Samantha at Saratoga by Marietta Holley (e book reader pc .TXT) 📗

Them words I reported to Josiah, and sez I in anxious axents, “Dr. Gale advises us to go.”

And Josiah sez, “I guess I shan’t mind what that old fool sez.”

Them wuz my pardner’s words, much as I hate to tell on ’em. But from day to day I kep’ it stiddy before him, how dang’r’us it wuz to go ag’inst a doctor’s advice. And from day to day he would scorf at the plan. And I, ev’ry now and then, and mebby oftener, would get him a extra good meal, and attack him on the subject immegatly afterwards. But all in vain. And I see that when he had that immovible sotness onto him, one extra meal wouldn’t soften or molify him. No, I see plain I must make a more voyalent effort. And I made it. For three stiddy days I put before that man the best vittles that these hands could make, or this brain could plan.

And at the end of the 3d day I gently tackled him agin on the subject, and his state wuz such, bland, serene, happified, that he consented without a parlay. And so it wuz settled that the next summer we wuz to go to Saratoga. And he began to count on it and make preparation in a way that I hated to see.

Yes, from the very minute that our two minds wuz made up to go to Saratoga Josiah Allen wuz set on havin’ sunthin new and uneek in the way of dress and whiskers. I looked coldly on the idee of puttin’ a gay stripe down the legs of the new pantaloons I made for him, and broke it up, also a figured vest. I went through them two crisises and came out triumphent.

Then he went and bought a new bright pink necktie with broad long ends which he intended to have float out, down the front of his vest. And I immegatly took it for the light-colored blocks in my silk log-cabin bedquilt. Yes, I settled the matter of that pink neck-gear with a high hand and a pair of shears. And Josiah sez now that he bought it for that purpose, for the bedquilt, because he loves to see a dressy quilt,—sez he always enjoys seein’ a cabin look sort o’ gay. But good land! he didn’t. He intended and calculated to wear that neck-tie into Saratoga,—a sight for men and angels, if I hadn’t broke it up.

But in the matter of whiskers, there I was powerless. He trimmed ’em (unbeknow to me) all off the side of his face, them good honerable side whiskers of hisen, that had stood by him for years in solemnity and decency, and begun to cultivate a little patch on the end of his chin. I argued with him, and talked well on the subject, eloquent, but it wuz of no use, I might as well have argued with the wind in March.

He said, he wuz bound on goin’ into Saratoga with a fashionable whisker, come what would.

And then I sithed, and he sez,—“ You have broke up my pantaloons, my vest, and my neck-tie, you have ground me down onto plain broadcloth, but in the matter of whiskers I am firm! Yes!” sez he “on these whiskers I take my stand!”

And agin I sithed heavy, and I sez in a dretful impressive way, as I looked on ’em, “Josiah Allen, remember you are a father and a grandfather!”

And he sez firmly, “If I wuz a great-grandfather I would trim my whiskers in jest this way, that is if I wuz a goin’ to set up to be fashionable and a goin’ to Saratoga for my health.”

And I groaned kinder low to myself, and kep’ hopin’ that mebby they wouldn’t grow very fast, or that some axident would happen to ’em, that they would get afire or sunthin’. But they didn’t. And they grew from day to day luxurient in length, but thin. And his watchful care kep’ ’em from axident, and I wuz too high princepled to set fire to ’em when he wuz asleep, though sometimes, on a moonlight night, I was tempted to, sorely tempted.

But I didn’t, and they grew from day to day, till they wuz the curiusest lookin’ patch o’ whiskers that I ever see. And when we sot out for Saratoga, they wuz jest about as long as a shavin’ brush, and looked some like one. There wuz no look of a class-leader, and a perfesser about ’em, and I told him so. But he worshiped ’em, and gloried in the idee of goin’ afar to show ’em off.

But the neighbors received the news that we wuz goin’ to a waterin’ place coldly, or with ill-concealed envy.

Uncle Jonas Bently told us he shouldn’t think we would want to go round to waterin’ troughs at our age.

And I told him it wuzn’t a waterin’ trough, and if it wuz, I thought our age wuz jest as good a one as any, to go to it.

He had the impression that Saratoga wuz a immense waterin’ trough where the country all drove themselves summers to be watered. He is deef as a Hemlock post, and I yelled up at him jest as loud as I dast for fear of breakin’ open my own chest, that the water got into us, instid of our gettin’ into the water, but I didn’t make him understand, for I hearn afterwards of his sayin’ that, as