_The difficulty was to get busy_
I have referred more than once, I am sure, to my study behind the
chimney, a tiny place of about seven by nine feet, once, no doubt, the
"parlor bedroom." I selected it chiefly because of its size. I said one
could condense his thoughts so much better in a limited area. I shelved
one side and end of it to the ceiling, put dull-green paper on the
walls, padded its billowy floor with excelsior, put down dull-green
denim as a rug basis, and painted the woodwork to match. Then I set my
work-table in the center, where I could reach almost anything without
getting up; and certainly with its capable fireplace it was as cozy and
inviting a work-room as one would find in a week's travel.
The difficulty was to get busy at the condensing process. Work was
pressing. Not exactly the work, either, but the need of it. No, I mean
the necessity of it. It was the need of funds that was pressing--that is
what I have been trying to convey. With all the buying and improving,
and the loads of new indispensables that Westbury was constantly
bringing from the nearest town of size, the exchequer was running low. I
am not really so lazy, once I get started, but I have a constitutional
hesitancy in the matter of getting started. My will and enthusiasm are
both in good supply, but my ability to sit down and really begin is
elusive.
It was especially so that winter; there were so many excuses for not
getting started. Mornings I would rise firm in the resolve that the day
and hour were at hand. After breakfast I would determinedly start for
the room behind the chimney. Unfortunately I had to pass through our
"best room" to get there. There was certain to be a picture or something
a little out of place in that room. Whatever it was, it must be attended
to. It would annoy me to leave a thing like that unremedied. One's mind
must be quite untrammeled to condense. Sometimes I had to rearrange
several of the pictures, and straighten the books, and pull the rugs
around a little, before I felt ready for the condensing process. But
then I would be certain to notice something out in the yard that was not
in place. We took a pride in our yard. Once outside, one thing generally
led to another, and in the course of time I would be pawing over stuff
in the barn. Then it was about luncheon-time--it would hardly be worth
starting the condensing business till afterward.
Perhaps I would actually get into the room behind the chimney after
luncheon, but one could not begin work until the fire was replenished
and a supply of wood brought. Then while one was at it one might as well
get in a supply of fuel for the other fires, so as to have a clear
afternoon for a good substantial beginning.
Oh, well, you see where all those paltry subterfuges ended. It was the
easiest thing in the world to remember something I wanted to tell
Westbury--something important--and our telephone lines were not yet
connected. It would be about five when I got back, and of course one
could not start a piece of work late in the day when one was all worn
out. To-morrow, bright and early, would be the time.
Then, just as likely as not, to-morrow would be one of those bad-luck
days. In a diary which I kept at the time I find a record of a day of
that sort.
Began this morning by breaking a lamp chimney before I was dressed.
I continued by stepping on Pussum's tail on the way down-stairs in
the dark, which caused me to slide and scrape the rest of the way.
Elizabeth came to the head of the stairs with a fresh lamp and the
remark that she thought I had given up using such language. In
applying the liniment I upset the greasy stuff on the living-room
rug and it required an hour's brisk rubbing to get it out. Not
being satisfied with this, I turned over a bottle of ink when I sat
down after breakfast to dash off an important note before
mail-time. Nobody could think consecutively after a series like
that, so I went out for some fresh air and decided to clean up a
rough corner by the brook. I scratched my nose, strained my wrist,
and mashed my finger with a stone. Only a 100-per-cent. Christian
could remain calm on such a day. To-morrow I shall go warily and
softly, and really begin work.
I did, in fact, against all intention and good judgment, begin one
evening just about bedtime, and worked until quite late. It was not a
bad beginning, either, as such things go--at least, I have tried harder
and made worse ones. After that the condensing process went better. I
could any time find excuses for not working, but I did not hunt for
them so anxiously. I was pretty fairly under way by Christmas, and the
room behind the chimney had all at once become the most alluring place
in the world.
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