CHAPTER XII.
_A NEW MRS. TOODLES.--POTTS' ADVENTURES_.
One evening I met Mr. Potts out upon the turnpike, taking a walk;and I joined him. As we proceeded he became rather confidential. Thesubject of the mania for collecting bric-a-brac came up; and after anexpression of opinion from me respecting the matter, Mr. Potts toldthe story of his wife's fondness for that kind of thing. He said,
"My wife is the most infatuated bric-a-brac hunter I ever heard of.She's an uncommonly fine woman about most things; loves her children;makes splendid pies; don't fool with any of those fan-dangling wayswomen have of fixing their hair; and she's an angel for temper. Butshe beats Mrs. Toodles for going to auctions. She's filled my housewith the wildest mess of bric-a-brac and such stuff you ever cameacross outside of a museum of natural curiosities. She's spentmore money for wrecks that wouldn't be allowed in the cellar of apoor-house than'd keep a family in comfort for years.
"You know Scudmore, who sold out the other day? She was there, biddingaway like a millionaire. Came home with a wagon-load of things--fouralbata tea-pots without lids or handles; two posts of a bedstead andthree slats; a couple of churns and fourteen second-hand sun-bonnets,and more mournful refuse like that. Said she didn't intend to buy,but she bid on them to run them up to help Mrs. Scudmore, and theauctioneer knocked them down quicker'n a wink. Said it was 'Lot 47,'and she had to take it all. And she said maybe she could make up thesun-bonnets into bibs for the baby and use the tea-pots for preserves.She thought she might make a pretty fair bedstead out of the posts bypropping the other ends on a chair; and she said it was a lucky thingshe was so forehanded about those churns, because she might have acow knocked down to her, and then she would be all ready forbutter-making. More'n likely she'll buy some old steer and bring himhome while she's rummaging around for bric-a-brac.
"When the Paxtons had their sale in January she was around there,of course, and came home after dinner with the usual dismemberedfurniture; and when I said to her, 'Emma, why under Heaven did you buyin the mud-dredge and the sausage-stuffer?' she said she thought thesausage-stuffer would do for a cannon for the boys on the Fourth ofJuly, and there was no telling if Charley wouldn't want to be acivil engineer when he grew up, and perhaps he'd get a contract fordeepening the channel of the river; and then he'd rise up and blessthe foresight of the mother who'd bought a mud-dredge for two dollarsand saved it up for him.
"I sold that scoop on Wednesday for old iron for fifteen cents; andI'll bang the head off of Charley if he ever goes to dredging mud orplaying cannon with the sausage-stuffer. I won't have my boys carryingon in that way.
"Over there at Robinson's sale I believe she'd've bid on the wholeconcern if I hadn't come in while she was going it. As it was,she bought an aneroid barometer, three dozen iron skewers, asacking-bottom and four volumes of Eliza Cook's poems. Said shethought those volumes were some kind of cookery-books, or she wouldn'thave bid on them, and the barometer would be valuable to tell us whichwas north. _North_, mind you! She thought it indicated the points ofthe compass. And yet they want to let women vote! I threw in thoseskewers along with the mud-dredge, and she's used the sacking-bottomtwice to patch Charley's pants; and that's all the good we ever gotout of that auction.
"But she don't care for utility; it's simply a mania for buyingthings. We haven't a stove in the house, and yet what does she do atMurphy's sale but bid on sixty-two feet and three elbows of rustystovepipe and cart it home with four debilitated gingham umbrellas.Said the umbrellas were a bargain because, by putting in new coversand handles and a rib here and there, they would do for birthdaypresents for her aunts. And the stovepipe could be sent out to thefarm to be put around the peach trees to keep the cows off. How inthunder she was ever going to get a stovepipe around a peach treenever crossed her mind. She is just as impractical as a baby.
"When Bailey had the auction at his insurance office, there she was,and, sure enough, that afternoon she landed in our side yard withBailey's poll-parrot and a circular saw. It amused me. She wanted touse that saw as a dinner-gong, but it was cracked, and so she hasturned it into a griddle for muffins. Bailey had taught the parrot toswear so that I was afraid it'd demoralize Charley, and I don't mindtelling you in confidence that I killed it by putting bug-poison in awater-cracker.
"Now, I see there's an auction advertised for Friday at Peters'; andPeters has a pyramid of old tomato cans and bric-a-brac of that sortpiled up in his back yard. Now, you see if that woman don't bid onthose cans until she runs them up to a dollar apiece, and then comelugging them around to our house with some extraordinary idea aboutloading them up with gunpowder and selling them to the governmentduring the next war for bombshells. If she does, that winds the thingup. I'm a good-natured man, but no woman shall bring home threehundred tomato cans to my house and retain a claim upon my affections.I'll resign first."
My feeling was that he was a little mixed in his notions aboutbric-a-brac, but that he really had a grievance.
* * * * *
Potts told me, also, that he came home very late one night recently,and when he went up stairs his wife and children were in bed asleep.He undressed as softly as he could, and then, as he felt thirsty, hethought he would get a drink of water. Fortunately, he saw a gobletfulstanding on the washstand, placed there for him, evidently, by Mrs.Potts. He seized it and drank the liquid in two or three huge gulps,but just as he was draining the goblet he gagged, dropped the glass tothe floor, where it was shivered to atoms, while he ejected somethingfrom his mouth. He was certain that a live animal of some kind hadbeen in the water, and that he had nearly swallowed it. This theorywas confirmed when he saw the object which he spat out go boundingover the floor. He pursued it, kicking a couple of chairs over whiledoing so, and at last he put his foot on it and held it. Of courseMrs. Potts was wide awake by this time and scared nearly to death, andthe baby was screaming at the top of its lungs. Mrs. Potts got out ofbed and turned up the gas, and said,
"Mr. Potts, what in the name of common sense is the matter?"
"It's a mouse!" shouted Potts, in an excited manner. "It's a mouse inthe goblet. I nearly swallowed it, but I spat it out, and now I've gotmy foot on it. Get a stick and kill it, quick!"
MR. POTTS' MOUSE]
Mrs. Potts was at first disposed to jump on a chair and scream, for,like all women, she feared a mouse very much more than she did atiger. But at Potts' solicitation she got the broom and prepared todemolish the mouse when Potts lifted his foot. He drew back, and sheaimed a fearful blow at the object and missed it. Then, as it did notmove, she took a good look at it. Then she threw down the broom, andafter casting a look of scorn at Potts, she said,
"Come to bed, you old fool! that's not a mouse."
"What d'you mean?"
"Why, you simpleton, that's the baby's India-rubber bottle-top thatI put in the goblet to keep it sweet. You ought to be ashamed ofyourself carrying on in this manner at one o'clock in the morning."
Then Potts turned in. After this he will drink at the pump.
* * * * *
In the course of the conversation I remarked that I had seen some menfixing Potts' roof recently; and when I asked Potts if anything wasthe matter, he said,
"My roof was shingled originally; but as it leaked, I had the shinglesremoved and a gravel-and-felt roof put on. The first night after itwas finished there was a very high wind, which blew the graveloff with such force that it broke thirty-four panes of glass inButterwick's house, next door. The wind also tore up the felt and blewit over the edge, so that it hung down over the front of the houselike a curtain. Of course it made the rooms pitch-dark, and I did notget up until one o'clock in the afternoon, but lay there wondering howit was the night seemed so long.
"Then I had a tin roof put on, and it did well enough for a while.But whenever there was a heavy rain or the wind was high, it used torattle all night with a noise like the battle of Gettysburg. At lastit began to leak, an
d a tinner sent a man around to find the hole. Hespent a week on that roof, and he spread half a ton of solder overit, but still it leaked. And finally, when the snow came, the watertrickled down the wall and ran into an eight-hundred-dollar piano,which will be closed out at a low figure to anybody who wants mahoganykindling-wood. When the tin was removed and the new slate roof was puton, the slates used to get loose and slide down on the head of thehired girl while she was hanging up the clothes. And when the man cameto replace the slates, he plunged off the roof and broke four ribsand his leg, whereupon he sued me for damages. And while the case waspending in court a snow-storm came. The snow blew in under the slates,and my oldest boy spent the day with some of his friends snow-ballingand sledding in the garret. Then the snow on the garret floormelted and wet the wall-paper down stairs, so that the house becamefrightfully damp, and we had to move over to the hotel for afortnight.
"Then I tried the 'Patent Incombustible' roofing, because the man saidit would not only keep out the rain, but it was perfectly fireproof. Aweek after it was on, Butterwick's stable caught fire and flung upa great many sparks. All the houses in the neighborhood, however,escaped--all except mine. My roof was in flames before the stablewas done burning; and when the firemen had put it out, they got tofighting on my front stairs, with the result that the banister wasbroken to splinters, a two-inch stream was played into the parlor forfifteen minutes, and Chief Engineer Johnson bled all over our bestcarpet.
"I have the 'Impervious Cement Roof' on now, and it seems to do wellenough, excepting that it isn't impervious. It lets in the water ateight different places; and whenever there is a shower, I have to rushmy family out on the roof to shelter it with umbrellas. I fully expectit will explode some night, or do some other deadly and infamousthing. I am going to put the house up at auction and live in a circustent."
* * * * *
They had a big excitement over at Potts' the other day about theircat. They heard the cat howling and screeching somewhere around thehouse for two or three days, but they couldn't find her. Potts used toget up at night, fairly maddened with the noise, and heave things outthe back window at random, hoping to hit her and discourage her. Butshe never seemed to mind them; and although eventually he fired offpretty nearly every movable thing in the house excepting the piano,she continued to shriek and scream in a manner that was simplyappalling. At last, one day, Potts made a critical examination of thepremises, and, guided by the noise, he finally located the cat in thetin waterspout which descends the north wall of the house. He thinksthe cat must have been skylarking on the roof some dark night andaccidentally tumbled into the spout.
Potts tried to shake her down by hammering on the spout with a stick;but the more he pounded, the louder she yelled, and the two noisesroused the entire neighborhood and attracted the attention of thepolice. Then he procured a clothes-prop; and ascending to the roof, heendeavored to push the animal out. But the stick was not long enoughto reach her. All it was good for was to make her howl more loudly;and it did that. At last Potts concluded to take the spout down andcoax the cat out. When he got it on the ground, he peeped in at theend, and he could see the animal's eyes shining like balls of fire farback in the darkness of the hole. After shaking her up for a whilewithout inducing her to move, he made up his mind that she must bejammed in the pipe and unable to budge. He wanted to cut the pipeopen, but Butterwick said it would be a pity to spoil such a goodspout for a mere cat.
So Potts finally determined to blow her out with powder. He procured asmall charge; and pushing it pretty well in with a stick, he "tamped"the end of the spout with clay and lighted the slow-match. Two minuteslater there was an explosion, and the tamping-clay flew out and struckButterwick with some violence in the ribs, curling him all up on thegrass by the pump. When he recovered his breath, he got up and said,
"Hang your infernal cat! It's an outrage for you to be endangering thelives of people with your diabolical schemes for getting at a beas'that ought to've been killed long ago."
Then Butterwick sullenly got over the fence and went home, and the catmeanwhile kept up a yowling that made everybody's hair stand on end.
Potts said that he made a mistake in not placing the butt of the spoutagainst something solid. And so, after putting in a couple of poundsof powder, he turned the spout up and rested the end upon the ground,propping it against the pump. Then he lighted the slow-match, and thecrowd scattered. There was a loud explosion, a general distribution offragments of tin around the yard, and then out from the upper end ofthe spout there sailed something black. It ascended; it went higherand higher and higher, until it was a mere speck; then it came sailingdown, down, down, until it struck the earth. It was the cat, singedoff, burned to a crisp, looking as if it had been spending the summerin Vesuvius, but apparently still active and hearty; for as soon as italighted it set up a wild, unearthly screech and darted off for thewoodshed, where it continued to howl until Potts went in and killed itwith his shotgun. It cost him forty dollars for a new spout, but hesays he doesn't grudge the money now that he has stopped that fiendishnoise.
* * * * *
Potts' clock got out of order one day last winter and began to strikewrong. That was the cause of the fearful excitement at his house on acertain night. They were all in bed sound asleep at midnight, when theclock suddenly struck _five_. The new hired girl, happening towake just as it began, heard it, and bounced out of bed under theimpression that morning had come. And as it is dark at 5 A.M. just atthat season, she did not perceive her mistake, but went down into thekitchen and began to get breakfast.
SHOOTING A BURGLAR]
While she was bustling about in a pretty lively manner, Potts happenedto wake, and he heard the noise. He opened his room door cautiouslyand crept softly to the head of the stairs to listen. He coulddistinctly hear some one moving about the kitchen and dining-room andapparently packing up the china. Accordingly, he went back to his roomand woke Mrs. Potts, and gave her orders to spring the rattle outof the front window the moment she heard his gun go off. Then Pottsseized his fowling-piece; and going down to the dining-room door,where he could hear the burglars at work, he cocked the gun, aimed it,pushed the door open with the muzzle and fired. Instantly Mrs. Pottssprang the rattle, and before Potts could pick up the lacerated hiredgirl the front door was burst open by two policemen, who came into thedining-room.
Seeing Potts with a gun, and a bleeding woman on the floor, theyimagined that murder had been committed, and one of them trotted Pottsoff to the station-house, while the other remained to investigatethings. Just then the clock struck six. An explanation ensued from thegirl, who only had a few bird-shot in her leg, and the policeman leftto bring Potts home. He arrived at about three in the morning, just asthe clock was striking eight. When the situation was unfolded to him,his first action was to jam the butt of his gun through the clock,whereupon it immediately struck two hundred and forty-three, and thenPotts pitched it over the fence. He has a new clock now, and thingsare working better.
* * * * *
The Pottses celebrated their "iron wedding" one day last winter, andthey invited about one hundred and twenty guests to the wedding. Ofcourse each person felt compelled to bring a present of some kind; andeach one did. When Mr. and Mrs. Smith came, they handed Potts a pairof flatirons. When Mr. and Mrs. Jones arrived, they also had a pair offlatirons. All hands laughed at the coincidence. And there was evengreater merriment when the Browns arrived with two pairs of flatirons.But when Mr. and Mrs. Robinson came in with another pair of flatirons,the laughter became perfectly convulsive.
There was, however, something less amusing about it when the Thompsonsarrived with four flatirons wrapped in brown paper. And Potts' faceactually looked grave when the three Johnson girls were ushered intothe parlor carrying a flatiron apiece. Each one of the succeedingsixty guests brought flatirons, and there was no break in thecontinuity until old Mr. Curry arrived from Phi
ladelphia with acast-iron cow-bell. Now, Potts has no earthly use for a cow-bell, andat any other time he would have treated such a present with scorn. Butnow he was actually grateful to Mr. Curry, and he was about to embracehim, when the Walsinghams came in with the new kind of-double-pointedflatirons with wooden handles. And all the rest of the guests broughtthe same articles excepting Mr. Rugby, and he had with him a patentstand for holding flatirons. Potts got madder and madder every minute,and by the time the company had all arrived he was nearly insane withrage; and he went up to bed, leaving his wife to entertain the guests.In the morning they counted up the spoils, and found that they had twohundred and thirteen flatirons, one stand and a cow-bell. And now thePottses have cut the Smiths and Browns and Johnsons and Thompsonsand the rest entirely, for they are convinced that there was apreconcerted design to play a trick upon them.
A FLAT-IRON WEDDING]
The fact, however, is that the hardware store in the place had anoverstock of flatirons and sold them at an absurdly low figure, andPotts' guests unanimously went for the cheapest thing they couldfind, as people always do on such occasions. Potts thinks he will notcelebrate his "silver wedding."
Elbow-Room: A Novel Without a Plot Page 14
