Samantha at Saratoga by Marietta Holley (online e book reader TXT) 📕

Chapter XVI.
AT A LAWN PARTY.

Wall, the very next mornin’ Miss Flamm sent word for Josiah and me to come that night to a lawn party. And I sez at once, “I must go and get some lawn.”

Sez Josiah, “What will you do with it?”

And I sez, “Oh, I s’pose I shall wrap it round me, I’ll do what the rest do.”

And sez Josiah, “Hadn’t I ort to have some too? If it is a lawn party and everybody else has it, I shall feel like a fool without any lawn.”

And I looked at him in deep thought, and through him into the causes and consequences of things, and sez I, “I s’pose you do ort to have a lawn necktie, or handkerchief, or sunthin’.”

Sez he, “How would a vest look made out of it, a kinder sprigged one, light gay colors on a yaller ground-work?”

But I sez at once, “You never will go out with me, Josiah, with a lawn vest on.” And I settled it right there on the spot.

Then he proposed to have some wrapped round his hat, sort a festooned. But I stood like marble aginst that idee. But I knew I had got to have some lawn, and pretty soon we sallied out together and wended our way down to where I should be likely to find a lawn store.

And who should we meet a comin’ out of a store but Ardelia. Her 3d cousin had sent her over to get a ingregient for cookin’. Good, willin’ little creeter! She walked along with us for a spell. And while she wuz a walkin’ along with us, we come onto a sight that always looked pitiful to me, the old female that wuz always a’ sittin’ there a singin’ and playin’ on a accordeun. And it seemed to me that she looked pitifuller and homblier than ever, as she sot there amongst the dense crowd that mornin’ a singin’ and a playin’. Her tone wuz thin, thin as gauze, hombly gause too. But I wondered to myself how she wuz a feelin’ inside of her own mind, and what voices she heard a speakin’ to her own soul, through them hombly strains. And, ontirely unbeknown to myself, I fell into a short revery (short but deep) right there in the street, as I looked down on her, a settin’ there so old, and patient and helpless, amongst the gay movin’ throng.

And I wondered what did she see, a settin’ there with her blind eyes, what did she hear through them hombly tones that she wuz a singin’ day after day to a crowd that wuz indifferent to her, or despised her? Did she hear the song of the mornin’, the spring time of life? Did the song of a lark come back to her, a lark flyin’ up through the sweet mornin’ sky over the doorway of a home, a lark watched by young eyes, two pairs of ’em, that made the seein’ a blessedness? Did a baby’s first sweet blunders of speech, and happy laughter come back to her, as she sot there a drawin’ out with her wrinkled hands them miserable sounds from the groanin’ instrument? Did home, love, happiness sound out to her, out of them hombly strains? I’d have gin a cent to know.

And I’d have gin a cent quick to know if the tread—tread—tread of the crowd goin’ past her day after day, hour after hour, seems to her like the trample of Time a marchin’ on. Did she hear in ’em the footsteps of child, or lover, or friend, a steppin’ away from her, and youth and happiness, and hope, a stiddy goin’ away from her?

Did she ever listen through the constant sound of them steps, listen to hear the tread of them feet that she must know wuz a comin’ nigh to her—the icy feet that will approach us, if their way leads over rocks or roses?

Did she hate to hear them steps a comin’ nearer to her, or did she strain her ears to hear ’em, to welcome ’em? I thought like as not she did. For thinkses I to myself, and couldn’t help it, if she is a Christian she must be glad to change that old accordeun for a harp of any size or shape. For mournfuller and more melancholy sounds than her voice and that instrument made I never hearn, nor ever expect to hear, and thin.

Poor, old, hombly critter, I gin her quite a lot of change one day, and she braced up and sung and drawed out faster than ever, and thinner. Though I’d have gladly hearn her stop.

When I come up out of my revery, I see Ardelia lookin’ at her stiddy and kind a sot. And I mistrusted trouble wuz ahead on me, and I hurried Josiah down the street. Ardelia a sayin’ she had got to turn the corner, to go to another place for her 3d cousin.

Jest as we wuz a crossin’ a street my companion drawed my attention to a sign that wuz jest overhead, and sez lie, “That means me, I’m spoke of right out, and hung up overhead.”

And sez I, “What do you mean?”

Sez he, “Read it—‘The First Man-I-Cure Of The Day.’ That’s me, Samantha; I haint a doubt of it. And I s’pose I ort to go in and be cured. I s’pose probably it will be expected of me, that I should go in, and let him look at my corns.”

Sez I, “Josiah Allen, I’ve heerd you talk time and agin aginst big feelin’ folks, and here you be a talkin’ it right to yourself, and callin’ yourself the first man of the day.”

“Wall,” sez he firmly, “I believe it, and I believe you do, and you’d own up to it, if you wuzn’t so aggravatin’.”

“Wall, sez I mildly, “I do think you are the first in some things, though what them things are, I would be fur from wantin’ to tell you. But,” I continued on, “I don’t see you should think that means you. Saratoga is full of men, and most probable every man of ’em thinks it means him.”

“Wall,” sez he, “I don’t think it means me, I know it. And I s’pose,” he continued dreamily, “they’d cure me, and not charge a cent.”

“Wall,” sez I, “wait till another time, Josiah Allen.” And jest at this minute, right down under our feet, we see the word “Pray,” in big letters scraped right out in stun. And Josiah sez, “I wonder if the dumb fools think anybody is goin to kneel down right here in the street, and be run over. Why a man would be knocked over a dozen times, before he got through one prayer, Now I lay me down to sleep, or anything.”

“Wall,” sez I, mildly, “I don’t think that would be a very suitable prayer under the circumstances. It haint expected that you’d lay down here for a nap—howsumever,” sez I reesunably “their puttin’ the word there shows what good streaks the folks here have, and I don’t want you to make light on’t, and if you don’t want to act like a perfect backslider you’ll ceese usin’ such profane language on sech a solemn subject.”

Wall, we went into a good lookin’store and I wuz jest a lookin’ at some lawn and a wonderin’ how many yards I should want, when who should come in but Miss Flamm to get a rooch for her neck.