HOW WE TOOK IN SUMMER BOARDERS.
Last summer, as the days grew hot, Josiah grew fearfully cross. And his worst spells would come on to him, as he would come home from Jonesville.
You see, an old friend of his’n, Jake Mandagood by name, was a-takin’ in boarders, and makin’ money by ’em. And s’pose, from what I learned afterward, that he kep’ a-throwin’ them boarders into Josiah’s face, and sayin’ if it wuzn’t for his wife, he could make jest as much money. Jake Mandagood had heerd me talk on the subject time and agin. For my feelin’s about summer boarders, and takin’ of ’em in, had always been cast-iron. I wouldn’t take ’em in, I had allers said.
Josiah, like other pardners of his sect, is very fond of havin’ things as he wants ’em; and he is also fond of makin’ money; and I s’pose that wus what made him so fearfully cross to me. But I was skairt most to death, seein’ him come home lookin’ so manger, and crosser than any bear out of a circus.
Thinks I to myself: “Mebby, he is a-enjoyin’ poor health.” And then, thinks I: “Mebby, he is a-backslidin’, or mebby, he is backslid.”
And one day, I says to him, says I:
“Josiah Allen, what is the matter with you? You don’t act like the same man you did, several weeks ago. I am goin’ to steep you up some catnip, and thorough-wort, and see if that won’t make you feel better; and some boneset.”
“I don’t want none of your boneset and catnip,” says he, impatient-like.
“Wall, then,” says I, in still more anxious tones, “if it ’taint yur health that is a-sufferin’, is it yur morals? Do you feel totterin’, Josiah? Tell yur pardner.”
“My morals feel all right.”
Says I, anxiously: “if yur hain’t enjoyin’ poor health, Josiah, and yur morals feel firm, why is there such a change in yur mean?” says I. “Yur mean don’t seem no more like the mean it used to be, than if it belonged to another man.”
But, instead of answering my affectionate arguments, he jumped up, and started for the barn.
And, oh! how feerfully, feerfully cross he wus, for the next several days. Finally, to the breakfast-table, one mornin’, I says to him, in tones that would be replied to:
“Josiah Allen, you are a-carryin’ sunthin’ on yur mind.” And says I, firmly: “Yur mind hain’t strong enough to carry it. You must and shall let yur pardner help you!”
Seein’ I was immovably sot onto the determination to make him tell, he up and told me all about it.
Says he: “Summer boarders is what ails me; I want to take ’em in.”
And then he went on to tell how awfully he wus a-hankerin’ after ’em. Now, he knew, piles and piles of money wus to be made by it—and what awful pretty business it wus, too. Nothin’ but fun, to take ’em in! Anybody could take sights and sights of comfort with ’em. He said Mandagood said so. And, it wus so dreadful profitable, too. And he up and told me that Mandagood wus a-twittin’ him, all the time, that, if it wuzn’t for me, he could make jest as much as he chose.
Mandagood knew well how I felt on the subject. He knew well I was principled against it, and sot. I don’t like Mandagood. He misuses his wife, in the wurst way. Works her down almost to skin and bone. They don’t live happy together at all. He is always envious of anybody that lives pleasant and agreeable with their pardners, and loves to break it up. And I shall always believe that it wus one great reason why he twitted Josiah so. And, for Mandagood to keep at him all the time, and throw them dozen boarders in his face, it hain’t no wonder to me that Josiah felt hurt.
Josiah went on, from half to three-quarters of an hour, a-pleadin’ with me, and a-bringin’ up arguments, to prove out what a beautiful business it wus, and how awful happifying; and, finally, says he, with a sad and melancholy look:
“I don’t want to say a word to turn your mind, Samantha; but, I will say this, that the idee that I can’t take boarders in, is a-wearin’ on me; it is a-wearin’ on me so, that I don’t know but it will wear me completely out.”
I didn’t say nothin’; but I felt strange and curious. I knew that my companion wus a man of small heft—I knew it wouldn’t take near so much to wear him out, as it would a heftier man—and the agony that I see printed on his eyebrows, seemed to pierce clear to my very heart. But, I didn’t say nothin’.
I see how fearfully he was a-sufferin’, and my affection for that man is like an oxes, as has often been remarked.
And, oh! what a wild commotion began to go on inside of me, between my principles and my affections.
As I have remarked and said, I wus principled against takin’ in summer boarders. I had seen ’em took in, time and agin’ and seen the effects of it. And I had said, and said it calmly, that boarders was a moth. I had said, and I have weighed my words, (as it were,) as I said it, that when a woman done her own housework, it wus all she ort to do, to take care of her own menfolks, and her house, and housen-stuff. And hired girls, I wus immovably sot against from my birth.
Home seemed to me to be a peaceful haven, jest large enough for two barks; my bark, and Josiah’s bark. And when foreign schooners, (to foller up my simely), sailed in, they generally proved in the end to be ships of war, pirate fleets, stealin’ happiness and ease, and runnin’ up the death’s head of our lost joy at the masthead.
But, I am a-eppisodin’, and a-wanderin’ off into fields of poesy; and to resume, and go on. Any female woman, who has got a beloved pardner, and also a heart inside of her breast bones, knows how the conflict ended. I yielded, and giv’ in. And, that very day, Josiah went and engaged ’em.
He had heerd of ’em from Mandagood. They wus boarders that Mandagood had had the summer before, and they had applied to him for board agin; but, he told Josiah, that he would giv’ ’em up to him. He said “He wouldn’t be selfish and onneighborly, he would give ’em up.”
“Why,” says Josiah, as he wus a tellin’ it over to me, “Mandagood acted fairly tickled at the idee of givin’ ’em up to me. There hain’t a selfish hair in Jake Mandagood’s head—not a hair!”
I thought it looked kinder queer, to think that Mandagood should act so awful willin’ to give them boarders up to Josiah and me, knowin’, as I did, that he was as selfish as the common run of men, if not selfisher. But I didn’t tell my thoughts. No, I didn’t say a word. Neither did I say a word when he said there wus four children in the family that wus a-comin’. No, I held firm. The job was undertook by me, for the savin’ of my pardner. I had undertook it in a martyr way, a almost John Rogers way, and I wuzn’t goin’ to spile the job by murmurin’s and complainin’s.
But, oh! how animated Josiah Allen wus that day, after he had come back from engagin’ of ’em. His appetite all came back, powerfully. He eat a feerful dinner. His restlessness, and oneasyness, had disappeared; his affectionate demeanor all returned. He would have acted spoony, if he had so much as a crumb of encouragement from me. But, I didn’t encourage him. There was a loftiness and majesty in my mean, (caused by my principles), that almost awed him. I looked firstrate, and acted so.
And, Josiah Allen, as I have said, how highlarious he was. He wus goin’ to make so much money by ’em. Says he: “Besides the happiness we shall enjoy with ’em, the almost perfect bliss, jest think of four dollars a week apiece for the man and wife, and two dollars apiece for the children.”
“Lemme see,” says he, dreamily. “Twice four is eight, and no orts to carry; four times two is eight, and eight and eight is sixteen—sixteen dollars a week! Why, Samantha,” says he, “that will support us. There hain’t no need of our ever liftin’ our fingers agin, if we can only keep ’em right with us, always.”
“Who is goin’ to cook and wait on ’em?” says I, almost coldly. Not real cold, but sort o’ coolishlike. For I hain’t one, when I tackle a cross, to go carryin’ it along, groanin’ and cryin’ out loud, all the way. No, if I can’t carry it along, without makin’ too much fuss, I’ll drop it and tackle another one. So, as I say, my tone wuzn’t frigid; but, sort o’ cool-like.
“Who’ll wait on them?” says I.
“Get a girl, get two girls,” says Josiah. Says he: “Think of sixteen dollars a week. You can keep a variety of hired girls, you kin, on that. Besides the pure happiness we are going to enjoy with ’em, we can have everything we want. Thank fortune, Samantha, we have now got a competency.”
“Wal,” says I, in the same coolish tones, or pretty nigh the same, “time will tell.”
Wal, they came on a Friday mornin’, on the five o’clock train. Josiah had to meet ’em to the depot, and he felt so afraid that he should miss ’em, and somebody else would undermind him, and get ’em as boarders, that he wus up about three o’clock; and went out and milked by candlelight, so’s to be sure to be there in season.
And I had to get up, and cook his breakfast, before daylight; feelin’ like a fool, too, for he had kept me awake all night, a-most, a-walkin’ ’round the house, a-lookin’ at the clock, to see what time it wus; and, if he said to me once, he said thirty times durin’ the night:
“It would be jest my luck to have somebody get in ahead of me to the cars, and undermind me at the last minute, and get ’em away from us.”
Says I, in a dry tone (not as dry as I had used sometimes, but dryish):
“I guess there won’t be no danger, Josiah.”
Wal, at about a-quarter to seven he driv’ up with ’em; a tall, waspish-lookin’ woman, and four children; the man they said wouldn’t be there till Saturday night. I thought the woman had a singular look to her: I thought so when I first sot my eyes on her. And the oldest boy, about thirteen years old, he looked awful curious. I thought, to myself, as they walked up to the house, side by side, that I never, in all my hull life, seed a waspisher and more spindliner-lookin’ woman and a curiouser, stranger-lookin’ boy. The three children that come along behind ’em, seemed to be pretty much of a size, and looked healthy, and full of witchcraft, as we found afterward, they indeed was.
Wal, I had a hard tussle of it, through the day, to cook and do for ’em. Their appetites wus tremendous, ’specially the woman and oldest boy. They wuzn’t healthy appetites, I could see that in a minute. Their eyes would look holler and hungry, and they would look voraciously at the empty, deep dishes, and tureens, after they had eat them all empty—eat enough for four men.
Why, it did beat all: Josiah looked at me, in silent wonder and dismay, as he see the vittles disappear before the woman and boy. The other three children eat about as common, healthy children do: about twice what Josiah and me did. But there wuzn’t nothin’ mysterious about ’em. But, the woman and Bill—that was the biggest boy’s name—they made me feel curious; curiouser than I had ever felt. For, truly, I thought to myself, if their legs and arms hain’t holler, how do they hold it?
It wus, to me, a new and interestin’ spectacle, to be studied over, and philosophized upon; but, to Josiah, it was a canker, as I see the very first meal. I could see by the looks of his face, that them two appetites of theirn was sunthin’ he hadn’t reckoned and calculated on; and I could see, plain, havin’ watched the changes of my companion’s face, as close as astronimers watch the moon, I could see them two appetites of theirn wus a-wearin’ on him.
Wal, I thought mebby they was kinder starved out, comin’ right from a city boardin’-house, and a few of my good meals would quell ’em down. But, no; instead of growin’ lighter, them two appetites of theirn seemed, if possible, to grow consuminer and consuminer, though I cooked lavish and profuse, as I always did. They devoured everything before ’em, and looked hungry at the plates and tablecloth.
And Josiah looked on in perfect agony, I knew. (He is very close). But he didn’t say nothin’. And it seemed so awful mysterious to me, that I would get perfectly lost, and by the side of myself, a-reasonin’ and philosophizin’ on it, whether their legs wus holler, or not holler. And, if they wus holler, how they could walk ’round on ’em; and if they wuzn’t holler, where the vittles went to.
“Will they never stop eatin’?” said Josiah, and he got madder every day. He vowed he would charge extra.
It was after we went to bed, that he said this. But I told him to talk low; for her room wus jest over ours, and says I, in a low but firm axent:
“Don’t you do no such thing, Josiah Allen. Do you realize how it would look? What a sound it would have in the community? You agreed to take ’em for four dollars, and they’d call it mean.”
“Wal!” he hollered out. “Do you s’pose I am goin’ to board people for nothin’? I took men and wimmen and children to board. I didn’t agree to board elephants and rhinoceroses and hippopotamuses and whales and sea serpents. And I won’t neither, unless I have my pay for it; it wuzn’t in the bill.”
“Do you keep still, Josiah Allen,” I whispered. “She’ll hear you calling her a sea-serpent.”
“Let her hear me. I say, agin, it wuzn’t in the bill!” He hollered this out louder than ever. I s’pose he meant it wuzn’t in the bargain; but he was nearly delirious. He is close, I can’t deny it; nearly tight.
But, jest that minute, before I could say a word, we heard an awful noise, right over our heads. It sounded as if the hull roof had fallen in.
Says Josiah, leaping out of bed, “The old chimbley has fell in.”
“No!” says I, follerin’ him, “It is the roof.”
And we both started for up stairs, on a run.
I sent him back from the head of the stairs, howsomever; for, in the awful fright he hadn’t realized his condition, and wuzn’t dressed. I waited for him at the top of the stairway; for, to tell you the truth, I dassent go on. He hurried-on his clothes, and he went on ahead, and there she lay; there Miss Danks wus, on the floor, in a historical fit.
Josiah, thinkin’ she was dead, run in and ketched her up, and went to put her on the bed; and she, just as they will in historicks, clawed right into his hair, and tore out almost all he had on the nigh side. Then she struck him a feerful blow on the off eye and made it black and blue for a week. She didn’t know what she was about. She wuzn’t to blame, though the hair was a great loss to him, and I won’t deny it. Wal, we stood over her, most all night, to keep the breath of life in her. And the oldest boy bein’ skairt, it brought on some fits he wus in the habit of havin’, a sort of fallin’ fits. He’d fall anywhere; he fell onto Josiah twice that night, almost knocked him down; he was awful large of his age. Dredful big and fat. It seemed as if there was sunthin’ wrong about his heft, it was so oncommon hefty, for a boy of his age. He looked bloated. His eyes, which was a pale blue, seemed to be kinder sot back into his head, and his cheeks stood out below, some like balloons. And his mouth wus kinder open a good deal of the time, as if it was hard work for him to breathe. He breathed thick and wheezy, dredful oncomfortable. His complexion looked bad, too; sallow, and sort o’ tallery lookin’. He acted dreadful lazy, and heavy at the best of times, and in them fits he seemed to be as heavy as lead.
Wal, that wus the third night after they got there; and, from that night, as long as they staid, she had the historicks, frequent and violent; and Bill had his fallin’ fits; and you wouldn’t believe unless you see it, how many things that boy broke, in fallin’ on ’em in them fits. It beat all, how unfortunate he wus. They always come onto him unexpected, and it seemed as if they always come onto him while he wus in front of sunthin’ to smash all to bits. I can’t begin to tell how many things he destroyed, jest by them fits: finally, I says to Josiah, one day, says I:
“Did you ever see, Josiah Allen, anybody so unlucky as that boy is in his fits: seems as if he’ll break everything in the house, if it goes on.”
Says he: “It’s a pity he don’t break his cussed neck.”
I don’t know as I wus ever more tried with Josiah Allen than I wus then, or ever give him a firmer, eloquenter lecture, against swearin’. But, in my heart I couldn’t help pityin’ him, for I knew Bill had jest fell onto some tomato-plants, of a extra kind, and set out, and broke ’em short off. And it wus only the day before, that he fell, as he was lookin’ at the colt; it was only a week old; but it was a uncommon nice one, and Josiah thought his eyes of it; and Bill wus admirin’ of it; there wuzn’t nothin’ ugly about him; but a fit come on, and he fell right onto the colt, and the colt, not expectin’ of it, and bein’ entirely unprepared, fell flat down, and the boy on it. And the colt jest lived, that is all. Josiah says it never will be worth anythin’; he thinks it broke sunthin’ inside.
As I said, there wuzn’t nothin’ ugly about the boy. He’d be awful sorry, when he broke things, and flatted ’em all out a-fallin’ on ’em. All I blamed him for, wus in prowlin’ ’round so much. I thought then, and I think still, that seein’ he knew he had ’em, and wus liable to have ’em, he’d have done better to have kept still, and not tried to get ’round so much. But, his mother said he felt restless and oneasy. I couldn’t help likin’ the boy. And when he fell right into my bread, that wus a-risin’, and spilt the hull batch—and when he fell unto the parlor table, and broke the big parlor lamp, and everything else that wus on it—and when he fell onto a chicken-coop, and broke it down, and killed a hull brood of chickens—and more than fifty other things, jest about like ’em—why, I didn’t feel like scoldin’ him. I s’pose it wus my lofty principles that boyed me up; them and the thought that would come to me, another time; mebby Josiah Allen will heer to me, another time; mebby he will get sick of summer boarders, and takin’ of ’em in.