I built a house, erect and square, its basement touched the ground; and
all my neighbors gathered there, and said it should be round. “Square
houses long are out of date,” remarked old Jabez Black, “and no one but
a fossil skate would build him such a shack.”
“I see your shingles are of wood,” said Johnsing, with a grin; “you
ought to know they are no good--they should be made of tin. Your house
is sure the bummest job a man could find in town; I’ve half a mind to
raise a mob, and come and tear it down. The porch roof has too steep a
drop, it makes a wretched show; the basement should be built on top,
the garret down below.”
“You surely must have lost your head,” exclaimed old Captain Bean, “to
go and paint your mansion red, with trimmings of pea green. A person’s
eyes it fairly slams; the man who sees that paint will think he has the
James H. Jams, and he’ll be apt to faint. If you had made it pink and
blue, it would have hit the spot; but you have chosen such a hue as
makes the neighbors hot.”
“I see your chimney is of brick,” said Colonel Sassafras; “and such a
bungle makes me sick--it should be built of glass. Glass chimneys now
are all the rage in Paris and in Rome, but you’re away behind the age,
when you put up a home.”
“Upon a pivot,” said Judge Ace, “it should be built, just so, then you
could turn it round to face most all the winds that blow.”
They all agreed that such a shack was never built before; it all
was wrong and out of whack, from roof to cellar door; except the
woodwork--that was grand, and beautiful and slick; they saw it had the
CURTIS brand, and so they could not kick.