’s, nor ease the sore spot in his vanity. No! all the poppies that ever grew in earthly gardens couldn’t do it. He never will start out a seranadin’ agin, I don’t believe—never.
I hain’t one to be a twittin’ about things. But sunthin’ happened to bring the subject up the other mornin’ jest after breakfast, and I says this, I merely observed this to him:
“Wall, you wanted to make a excitement, Josiah Allen, and you did make one.”
“Wall, wall! who said I didn’t?”
Says I: “You have most probable done your last seranadin’.”
I said this in a mild and almost amiable axent, but you ort to heard how that man yelled up at me.
Says he: “If I was a woman, and couldn’t keep from talkin’ so dumb aggravatin’, I’d tie my tongue to my teeth. And if you are a goin’ to skim the milk for that calf, why don’t youskimit?”
“Wall,” says I mildly, “I hain’t deef.”
A STITCH IN THE BACK.
A STITCH IN THE BACK.
A STITCH IN THE BACK.