Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician, Marietta Holley [best books to read ever txt] 📗
- Author: Marietta Holley
Book online «Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician, Marietta Holley [best books to read ever txt] 📗». Author Marietta Holley
But I had got most out of hearin' then.
“And say”—
I heard his last “say” just as I got out of hearin' of him.
He acted kinder disappointed at dinner-time, and said “he wus tired of watchin', and tired out of bein' good;” and he wus considerable cross all that afternoon. But he got clever agin before bedtime. And he come and leaned up aginst my lap at sundown, and asked me, I guess, about 200 questions about the City.
And his eyes looked big and dreamy and soft, and his cheeks looked rosy, and his mouth awful good and sweet. And his curls wus kinder moist, and hung down over his white forehead. I did love him, and couldn't help it, chin or no chin.
He had been still for quite a spell, a thinkin'; and at last he broke out,—
“Say, auntie, shall I see my father there in the City?”
And I didn't know what to tell him; for you know what it says,—
“Without are murderers.”
But then, agin, I thought, what will become of the respectable church members who sell the fire that flames up in a man's soul, and ruins his life? What will become of them who lend their votes and their influence to make it right? They vote on Saturdays, to make the sale of this poison legal, and on Sundays go to church with their respectable families. And they expect to go right to heaven, of course; for they have improved all the means of grace. Hired costly pews, and give big charities—in money obtained by sellin' robberies, murders, broken hearts, ruined lives.
But the boy wanted an answer; and his eyes looked questioning but soft.
“Say, auntie, do you think we'll find him there, mamma and I? You know, that is what mamma cries so for,—she wants him so bad. And do you think he will stand just inside the gate, waiting for us? Say!”
But agin I thought of what it said,—
“No drunkard shall inherit eternal life.”
And agin I didn't know what to say, and I hurried him off to bed.
But, after he had gone, I spoke out entirely unbeknown to myself, and says,—
“I can't see through it.”
“You can't see through what?” says Josiah, who wus jest a comin' in.
“I can't see through it, why drunkards and murderers are punished, and them that make 'em drink and murder go free. I can't see through it.”
“Wall, I don't see how you can see through any thing here—dark as pitch.” Here he fell over a stool, which made him madder.
“Folks make fools of themselves, a follerin' up that subject.” Here he stubbed his foot aginst the rockin'-chair, and most fell, and snapped out enough to take my head off,—
“The dumb fools will get so before long, that a man can't drink milk porridge without their prayin' over him.”
Says I, “Be calm! stand right still in the middle of the floor, Josiah Allen, and I'll light a lamp,” which I did; and he sot down cleverer, though he says,—
“You want to take away all the rights of a man. Liquor is good for sickness, and you know it. You go onto extremes, you go too fur.”
Says I calmly, “Do you s'pose, at this late hour, I am goin' to stop bein' mejum? No! mejum have I lived, and mejum will I die. I believe liquor is good for medicine: if I should say I didn't, I should be a lyin', which I am fur from wantin' to do at my age. I think it kep' mother Allen alive for years, jest as I believe arsenic broke up Bildad Smith's chills. And I s'pose folks have jest as good a right to use it for the benefit of their health, as to use any other pizen, or fire, or any thing.
“And it should be used jest like pizen and fire and etcetery. You don't want to eat pizen for a treat, or pass it round amongst your friends. You don't want to play with fire for fun, or burn yourself up with it. You don't want to use it to confligrate yourself or anybody else.
“So with liquor. You don't want to drink liquor to kill yourself with, or to kill other folks. You don't want to inebriate with it. If I had my way, Josiah Allen,” says I firmly, “the hull liquor-trade should be in the hands of doctors, who wouldn't sell a drop without knowin' positive that it wus needed for sickness, or the aged and infirm. Good, honest doctors who couldn't be bought nor sold.”
“Where would you find 'em?” says Josiah in a gruff tone (I mistrust his toe pained him).
Says I thoughtfully, “Surely there is one good, reliable man left in every town—that could be found.”
“I don't know about it,” says he, sort o' musin'ly. “I am gettin' pretty old to begin it, but I don't know but I might get to be a doctor now.”
Says he, brightenin' up, “It can't take much study to deal out a dose of salts now and then, or count anybody's pult.”
But says I firmly, “Give up that idee at once, Josiah Allen. I have come out alive, out of all your other plans and progects, and I hain't a goin' to be killed now at my age, by you as a doctor.”
My tone wus so powerful, and even skairful, that he gin up the idee, and wound up the clock, and went to bed.
CHAPTER VI.
Cicely wus some better the next day. And two days before we sot sail for Washington, Philury Mesick, the girl Ury was payin' attention to, and who was goin' to keep my house durin' my absence on my tower, come with a small, a very small trunk, ornimented with brass nails.
Poor little thing! I wus always sorry for her, she is so little, and so freckled, and so awful willin' to do jest as anybody wants her to. She is a girl that Miss Solomon Gowdey kinder took. And I think, if there is any condition that is hard, it is to be “kinder took.” Why, if I was took at all, I should want to be “took.”
But Miss Gowdey took Philury jest enough not to pay her any regular wages, and didn't take her enough so Philury could collect any pay from her when she left. She left, because there wus a hardness between 'em, on account of a grindstun. Philury said Miss Gowdey's little boy broke the grindstun, and the boy laid it to Philury. Anyway, the grindstun wus broke, and it made a hardness. And when Philury left Miss Gowdey's, all her worldly wealth wuz held in that poor, pitiful lookin' trunk. Why, the trunk looked like Philury, and Philury looked like the trunk. It looked small, and meek, and well disposed; and the brass nails looked some like frecks, only larger.
Wall, I felt sorry for her: and I s'posed, that, married or single, she would have to wear stockin's; so I told her, that, besides her wages, she might have all the lamb's-wool yarn she wanted to spin while I was gone, after doin' the house-work.
She wus tickled enough as I told her.
“Why,” says she, “I can spin enough to last me for years and years.”
“Wall,” says I, “so much the better. I have mistrusted,” says I, “that Miss Gowdey wouldn't do much for you on account of that hardness about the grindstun; and knowin' that you hain't got no mother, I have laid out to do middlin' well by you and Ury when you get married.”
And she blushed, and said “she expected to marry Ury sometime—years and years hence.”
“Wall,” says I, “you can spin the yarn anyway.”
Philury is a real handy little thing about the house. And so willin' and clever, that I guess, if I had asked her to jump into the oven, and bake herself, she would have done it. And so I told Josiah.
And he said “he thought a little more bakin' wouldn't hurt her.” Says he, “She is pretty soft.”
And says I, “Soft or not, she's good. And that is more than I can say for some folks, who think they know a little more.”
I will stand up for my sect.
Wall, in three days' time we sot sail for Washington, D.C., I a feelin' well about Josiah. For Philury and Ury wus clever, and would do well by him. And the cubbard wus full and overflowin' with every thing good to eat. And I felt that I had indeed, in that cubbard, left him a consoler.
Josiah took us to the train about an hour and a half too early. But I wus glad we wus on time, because it would have worked Josiah up dretfully if we hadn't been. For he had spent the most of the latter part of the night in gettin' up and walkin' out to the clock to see if it wus approachin' train time: the train left at a quarter to ten.
I wus glad on his account, and also on my own; for at the last minute, as you may say, who should come a runnin' down to the depot but Sam Shelmadine, a wantin' to send a errent by me to Washington.
He kinder wunk me out to one side of the waitin'-room, and asked me “if I would try to get him a license to steal horses.”
It kinder runs in the blood of the Shelmadines to love to steal, and he owned up that it did. But he wuzn't goin' into it for that, he said: he wanted the profit of it.
But I told him “I wouldn't do any such thing;” and I looked at him in such a witherin' way, that I should most probable have withered him, only he is blind with one eye, and I was on the blind side.
But he argued with me, and said it was no worse than to give licenses for other kinds of meanness.
He said they give licenses now to steal—steal folks'es senses away, and then they would steal every thing else, and murder, and tear round into every kind of wickedness. But he didn't ask that. He wanted things done fair and square: he jest wanted to steal horses. He was goin' West, and he thought he could do a good business, and lay up something. If he had a license, he shouldn't be afraid of bein' shot up, or shot.
But I refused the job with scorn; and jest as I wus refusin', the cars snorted, and I wus glad they did. They seemed to express in that wild snort something of the indignation I felt.
The idee.
When Cicely and the boy and I got to Washington, the shades of twilight was a shadin the earth gently; and we got a man to take us to Condelick Smith'ses.
The man was in a hack, as Cicely called it (and he had a hackin' cough, too, which made it seem more singular). We told him to take us right to Miss Condelick Smith'ses. Condelick is my own cousin on my own side, and travelin' on the road for groceries.
She keeps a nice, quiet boardin'-house. Only a few boarders, “with the comforts of a home, and congenial society,” as she wrote to me when she heard I wus a comin' to Washington. She said we had got to go to her house; so we went, with the distinct knowledge in our minds and pocket-books, of payin' for our 3 boards.
She was very tickled to see us, and embraced us almost warmly. She had been over a hot fire a cookin'. She is humbly, but likely, I have been told and believe.
She has got a wen on her cheek, but that don't hurt her any. Wens hain't nothin' that detract from a person's moral worth.
There is only one child in the family,—Condelick, Jr., aged 13. A good, fat boy, with white hair and blue eyes, and a great capacity for blushin', but seemed to be good dispositioned.
It wus late supper time; and we had only time to go up into our rooms, and bathe our weary faces and hands, when we had to go down to supper.
Miss Condelick Smith called it dinner: she misspoke herself. Havin' so much on her hands,
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