Our lumber man, McMellow, is quite a hustling fellow, he’s ever
after trade. He says, “I’ve faith in jumping around for biz, and
humping--I’ve always found it paid. I think,” remarks McMellow, “that
there’s a streak of yellow in any gloomy lad, who spends his time
complaining, against the breeching straining, and says that trade is
bad.
“My trade is what I make it; and I could blamed soon break it, if I
had doleful dumps, but when I find things dragging, I set my brains
a-wagging and do some fancy humps.
“Today I heard John Abel intends to build a stable, about eight miles
from town; as there was nothing doing, and no excitement brewing, to
hold this village down, I thought I’d go and meet him, and to some
language treat him, and sell a little bill; and right there I enrolled
him a customer and sold him the roof-tree and the sill.
“Keep busy is my motto; I have a small tin auto that scoots along with
vim; and when I hear some granger intends to build a manger, I burn the
road to him. The people see me scooting, they see me skally-hooting,
mile after breezy mile; they say, ‘He is so busy, he fairly makes us
dizzy--we kind o’ like his style.’
“And when they want some woodwork--and want the best of good work,
which is the Curtis kind--or joists or lath or siding, to me they come
a’riding--that’s business, do ye mind?”
You never see him slouching, you never see him grouching, or talking of
despair; he always keeps things humming, he’s always up a-coming, his
hind feet in the air.