Classic Poem

You want I should tell yer 'bout old James Boott, do yer, boys?
Well, 'tain't much of a story, I guess,
But I ain't never fergot it.
Hitch yer cheer up t' th' stove, Sam.
And, 'Lige, you fetch that cracker-box out o' th' corner,
Two o' you can set on that.
Now jest wait a mite till I git my pipe a-drawin' —
Ther'!
Well, you know I warn't raised here,
My father didn't hold with farmin'.
He was a carpenter over to Pelham,
An' I was a real town boy all my growin' up.
Only Pelham warn't near th' city 'tis now.
It set in th' middle o' a great space o' fields
An' I couldn't never ha' done with runnin' over 'mdash.
I'd hire out with th' farmers fer Saturday afternoons,
An' I never was so happy as when I was hoein' beans,
Or pitchin' hay,
Or beatin' a tin pan when a beehive swarmed.
I can see th' critters now,
Black, an' gold, an' buzzin'.
They was like sparks from a pin-wheel,
All scatterin' up in th' sunlight,
An' th' great trees bendin' over 'mdash like butterfly nets.
No, I couldn't relish carpenterin',
An' when th' time come fer me to fix on a trade
I went to farmin';
An' I been at it fifty year now,
Fifty year o' freeze, an' thaw, an' drought.
Well! Well! 'Tain't no bed o' eiderdown, farmin' ain't,
An' that's th' Lord's truth.
Now don't you worrit me, Sam,
I'll git to James Boott presently.
When we old fellers once starts in rememberin',
Ther' ain't no beginnin' nor end, I guess.

James Boott was a fine man to look at,
Bearin' his years right smart,
Only fer a stoop he had,
An' a lameness th' rheumatiz settled on him.
But he was queer as Dick's hat-band.
He come by it straight 'nough;
One o' his brothers shot himself,
An' t' other died in th' 'sylum,
But old James warn't really mad,
He was jest diff'rent.
He had a mint o' money,
All his own an' what his brothers lef' him,
But for all that he boarded in a couple o' rooms to Parson Tole's.
He could ha' bought half th' town
Ef he'd been so minded,
As 'twas he owned a house,
An' I do think 'twas th' prettiest house I ever see.
It stood right up in th' main street,
With th' Common jest acrost th' road;
Th' Court House cornered it one end,
An' Parson Tole's church, with th' new spire peekin' over th' barberry hedge,
Was on th' South side.
'Twas a mighty fine house,
An' tidy warn't th' word fer th' way James Boott kep' it.
He had th' box borders either side th' stone path to th' front door
As flat an' square as a plate.
An' my, but th' hollyhocks he had under th' winders!
They was as big an' bright es ef they was stamped chintz
An' not jest wood an' sap.
Nobody ever see 'mdash fade.
One day they was ther'
An' th' next day they warn't,
An' that was all ther' was to it.
'Twas th' same way with all th' flowers,
Pansies, an' gillyflowers, an' snapdragons,
Nobody ever could pint out a faded flower
In James Boott's yard.
It costs a sight o' money
To keep things redded up that way,
But James had th' money,
An' his yard showed it.
Why, even th' laylocks warn't let ripen;
I never see nothin' like it.
Seemed es ef th' place was painted on cardboard
An' held to th' drawin'.
He was pertic'lar 'bout th' house-paintin' too,
He couldn't never abide no blisters
An' 'twas all burnt down to th' bare wood
Every time it needed a new coat.
That paintin' brought it out elegant;
Ther' was th' pilasters, an' th' twisted tops o' th' pillars,
As spick an' span as washed ivory.
But th' blinds was al'ays shut,
An' that made th' house seem kind o' lonesome
Spite o' th' grand bloomin' o' th' flowers.
I guess 'twas a little mite sad fer him too.
Folks said he'd bought it to marry on,
An' then he never did marry.
But ther' set th' house,
Starin' at him with its white paint
An' sort o' pintin' back'ards.
I guess when he bought it, it told him " Bimeby, Bimeby, " all th' time,
But afterwards it fairly hollered, " Too late! "
It stood like a lady all 'dizened up fer a party
An' carryin' a bouquet,
But when you come to look at her, she was blind.
I mind I used to think 'twas awful creepy
When th' moon dazzled it of a June evenin'.
An' th' flowers was noddin', and' jostlin',
An' whisperin'.
I used to commence runnin' at th' Court House
An' keep on clear past th' church
When I had to pass it.
An' that was queer too,
Fer Joseph Peters, th' hired man,
Lived in th' back part,
An' I'd go in once in a while with young Joe
An' git a ginger-cookie.
Mrs. Peters liked us to come in.
Maybe she felt lonesome with that great, empty, echoin' house
Behind her.
Yer see, boys,
The kitchen part give on a lane
So we didn't have to go through the yard at all.
Even Joe didn't care about th' front after sunset.
'Twas like two houses,
One livin' an' one dead,
An' th' dead house meant th' most, I guess.

I was goin' on fer twelve year old
When a new doctor come to Pelham.
He'd had hospital trainin' down to Boston,
An' only fer his havin' a weak heart
He'd never ha' left th' city.
'Twas a fine thing fer Pelham to git him.
He was full o' notions 'bout sprains an' fevers,
An' one o' them was that th' old doctor's house was a pesky little place
Fer th' likes o' him,
He must have somethin' better.
Well, boys, you know how 'tis,
Most o' th' houses was lived in a'ready,
So Doctor Busby he peered roun' and roun'
But couldn't hit on a place to suit him
'Ceptin' James Boott's house,
An' that he fixed his mind to
Till ther' warn't no movin' him.
Folks told him 'twouldn't do,
That James wouldn't sell,
But he only said, " Tut! Tut! We'll see, "
And walked off down th' street, steppin' out real jaunty
In a way he had.

One day I was shootin' marbles all alone,
Playin' one hand ag'in t'other,
In th' drive by th' Court House,
When I seed 'mdash comin'.
Doctor Busby was hustlin' 'long with his big stride,
An' James Boott was creepin' toward him
Tappin' th' flags with his malaccer stick.
I guess 'twas th' tappin' o' th' stick
Made me look up.
They stopped jest opposite th' white house
An' I thought it 'peared brighter'n usual
With th' big, shiny clouds blowin' over th' chimblies.
" Good-mornin', Mr. Boott, " says Doctor Busby.
" Good-mornin', Doctor, " says James.
An' 'twas jest like a little fife
Answerin' a big bass drum.
Well, th' doctor started right in sayin' he wanted to buy th' house.
And James listened to him,
Leanin' on his stick, an' sort o' quiverin'.
Leastways I thought he quivered,
But maybe 'twas only th' shadows o' th' leaves from th' great elm-tree
Dancin' on his shoulders.
" Th' house ain't fer sale, " says James,
Short and quick.
" But you don't live in it, " persisted th' doctor.
" My hired man does, " snapped James,
An' jerked up as though fer walkin' on.
" But, my dear sir, " the doctor was al'ays polite
Even when he was drawin' a tooth,
" Surely you ain't a-goin' to keep a valuable house empty
Jest fer th' sake o' your servant? "
Now that's what all Pelham had been saying fer years
But nobody hadn't never durst say it to James afore.
" That, Doctor Busby, is my affair, " the old man lashed out,
An' I declare he was stan'in' up as straight as a new willer shoot,
An' gimletin' his eyes right into th' doctor.
I cal'late Doctor Busby thought he'd gone too fer,
Fer he started praisin' th' hollyhocks an' dahlias,
An' after a while he got round to th' way th' house was built,
An' kep' a-speakin' o' Doric columns, an' th' fan-light over th' door,
An' a heap o' things I couldn't understan'.
I could see th' old gentleman was pleased,
But when th' doctor come to money
He shied like a colt
An' turned off on to somethin' else quick as a flash.
I declare I felt es ef I was to a badger-baitin'.
The doctor he up an' at it ag'in and ag'in,
But James give him the slip every time.
An' all th' while th' little shadows kep' bobbin' over 'mdash,
An' th' great clouds breezin' above.
I call to mind I watched 'mdash
An' tried to figger out how many men like them two
Could stand on one of 'mdash.
Boys do have queer fancies sometimes.
Well, the long an' th' short o' it was
That th' doctor didn't git ahead a mite.
It made me chuckle
To think o' that old man, teeterin' on his cane
An' not able to take a step without it,
Jest blockin' th' way fer that great big doctor.
In th' end he give over an' 'lowed he was beaten.
" I see you won't sell, " says he,
" But maybe at least you'll let me see th' inside o' that beautiful house, Mr. Boott. "
I 'most squealed at that;
I'd 'bout come to believin' ther' warn't no inside.
Old James he stroked his chin.
" It's a handsome house,
A handsome house, doctor,
But I ain't kep' it up inside, " he says.
That fair riled me,
Not kep' up th' inside,
With all th' outside fixed like a parlour!
But th' doctor didn't seem to care,
He said the woodwork would be ther'
An' th' chimbley-pieces.
'Twarn't woodwork an' chimbley-pieces I was set on,
But my ears was fit to bust listenin', jest th' same.
I wondered would James hit him with his cane,
Or would he take him into th' Court House
An' have th' law on him fer trespassin'.
But he didn't do neither.
He jest turned a sort o' dark pink
All over his wrinkled face,
An' then he said, hollow-like,
" Very well, Doctor Busby,
I will take you into th' house.
Would four o'clock on Thursday afternoon suit you? "
The doctor said 'twould,
An' then they parted.
I heer'd th' tappin' o' that malaccer cane
Fer three good minutes after th' doctor's steps
Had stopped soundin' in th' other direction.

I guess Thursday was awful long a-comin' ter me,
Fer, you understan', I'd made my mind up
To see th' house too.
So I sized up that yard
Same as though I was huntin' fer a jack-knife I'd lost.
I squatted behind th' flower beds
An' squeezed under th' bushes,
An' when four o'clock Thursday come
I was ther';
But I guess 'twould ha' taken more'n old James Boott's eyes ter see me
Even with his spectacles on.
I can't tell you how I felt when I heer'd th' key
Strikin' on th' lock.
I couldn't see nothin' where I was hidin',
But I'd heer'd th' malaccer cane a-comin'
Way down th' road,
An' I was ready.
I declare I git gooseflesh now,
Jes rememberin' th' awful moan th' door give
When James pushed it open.
'Twas like a livin' thing cryin' out,
An' somethin' come rushin' out o' that door too,
Damp an' musty,
An' ther' warn't nothin' at all.
'Twas mortal hard fer me to git up and go in,
But I did.
They was ahead o' me,
I could hear 'mdash talkin' in one o' th' rooms.
Oh, Lor! How queer that house was!
'Twas August,
But that hall was so cold my teeth chattered,
An' th' floor felt funny.
'Twas like walkin' on velvet,
An' th' softness give me a dret'ful start.
You see I was barefoot,
An' th' dust was so thick
It oozed up between my toes
An' sucked me down,
The way snow does.
'Twas dark too,
'Count o' th' shut blinds,
Didn't seem like th' same world was outside.
I looked out o' th' door,
An' th' glassy green o' th' box hedges,
An' th' swingin' chains o' th' Common fence beyond,
Helped me some,
They looked so nat'ral.
Bimeby I got used to it bein' so dim in ther'
An' I could see th' steps they'd made in th' dust,
An' th' little round plop where th' malaccer cane had set.
So I follered,
Makin' no noise
'Cause o' my bare feet.

Oh, it was a house!
Ther' was carvin's everywher',
Flowers an' vines all runnin' an' blowin',
Ther' was a whole orchard over th' chimblies,
But th' paint was all peelin' off
An' th' dust choked th' ribs o' th' pillars till they was pretty near smooth.
Ther' was a great glass chandelier in every room
Hangin' so still.
They didn't shine much,
But they did a little,
An' that shinin' was so empty an' cold,
I had to go under 'mdash without lookin'.
'Twas es ef they hadn't had nothin' to reflect
Fer so many years
They was makin' up time by reflectin' me double.
Not that I seed anythin',
I jest sensed it.
Halfway up th' stairs was a great standin' glass,
A mirror, I think they call it.
It didn't show what was in front of it
Bein' all run as 'twere,
An' yet I seemed to see things movin' through it.
When I looked, they wern't ther',
An' when I didn't look, they war.
It kep' me on th' stairs a terr'ble time,
An' I had to rec'lect George Washington real hard
To git by at all.
When I got up to th' first floor,
I heer'd James Boott an' th' doctor
In a room over th' front porch,
So I crep' over an' peeked thru th' crack o' th' door.
I don't know what I seed,
Nothin' at first, I guess,
Fer th' blue light from th' blinds didn't make fer seein',
But, Gosh! What I smelled!
Apples, boys!
Apples!
They was so sweet an' strong
I thought I'd ha' dropped with th' surprise o' it.
They did make my mouth water.
Then I heer'd th' doctor say:
" Why, Mr. Boott, what are you doing with all these apples on th' mantelpiece? "
An' old Boott's voice, like a cracked fiddle, answerin':
" I find this an excellent place to ripen apples, Dr. Busby. "
" Do you mean to tell me you keep this house to ripen a few dozen apples in? "
That voice did me good,
An' I braced up an' stared into th' blue room
An' there was old James fingerin' his apples
With a queer, scared look on his face.
He was pattin' 'mdash,
An' cossetin' 'mdash,
I don't know why, but it made me shiver to see him.
He picked up a red Bald'in
An' sniffed it,
An' his eyes looked narrer an' greedy.
" I like apples, " he said.
Then I give a awful jump
For th' malaccer cane fell down on th' floor with a clatter.
I guess I pushed th' door some, too,
'Cause I seem to remember standin' up ther' in th' doorway
Lookin' straight at 'mdash.
But they didn't see me.
The doctor started forward an' grabbed th' old man's arm.
" You poor soul! " he said.
That was all,
An' it didn't seem much,
But James Boott jest crumpled up
An' would ha' fell only fer th' doctor's holdin' him.
Somethin' seemed to claw out o' his throat.
I suppose 'twas a sob,
But it sounded like some critter inside fightin' loose.
It echoed an' echoed 'bout that room
An' set th' chandelier jiggin';
It seemed everywher',
Back an' front,
An' when I turned roun',
Ther' was somethin' wigglin' in th' big mirror, fer sartin.
I guess now 'twas th' reflection
O' th' movin' chandelier,
But I didn't think so then.
Anyhow, I jumped down them stairs
Quicker'n winkin',
An' I out into th' yard
An' run till I was in bed in my own room.
My mother thought I had a chill
But I knowed diff'rent.
I knowed a lot,
But I never found out what 'twas I really knowed.
Fer nothin' happened.
James Boott lived a couple o' years after that
An' when he died Doctor Busby bought th' house,
An' his daughter was livin' in it when I was last to Pelham.
'Twarn't much, was it?
An' yet I don't know —
I ain't never forgot it.