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LANCASTER
bore him--such a little town,
Such a great man. It
doesn't see him often
Of late years, though he keeps
the old homestead
And sends the children down there
with their mother
To run wild in the summer--a little
wild.
Sometimes he joins them for a day or two
And
sees old friends he somehow can't get near.
They meet
him in the general store at night,
Pre-occupied with
formidable mail,
Rifling a printed letter as he
talks.
They seem afraid. He wouldn't have it so:
Though a great scholar, he's a democrat,
If not at
heart, at least on principle.
Lately when coming up
to Lancaster
His train being late he missed another
train
And had four hours to wait at Woodsville
Junction
After eleven o'clock at night. Too tired
To think of sitting such an ordeal out,
He turned to
the hotel to find a bed.
"No room," the night clerk
said. "Unless----"
Woodsville's a place of shrieks
and wandering lamps
And cars that shook and
rattle--and one hotel.
"You say 'unless.'"
"Unless
you wouldn't mind
Sharing a room with someone else."
"Who is it?"
"A man."
"So I should hope. What kind
of man?"
"I know him: he's all right. A man's a man.
Separate beds of course you understand."
The night
clerk blinked his eyes and dared him on.
"Who's that
man sleeping in the office chair?
Has he had the
refusal of my chance?"
"He was afraid of being robbed
or murdered.
What do you say?"
"I'll have to have
a bed."
The night clerk led him up three flights of
stairs
And down a narrow passage full of doors,
At
the last one of which he knocked and entered.
"Lafe,
here's a fellow wants to share your room."
"Show him
this way. I'm not afraid of him.
I'm not so drunk I
can't take care of myself."
The night clerk clapped a
bedstead on the foot.
"This will be yours.
Good-night," he said, and went.
"Lafe was the name, I
think?"
"Yes, Layfayette.
You got it the first
time. And yours?"
"Magoon.
Doctor Magoon."
"A
Doctor?"
"Well, a teacher."
"Professor
Square-the-circle-till-you're-tired?
Hold on, there's
something I don't think of now
That I had on my mind
to ask the first
Man that knew anything I happened in
with.
I'll ask you later--don't let me forget it."
The Doctor looked at Lafe and looked away.
A man? A
brute. Naked above the waist,
He sat there creased
and shining in the light,
Fumbling the buttons in a
well-starched shirt.
"I'm moving into a size-larger
shirt.
I've felt mean lately; mean's no name for it.
I just found what the matter was to-night:
I've been
a-choking like a nursery tree
When it outgrows the
wire band of its name tag.
I blamed it on the hot
spell we've been having.
'Twas nothing but my foolish
hanging back,
Not liking to own up I'd grown a size.
Number eighteen this is. What size do you wear?"
The
Doctor caught his throat convulsively.
"Oh--ah--fourteen--fourteen."
"Fourteen! You say so!
I can remember when I wore fourteen.
And come to
think I must have back at home
More than a hundred
collars, size fourteen.
Too bad to waste them all.
You ought to have them.
They're yours and welcome;
let me send them to you.
What makes you stand there
on one leg like that?
You're not much furtherer than
where Kike left you.
You act as if you wished you
hadn't come.
Sit down or lie down, friend; you make
me nervous."
The Doctor made a subdued dash for it,
And propped himself at bay against a pillow.
"Not
that way, with your shoes on Kike's white bed.
You
can't rest that way. Let me pull your shoes off."
"Don't touch me, please--I say, don't touch me, please.
I'll not be put to bed by you, my man."
"Just as you
say. Have it your own way then.
'My man' is it? You
talk like a professor.
Speaking of who's afraid of
who, however,
I'm thinking I have more to lose than
you
If anything should happen to be wrong.
Who
wants to cut your number fourteen throat!
Let's have
a show down as an evidence
Of good faith. There is
ninety dollars.
Come, if you're not afraid."
"I'm
not afraid.
There's five: that's all I carry."
"I
can search you?
Where are you moving over to? Stay
still.
You'd better tuck your money under you
And
sleep on it the way I always do
When I'm with people
I don't trust at night."
"Will you believe me if I
put it there
Right on the counterpane--that I do
trust you?"
"You'd say so, Mister Man.--I'm a
collector.
My ninety isn't mine--you won't think
that.
I pick it up a dollar at a time
All round
the country for the Weekly News,
Published in Bow.
You know the Weekly News?"
"Known it since I was
young."
"Then you know me.
Now we are getting on
together--talking.
I'm sort of Something for it at
the front.
My business is to find what people want:
They pay for it, and so they ought to have it.
Fairbanks, he says to me--he's editor--
Feel out the
public sentiment--he says.
A good deal comes on me
when all is said.
The only trouble is we disagree
In politics: I'm Vermont Democrat--
You know what
that is, sort of double-dyed;
The News has always
been Republican.
Fairbanks, he says to me, 'Help us
this year,'
Meaning by us their ticket. 'No,' I says,
'I can't and won't. You've been in long enough:
It's
time you turned around and boosted us.
You'll have to
pay me more than ten a week
If I'm expected to elect
Bill Taft.
I doubt if I could do it anyway.'"
"You
seem to shape the paper's policy."
"You see I'm in
with everybody, know 'em all.
I almost know their
farms as well as they do."
"You drive around? It must
be pleasant work."
"It's business, but I can't say
it's not fun.
What I like best's the lay of different
farms,
Coming out on them from a stretch of woods,
Or over a hill or round a sudden corner.
I like to
find folks getting out in spring,
Raking the
dooryard, working near the house.
Later they get out
further in the fields.
Everything's shut sometimes
except the barn;
The family's all away in some back
meadow.
There's a hay load a-coming--when it comes.
And later still they all get driven in:
The fields
are stripped to lawn, the garden patches
Stripped to
bare ground, the apple trees
To whips and poles.
There's nobody about.
The chimney, though, keeps up a
good brisk smoking.
And I lie back and ride. I take
the reins
Only when someone's coming, and the mare
Stops when she likes: I tell her when to go.
I've
spoiled Jemima in more ways than one.
She's got so
she turns in at every house
As if she had some sort
of curvature,
No matter if I have no errand there.
She thinks I'm sociable. I maybe am.
It's seldom I
get down except for meals, though.
Folks entertain me
from the kitchen doorstep,
All in a family row down
to the youngest."
"One would suppose they might not
be as glad
To see you as you are to see them."
"Oh,
Because I want their dollar. I don't want
Anything they've not got. I never dun.
I'm there, and
they can pay me if they like.
I go nowhere on
purpose: I happen by.
Sorry there is no cup to give
you a drink.
I drink out of the bottle--not your
style.
Mayn't I offer you----?"
"No, no, no, thank
you."
"Just as you say. Here's looking at you then.--
And now I'm leaving you a little while.
You'll rest
easier when I'm gone, perhaps--
Lie down--let
yourself go and get some sleep.
But first--let's
see--what was I going to ask you?
Those collars--who
shall I address them to,
Suppose you aren't awake
when I come back?"
"Really, friend, I can't let you.
You--may need them."
"Not till I shrink, when they'll
be out of style."
"But really I--I have so many
collars."
"I don't know who I rather would have have
them.
They're only turning yellow where they are.
But you're the doctor as the saying is.
I'll put the
light out. Don't you wait for me:
I've just begun the
night. You get some sleep.
I'll knock so-fashion and
peep round the door
When I come back so you'll know
who it is.
There's nothing I'm afraid of like scared
people.
I don't want you should shoot me in the head.
What am I doing carrying off this bottle?
There now,
you get some sleep."
He shut the door.
The Doctor
slid a little down the pillow.
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