JUDGE PITMAN--HIS EXPERIMENT IN THE BARN--A LESSON IN NATURAL
HISTORY--CATCHING THE EARLY TRAIN--ONE OF THE MISERIES OF LIVING IN
A VILLAGE--BALL'S LUNG EXERCISE--MR. COOLEY'S IMPERTINENCE.
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My next-door neighbor upon the west is Judge Pitman. I heard his name
mentioned before I became acquainted with him, and I fancied that
he was either a present occupant of the bench, or else that he had
gone into retirement after spending his active life in dispensing
justice and unraveling the tangles of the law. But it appears that he
has never occupied a judicial position, and that his title is purely
complimentary, having no relation whatever to the nature of his pursuits
either in the past or in the present. The judge, indeed, is merely the
owner of a couple of steam-tugs and one or two wood sloops which ply
upon the river and upon Chesapeake Bay. He spends most of his time
at home, living comfortably upon the receipts of a business which is
conducted by his hired men, and perhaps also upon the interest of a few
good investments in this and other places.
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A very brief acquaintance with the judge suffices to convince any one
that he has never presided in court. He is a rough, uneducated man, with
small respect for grammar, an irrepressible tendency to distort the
language, and very little information concerning subjects which are not
made familiar by the occurrences of every-day life. But he is hearty,
genial, sincere and honest, and I very soon learned to like him and to
find amusement in his quaint simplicity.
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My first interview with the judge was somewhat remarkable. I came home
early one afternoon for the purpose of training some roses and clematis
against my fence. While I was busily engaged with the work, the judge,
who had been digging potatoes in his garden, stuck his spade in the
earth and came to the fence. After looking at me in silence for a few
moments, he observed,
"Fine day, cap!"
The judge has the habit of conferring titles promiscuously and without
provocation, particularly upon strangers. To call me "cap." was his
method of expressing a desire for sociability.
"It _is_ a beautiful day," I observed, "but the country needs rain."
"It never makes no difference to me," replied the judge, "what kinder
weather there is; I'm allers satisfied. 'Twon't rain no sooner for
wishin' for it."
As there was no possibility of our having a controversy upon this point,
I merely replied, "That is true."
"How's yer pertaters comin' on?" inquired the judge.
"Very well, I believe. They're a little late, but they appear to be
thriving."
"Mine's doin' first rate," returned the judge. "I guannered them in the
spring, and I've bin a-hoein' at 'em and keepin' the weeds down putty
stiddy ever since. Mons'ous sight o' labor growin' good pertaters, cap."
"I should think so," I rejoined, "although I haven't had much practical
experience in that direction thus far."
"Cap.," observed the judge, after a brief interval of silence, "you're
one of them fellers that writes for the papers and magazines, a'n't
you?"
"Yes, I sometimes do work of that kind."
"Well, see here: I've got somethin' on my mind that's bin a-botherin' me
the wust kind for a week and more. You've read the 'Atlantic Monthly,'
haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, my daughter bought one of 'em, and I was a-readin' it the other
night, when I saw it stated that guanner could be influenced by music,
and that Professor Brown had made some git up and come to him when he
played a tune on the pianner."
I remembered, as the judge spoke, that the magazine in question did
contain a paragraph to the effect that the _iguana_ was susceptible of
such influence, and that Mrs. Brown had succeeded in taming one of these
animals, so that it would run to her at the sound of music. But I
permitted Mr. Pitman to continue without interruption.
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"Of course," said he, "I never really believed no such nonsense as
that, but it struck me as kinder sing'lar, and I thought I'd give the
old thing a trial, anyhow. So I got down my fiddle and went to the barn,
and put a bag of guanner in the middle of the floor and begun to rake
out a tune. First I played 'A Life on the Ocean Wave and a Home on the
Rollin' Deep' three or four times; and there that guanner sot, just as I
expected 'twould. Then I begun agin and sawed out a lot o' variations,
but still she didn't budge. Then I put on a fresh spurt and jammed in
a passel o' extra sharps and flats and exercises; and I played that
tune backward and sideways and cat-a-cornered. And I stirred in some
scales, and mixed the tune up with Old Hundred and Mary Blaine and some
Sunday-school songs, until I nearly fiddled my shirt off, and nary time
did that guanner bag git up off o' that floor. I knowed it wouldn't. I
knowed that feller wa'n't tellin' the truth. But, cap., don't it strike
you that a man who'd lie like that ought to have somethin' done to him?
It 'pears to me 's if a month or two in jail'd do that feller good."
The lesson in natural history which I proceeded to give to the judge
need not be repeated here. He acknowledged that the laugh was fairly
against him, and ended his affirmation of his new-born faith in the
integrity of the Atlantic Monthly by inviting me to climb over the fence
and taste some of his Bartlett pears. The judge and I have been steady
friends ever since.
I find that one of the most serious objections to living out of town
lies in the difficulty experienced in catching the early morning train
by which I must reach the city and my business. It is by no means a
pleasant matter, under any circumstances, to have one's movements
regulated by a timetable and to be obliged to rise to breakfast and to
leave home at a certain hour, no matter how strong the temptation to
delay may be. But sometimes the horrible punctuality of the train is
productive of absolute suffering. For instance: I look at my watch when
I get out of bed and find that I have apparently plenty of time, so I
dress leisurely, and sit down to the morning meal in a frame of mind
which is calm and serene. Just as I crack my first egg I hear the down
train from Wilmington. I start in alarm; and taking out my watch, I
compare it with the clock and find that it is eleven minutes slow, and
that I have only five minutes left in which to get to the dépôt.
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I endeavor to scoop the egg from the shell, but it burns my fingers, the
skin is tough, and after struggling with it for a moment, it mashes into
a hopeless mess. I drop it in disgust and seize a roll, while I scald my
tongue with a quick mouthful of coffee. Then I place the roll in my
mouth while my wife hands me my satchel and tells me she thinks she
hears the whistle. I plunge madly around looking for my umbrella, then
I kiss the family good-bye as well as I can with a mouth full of roll,
and dash toward the door.
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Just as I get to the gate, I find that I have forgotten my duster
and the bundle my wife wanted me to take up to the city to her aunt.
Charging back, I snatch them up and tear down the gravel-walk in a
frenzy. I do not like to run through the village: it is undignified and
it attracts attention; but I walk furiously. I go faster and faster as I
get away from the main street. When half the distance is accomplished, I
actually do hear the whistle; there can be no doubt about it this time.
I long to run, but I know that if I do I will excite that abominable
speckled dog sitting by the sidewalk a little distance ahead of me. Then
I really see the train coming around the curve close by the dépôt, and
I feel that I _must_ make better time; and I do. The dog immediately
manifests an interest in my movements. He tears after me, and is
speedily joined by five or six other dogs, which frolic about my legs
and bark furiously. Sundry small boys, as I go plunging past, contribute
to the excitement by whistling with their fingers, and the men who are
at work upon the new meeting-house stop to look at me and exchange
jocular remarks with each other. I do feel ridiculous; but I must catch
that train at all hazards.
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I become desperate when I have to slacken my pace until two or three
women who are standing upon the sidewalk, discussing the infamous price
of butter, scatter to let me pass. I arrive within a few yards of the
station with my duster flying in the wind, with my coat tails in a
horizontal position, and with the speckled dog nipping my heels, just as
the train begins to move. I put on extra pressure, resolving to get the
train or perish, and I reach it just as the last car is going by. I
seize the hand-rail; I am jerked violently around, but finally, after a
desperate effort, I get upon the step with my knees, and am hauled in
by the brakeman, hot, dusty and mad, with my trousers torn across the
knees, my legs bruised and three ribs of my umbrella broken.
Just as I reach a comfortable seat in the car, the train stops, and then
backs up on the siding, where it remains for half an hour while the
engineer repairs a dislocated valve. The anger which burns in my bosom
as I reflect upon what now is proved to have been the folly of that
race is increased as I look out of the window and observe the speckled
dog engaged with his companions in an altercation over a bone. A man
who permits his dog to roam about the streets nipping the legs of every
one who happens to go at a more rapid gait than a walk, is unfit for
association with civilized beings. He ought to be placed on a desert
island in mid-ocean, and be compelled to stay there.
This will do as a picture of the experience of one morning--one
melancholy morning. Of course it is exceptional. Rather than endure such
agony of mind and discomfort of body frequently, I would move back to
the city, and abandon for ever my little paradise by the Delaware.
I hardly think I shall get along so well with my neighbor on the other
side, Cooley, as I do with Pitman. He is not only exceedingly
ill-natured, but he inclines to be impertinent. Several times he has
volunteered advice respecting the management of my garden and grounds,
and has displayed a disposition to be somewhat sarcastic when his plans
did not meet with my approval. I contrived, however, to avoid a breach
of our amicable relations until the other day, when his conduct became
absolutely unendurable.
I observed in the last number of Ball's _Journal of Health_ some
suggestions concerning a good method of exercising the lungs and
expanding the chest. They were to this effect:
"Step out into the purest air you can find; stand perfectly erect,
with the head up and the shoulders back, and then, fixing the lips
as though you were going to whistle, draw the air, not through the
nostrils, but through the lips, into the lungs. When the chest is
about half full, gradually raise the arms, keeping them extended
with the palms of the hands down, as you suck in the air, so as to
bring them over the head just as the lungs are quite full. Then drop
the thumbs inward, and after gently forcing the arms backward and
the chest open, reverse the process by which you draw your breath
till the lungs are empty. This process should be repeated three or
four times immediately after bathing, and also several times through
the day."
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This seemed reasonable, and I determined to give it a trial. For that
purpose I went out into the yard; and pinning the directions to a tree,
I stood in front of them where I could see them. Just as I began, Cooley
came out; and perceiving me, he placed his elbows upon the fence, rested
his chin upon his arms and watched me with a very peculiar smile upon
his face. I was exceedingly annoyed and somewhat embarrassed, but I was
determined that he should not have the gratification of driving me away
from my own ground. I made up my mind that I would continue the exercise
without appearing to notice him. In a few moments, however, he remarked:
"Training for a prize-fight, Adeler?"
I made no reply, but continued the exercise. When I had gone through the
programme once, I began again. As I arrived at that portion of it where
the instructions direct the arrangement of the lips, Mr. Cooley, by this
time somewhat incensed at my silence, observed,
"Whistle us a tune, Adeler. Give us something lively!"
As I paid no attention to this invitation, Cooley embraced the
opportunity afforded by the upward motion of my arms, in accordance with
the directions, to ask me if I was going to dive, and to offer to bring
me out a tub in case I cherished such a design.
Then I completed the exercise and went into the house without giving
Cooley any reason to suppose that I was aware of his presence. The next
day I performed the ceremony at the same place, at the same hour. On the
third day Cooley evidently expected me, for as soon as I appeared he
came up to the fence and assumed his old position. He had with him a
couple of friends, whom he must have summoned for the express purpose of
tormenting me. When I had gone through the movements once, Cooley said:
"See here, Adeler, I don't want to do you any harm, but let me advise
you as a friend to go to an asylum. I have known much worse cases than
yours to be cured. It isn't kind to your family for you to remain at
large. You're afflicted with only a mild form now; but if you don't do
something, you'll have a violent paroxysm some day, and smash things.
Now, take my advice, and put yourself under treatment."
Silence upon my part.
"How would you take it now," inquired Cooley, in a tone indicative of
yearning tenderness, "if I should get over the fence and chain you to
the pump while I go for the doctor? I really think you are getting
dangerous."
"Mr. Cooley," I said, "I wish you would attend to your own business.
I do not wish to quarrel with you, sir, but I will not have any
interference on your part with my affairs. If it will make you any
happier to learn what I am doing, I will tell you, seeing that you are
so much interested in the matter, that I am exercising, under medical
direction, for the benefit of my lungs."
"Exercising for the benefit of his lungs!" moaned Cooley. "His mind is
entirely gone."
"Yes, sir," I said, angrily, "I am exercising for the benefit of my
lungs, according to the directions of Dr. Ball, and I will thank you to
keep your tongue quiet about it."
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"He has them awfully bad," exclaimed Cooley, with a pathetic look.
"There is no such man as Dr. Ball, you know," he remarked, in a
confidential tone, to one of his companions.
"I wish you distinctly to understand that I will not tolerate this
impertinence much longer, sir," I exclaimed, indignantly. "What right
have you to interfere with me upon my own ground, you ruffian?"
"His intellect's completely shattered," said Cooley, with a mournful
shake of his head, to his companions. "Poor Mrs. Adeler! It will be a
terrible blow for her and for the children. My heart bleeds for them."
"Mr. Cooley," I said, "I want no more of this. I shall discontinue Dr.
Ball's exercise at this place for the present, but I will tell you
before I go that I consider you an insolent, unendurable idiot, and I
will repay you some day or other for your outrageous behavior to me."
"Sad, sad, indeed!" said Cooley to his friends. "Strange how he clings
to that fancy about a man named Ball, isn't it?"
One of Cooley's companions observed that the deranged were apt to get
such notions in their heads, and he supplemented this statement with the
remark, "This is a very interesting case--very."
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Then I went into the house, and from the window saw Cooley and his
companions walk away laughing. Not even the unpardonable insolence of
Cooley can disguise the fact that the affair has a certain comic aspect;
and when I became calmer, I confess that I appreciated this phase of the
occurrence with some keenness, even though I happened to occupy an
exceedingly unpleasant position as the victim of the joke. But I shall
be even with Cooley for this. I will devise a scheme for tormenting him
which will cause him to rue the day that he interfered with my pulmonary
gymnastics. Dr. Ball's recipe, however, I think I will toss into the
fire. I will expand my lungs by learning to sing or to play upon the
flute. My family can then participate in my enjoyment. A married man has
no right to be selfish in his pleasures.