Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician by Marietta Holley (novels for teenagers .txt) 📗

And when she told 'em over to me, and I meditated on her reasons for sendin' 'em, and her need of havin' 'em done, I felt that I would do the errents for her if a breath was left in my body. I felt that I would bear them 2 errents of hern on my tower side by side with my own private, hefty mission for Josiah.

She come for a all day's visit; and though she is a vegetable widow, and very humbly, I wuz middlin' glad to see her. But thinks'es I to myself as I carried away her things into the bedroom, “She'll want to send some errent by me;” and I wondered what it wouldn't be.

And so it didn't surprise me any when she asked me the first thing when I got back “if I would lobby a little for her in Washington.”

And I looked agreeable to the idee; for I s'posed it wuz some new kind of tattin', mebby, or fancy work. And I told her “I shouldn't have much time, but I would try to buy her some if I could.”

And she said “she wanted me to lobby, myself.”

And then I thought mebby it wus some new kind of waltz; and I told her “I was too old to lobby, I hadn't lobbied a step since I was married.”

And then she said “she wanted me to canvass some of the senators.”

And I hung back, and asked her in a cautius tone “how many she wanted canvassed, and how much canvass it would take?”

I knew I had a good many things to buy for my tower; and, though I wanted to obleege Dorlesky, I didn't feel like runnin' into any great expense for canvass.

And then she broke off from that subject, and said “she wanted her rights, and wanted the Whiskey Ring broke up.”

And then she says, going back to the old subject agin, “I hear that Josiah Allen has political hopes: can I canvass him?”

And I says, “Yes, you can for all me.” But I mentioned cautiously, for I believe in bein' straightforward, and not holdin' out no false hopes,—I said “she must furnish her own canvass, for I hadn't a mite in the house.”

But Josiah didn't get home till after her folks come after her. So he wuzn't canvassed.

But she talked a sight about her children, and how bad she felt to be parted from 'em, and how much she used to think of her husband, and how her hull life wus ruined, and how the Whiskey Ring had done it,—that, and wimmen's helpless condition under the law. And she cried, and wept, and cried about her children, and her sufferin's she had suffered; and I did. I cried onto my apron, and couldn't help it. A new apron too. And right while I wus cryin' onto that gingham apron, she made me promise to carry them two errents of hern to the President, and to get 'em done for her if I possibly could.

“She wanted the Whiskey Ring destroyed, and she wanted her rights; and she wanted 'em both in less than 2 weeks.”

I wiped my eyes off, and told her I didn't believe she could get 'em done in that length of time, but I would tell the President about it, and “I thought more'n as likely as not he would want to do right by her.” And says I, “If he sets out to, he can haul them babys of yourn out of that Ring pretty sudden.”

And then, to kinder get her mind off of her sufferin's, I asked her how her sister Susan wus a gettin' along. I hadn't heard from her for years—she married Philemon Clapsaddle; and Dorlesky spoke out as bitter as a bitter walnut—a green one. And says she,—

“She is in the poorhouse.”

“Why, Dorlesky Burpy!” says I. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say. My sister, Susan Clapsaddle, is in the poorhouse.”

“Why, where is their property all gone?” says I. “They was well off—Susan had five thousand dollars of her own when she married him.”

“I know it,” says she. “And I can tell you, Josiah Allen's wife, where their property is gone. It has gone down Philemon Clapsaddle's throat. Look down that man's throat, and you will see 150 acres of land, a good house and barns, 20 sheep, and 40 head of cattle.”

“Why-ee!” says I.

“Yes, you will see 'em all down that man's throat.” And says she, in still more bitter axents, “You will see four mules, and a span of horses, two buggies, a double sleigh, and three buffalo-robes. He has drinked 'em all up—and 2 horse-rakes, a cultivator, and a thrashin'-machine.

“Why! Why-ee!” says I agin. “And where are the children?”

“The boys have inherited their father's evil habits, and drink as bad as he duz; and the oldest girl has gone to the bad.”

“Oh, dear! oh, dear me!” says I. And we both sot silent for a spell. And then, thinkin' I must say sunthin', and wantin' to strike a safe subject, and a good-lookin' one, I says,—

“Where is your aunt Eunice'es girl? that pretty girl I see to your house once.”

“That girl is in the lunatick asylum.”

“Dorlesky Burpy!” says I. “Be you a tellin' the truth?”

“Yes, I be, the livin' truth. She went to New York to buy millinary goods for her mother's store. It wus quite cool when she left home, and she hadn't took off her winter clothes: and it come on brilin' hot in the city; and in goin' about from store to store, the heat and the hard work overcome her, and she fell down in the street in a sort of a faintin'-fit, and was called drunk, and dragged off to a police court by a man who wus a animal in human shape. And he misused her in such a way, that she never got over the horror of what befell her—when she come to, to find herself at the mercy of a brute in a man's shape. She went into a melancholy madness, and wus sent to the asylum. Of course they couldn't have wimmen in such places to take care of wimmen,” says she bitterly.

I sithed a long and mournful sithe, and sot silent agin for quite a spell. But thinkin' I must be sociable, I says,—

“Your aunt Eunice is well, I s'pose?”

“She is a moulderin' in jail,” says she.

“In jail? Eunice Keeler in jail?”

“Yes, in jail.” And Dorlesky's tone wus now like wormwood, wormwood and gall.

“You know, she owns a big property in tenement-houses, and other buildings, where she lives. Of course her taxes wus awful high; and she didn't expect to have any voice in tellin' how that money, a part of her own property, that she earned herself in a store, should be used.