City Ballads Part 18

"Well," I says, "my goodness gracious! things _is_ rather overgrown, When a buggy-wheel gets loosened, an' goes runnin' 'round alone."

But my man he says, "By mustard!" (as the critter nearer came) "Don't you see that there's a feller on a-straddle of the same?"

An' it _was_ as nice a shaver as you'd see 'most any day, Who was travellin' through the country in that unexpected way.

He was rather young an' han'some, an' as smilin' as you please, An' his pants they signed a contract with his stockin's at the knees; An' he had a pair o' treadles some'at underneath his seat, So's to run the queer contraption, by a-workin' of his feet; An' the sun descended on it, in a manner warm an' bright; 'Twas as sing'lar as a circus, an' an interestin' sight.

When, as fate was bound to have it, on that quite partic'lar morn, There was somethin' was the matter with my folks's dinner-horn; Ah! the hired girl, when she tried to, couldn't blow it very well, For to call us in to dinner--so she sent my daughter Belle: Who came up just at that minute--nice a girl as could be found: An' this fellow looked her over, an' came smas.h.i.+n' to the ground.

Smash to bang he came a-floppin'--wheel an' stockin's, pants an' all; An' I run to him, remarking "You have caught a dreadful fall."

An' my daughter hovered round him, tremblin' with her she alarms, Lookin' just as if she would like to some'at take him in her arms; But he glanced up, faintly smilin', an' he gaspin'ly replied, "I am only hurt intern'lly" (which I s'pose he meant inside).

An' we packed him on the stone-boat, an' then drove him to the house An' he lay there on the sofa, still an' quiet as a mouse; An' he would not have a doctor; but he called my daughter Belle, An' then laughed an' chatted with her, like a person gettin' well; An' along late in the evenin', I suppose, he went away; For he wasn't there next mornin', an' Belle hadn't a word to say.

An' he left two silver dollars in an easy-noticed spot, For to pay us for his pa.s.sage on the stone-boat, like as not; An' 'twas quite enough equivalent for his transitory stay; But whate'er he might have left us, still he carried more away; For my daughter Belle grew absent, glanced at every sound she heard, And Josiah Baker junior couldn't get a civil word.

II.

I was workin' in my meadow, on a blazin' summer's day, When my son-in-law by contract came a-runnin' 'cross the way, An' remarked, "It's been the bargain--for how long I needn't tell-- That these two farms should be married--as should also me an' Belle; An' how much the indications indicate that that'll be, If you'll come down here a minute, you will have a chance to see."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AND HE STOOD THERE, LIKE A COLONEL, WITH HER TREMBLING ON HIS ARM."]

An' he led me 'cross the fallow, underneath some picnic trees, Where my gal an' that wheel fellow sat as cosy as you please; An' she'd put some flowers an' ribbons on the wheel, to make a show, An' they'd been a-shakin' hands there, an' forgotten to let go; An' she sort o' made a chair-back of the fellow's other arm, With no 'parent recollection of Josiah Baker's farm.

Then we walked around front of 'em, an' I says, "Your very fine; But this gal that you are courtin' is Josiah's gal an' mine; You're a mighty breechy critter, an' are trespa.s.sin' all round; Why, this very grove you sit in is Josiah's father's ground."

Then he rose up, stiff an' civil, an' helped Belle across the stile, Also put the masheen over, with a queer but quiet smile;

An' he stood there, like a colonel, with her tremblin' on his arm, An' remarked, "I beg your pardon, if I've done you any harm.

But so far as 'trespa.s.s' matters, I've relieved you of that load, Since the place I now am standing is, I think, the public road.

And this very sweet young lady, you in one sense yours may call, But she's mine, sir, in another--and Josiah's not at all.

"I'll escort this lady home, sir, leave my wheel here in your care, And come back in fifteen minutes to arrange the whole affair.

And please do not touch the 'cycle'--'tis as yet without a flaw, And I do not want a quarrel with my future father-in-law; If this Mr. Baker junior follows up his glances, though, With his fingers, I will thrash him till he thinks his cake is dough."

Then he left us both suspectin' that he'd rather got the start, An' the acres of the daddies seemed increasin'ly apart; An' we didn't wait to see him; but, with one impatient jerk, We shook our heads in concert, an' went back unto our work; An' I couldn't help reflectin'--"He is steady like, an' cool, An' that wheel may be a folly, but it didn't bring a fool."

III.

I was on my stoop a-restin', on a hazy autumn day, Rather drowsy from a dinner that had just been stowed away, And regrettin'--when old Baker's an' my homestead jined in one.

That he wasn't to furnish daughter, an' I wasn't to furnish son, So's to have my name continued, 'stead of letting it go down, When Josiah Baker junior came a drivin' home from town.

An' a little ways behind him came that wheel scamp, ridin' hard, An' they both to once alighted, an' come walkin' through the yard; When, as fate was bound to have it, also came my daughter Belle, From a visit in some neighbor's, lookin' very sweet an' well; An' they stood there all together--that 'ere strange, dissimilar three, An' remained in one position--lookin' steady down at me.

Then Josiah spoke up loudly, in a kind o' sudden pet, "If this gal an' I's to marry, it is time the day was set; For that one-wheel feller's always 'round here courtin', on the fly, An' they say she rides out with him, in the night-time, on the sly.

Father'll give us board an' victuals, you can give her land an' dower, Wherefore, if she wants to have me, please to set the day an' hour."

Then the wheel scamp spoke up quiet, but as if the words he meant, "_I_ would like to wed your daughter, an' have come for your consent.

She is very dear to me, sir, when we walk or when we ride, And, I think, is not unwilling to become my cherished bride.

I can give her love and honor, and I ask of you no dower; Wherefore, please bestow your blessing; _we_ have set the day and hour."

Then I might have told my daughter that _she_ now could have the floor, An' remarked that on this question there should be just one speech more; But I rendered my decision in a flame of righteous rage, An' I shouted, "You'd no business for to court or to engage!

This 'ere gal has long been spoke for; an' you'll please to clamber on Your old hind-wheel of a buggy, an' forevermore be gone!"

Then he picked up Belle quite sudden, an' made swiftly for the gate, An' I formed a move to stop 'em, but was most perplexin' late; He had fixed a small side-saddle on his everlastin' wheel, So that she could ride behind him (clingin' 'round him a good deal); An' straight down the Beebe turnpike, like a pair o' birds they flew Towards a preacher's who had married almost every one he knew.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHASING THE BICYCLE.]

"Stop 'em! head 'em! chase 'em! catch 'em!" I commanded, very vexed; "They'll be hustlin' off our daughters on a streak o' lightnin', next!"

An' we took Josiah's wagon, an' his old gray spavined mare, An' proceeded for to chase 'em, with no extra time to spare; An' Josiah whipped an' shouted, it was such a dismal pinch, An' kept just so far behind 'em, but we couldn't gain an inch!

Down the turnpike road we rattled; an' some fellows loudly cried, "Go it, Baker, or you'll lose her! ten to one upon the bride!"

An' I fumed an' yelled an' whistled, an' commanded them to halt, An' the fact we couldn't catch 'em wasn't Josiah Baker's fault; But he murmured, "I am makin' father's mare into a wreck, Just to see my gal a-huggin' round another feller's neck!"

An' they rushed into that preacher's, maybe twenty rods ahead, An' before I reached the altar all their marriage-vows was said; An' I smashed in wildly, just as they was lettin' go o' han's, An' remarked, in tones of sternness, "I hereby forbid the banns!"

While Josiah Baker junior close behind me meekly came, Sayin', "Were my father present, he would doubtless do the same!"

But they turned to me a-smilin', an' she hangin' on his arm, An' he said, "I beg your pardon; let Josiah have the farm.

We've accomplished the sweet object for which we so long have striven, And, as usual in such cases, are prepared to be forgiven."

An' the whole thing seemed so funny, when I thought of it a while, That I looked 'em both all over, an' then blessed 'em with a smile.

Then Josiah Baker junior took his spavined mare for home, An' 'twas difficult decidin' which indulged the most in foam; An' he said, "I'll drive alone, sir, if the same you do not mind; An' your son an' daughter Wheeler maybe'll take you up behind."

An' he yelled, while disappearing with a large smile on his mouth.

"I kin git a gal whose father jines my father on the south!"

IV.

I was workin' in my wood-house on a snowy winter day, An' reflectin' on a letter that had lately come our way, How that Belle had every blessin' that a married gal could need, An' had bought her two twin daughters a small-sized velocipede, When the thought came stealin' through me, "Well, so far as I can see, In the line of love an' lovin', what's to be is apt to be."

NOVEMBER 21, 18--.

Went into Congress for a little spell, Where everything seemed going pretty well; But all through boyhood's easy-moulding day I'd heard so much of Webster and of Clay, That, though they had been dead for many a year, I thought at least by proxy they'd appear.

It was a disappointment, I declare: Daniel or Henry--neither one was there!

NEW YORK, _January_ 1, 18--.

Got back from several cities; and it looks As if the things we've seen would fill ten books!

Some time I'll write our wanderings to and fro; It's a large job: I'll have to take it slow.

[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]

[ONLY A BOX.]

Only a box, secure and strong, Rough, and wooden, and six feet long, Lying here in the drizzling rain, Waiting to take the up-bound train.