Clara J. came out on the porch and said, "John, perhaps that lawn-mower would stop screaming if you used a little axle grease!"
"All right," I came back at her, "but it will take me an hour and a half to find out which part of the lawnmower will fit the axle grease."
Then I lifted the machinery up to examine its constitution and by-laws, and about two and a half pounds of wrought iron fell off and landed on my instep.
The wrought iron made good.
Then I tried to stand on the other foot, but I lost my balance and fell on the lawn-mower's third rail.
I never was so mortified in my life as when that lawn-mower began to saw its initials on my shin bones.
Every time I tried to get up I lost my balance, and every time I lost my balance the lawn-mower would leap up in the air and fall on my wish-bone.
When loving hands finally pulled us apart I was two doors and a half below unconsciousness, while the lawnmower had recovered its second wind and was wagging its tail with excitement.
After waiting for about ten minutes for me to come back in the
ring, the lawn-mower got impatient and began to bark at me in
Yiddish, so I decided that our lawn could grow whiskers like a
Populist farmer and be hanged to it.
Another splendid bit of local color in the life of some commuters is the tunnel which runs from Forty-second Street up as far as One Hundred and Fifty in the shade.