Elbow-Room: A Novel Without a Plot Page 9

  CHAPTER VII.

  _HOW MR. BUTTERWICK PURSUED HORTICULTURE_.

  Soon after he moved out from the city to live in the village Mr.Butterwick determined to secure the services of a good gardener whocould be depended upon to produce from the acre surrounding the housethe largest possible crop of fruit, vegetables and flowers. A mannamed Brown was recommended as an expert, and Mr. Butterwick engagedhim. As Mr. Butterwick has no acquaintance with the horticultural art,he instructed Brown to use his own judgment in fixing up the place,and Brown said he would.

  On the morning of the first day, while Mr. Butterwick was sitting onthe front porch, he saw Brown going out of the gate with a gunupon his shoulder, and Mr. Butterwick conceived the idea that thehorticultural expert intended to begin his career in his new place bytaking a holiday.

  In about an hour, however, Brown came sauntering up the streetdragging a deceased dog by the tail. Mr. Butterwick asked him if hehad accidentally shot his dog while aiming at a rabbit. But Brownsimply smiled significantly and passed silently in through the gate.

  Then he buried the dog beneath the grape-arbor; and when the funeralwas over, Brown loaded up his gun, rubbed his muddy boots upon thegrass, brought his weapon to "right shoulder shift" and sallied outagain.

  Mr. Butterwick asked him if he was going down to the woods aftersquirrels; but he put his thumb knowingly to his nose, winked at Mr.Butterwick and went mutely down the road. After a while he loomed upagain upon the horizon, and this time Mr. Butterwick noticed that hewas hauling after him a setter pup and a yellow dog, both dead, andyoked together with one of Brown's suspenders.

  Mr. Butterwick failed to comprehend the situation exactly, but heventured the remark that Brown must be a very poor shot to hit his owndogs every time instead of the game. Brown, however, was not open tocriticism. He walked calmly down the yard, and after entombing thedogs by the grape-arbor, he put four fingers of buckshot in his gun,rearranged his suspenders, shouldered arms and struck out for thefront gate with a countenance as impassive as that of a graven image.

  Mr. Butterwick inquired if there was a target-shooting match over atthe "King of Prussia;" but Brown didn't appear to hear him, and passedserenely down the street. At half-past eleven Brown came within hailagain, and presently he marched up the yard with three departed catsand a blue poodle.

  THE GARDENER RETREATS]

  Mr. Butterwick thought it was extraordinary, and he asked Brown if hewas engaged in gunning for domestic animals in order to settle a bet.But Brown only coughed a couple of times, closed one eye sagaciouslyand began to dig a fresh grave under the arbor. When the last sadrites were over, he charged his gun as usual, rubbed his nosethoughtfully with his sleeve, took a drink at the pump and wanderedaway.

  He had been gone about fifteen minutes, when Mr. Butterwick heard twoshots in quick succession. A minute later he saw Brown coming up theroad with a considerable amount of velocity, pursued by Mr. Potts anda three-legged dog. Brown kept ahead; and when he had shot through thegate, he dashed into the house and bolted the door. Then Potts arrivedwith his dog, which stood by, looking as if it were very anxious tolunch upon somebody, while Potts explained to Butterwick that Brownhad shot a leg off of his dog, and that he, Potts, intended to havesatisfaction for the injury, if he had to go to law about it.

  When Mr. Butterwick had pacified Potts and sent him away, Mr.Butterwick sought an interview with Brown:

  "Brown, you have been behaving in a most preposterous manner eversince you came here. I employed you as a gardener, not as a gunner.You have nearly killed a valuable animal belonging to Mr. Potts; andI'll thank you to tell me what you mean, and right off, too."

  Brown winked again, cleared his throat, pulled up his shirt-collar andsaid,

  "I was goin' to quit soon as I ketched Potts's dog. He'd a binsplendid to bury out yer with the others. Lemme tell you how it is:The best thing to make grape-vines grow is dogs; bury 'em right downamong the roots. Some people prefer grandmothers and their otherrelations. But gimme dogs and cats. Soon as I seen them vines of yournI said to myself, Them vines wants a few dogs, and I concluded toput in the first day rakin' in all I could find. I'm goin' out againto-morrow, down the other road."

  But he didn't. Mr. Butterwick discharged him that night. He was tooenthusiastic for a gardener, and Mr. Butterwick thought that lifemight open out to him a brighter and more beautiful vista in someother capacity.

  Subsequently, Mr. Butterwick concluded to attend to his gardenhimself, and early in the spring he received from the Congressman ofour district a choice lot of assorted seeds brought from Californiaby the Agricultural Department. There were more than he wanted, so hegave a quantity of sugar-beet and onion seeds to Mr. Potts, andsome turnip and radish seeds to Colonel Coffin; then he planted theremainder, consisting of turnip, cabbage, celery and beet seeds, inhis own garden.

  When the plants began to come up, he thought they looked kind ofqueer, but he waited until they grew larger, and then, as he feltcertain something was wrong, he sent for a professional gardener tomake an examination.

  "Mr. Hoops," he said, "cast your eye over those turnips and tell mewhat you think is the matter with them."

  "Turnip!" exclaimed Hoops. "Turnip! Why, bless your soul, man! that'snot turnip. That's nothin' but pokeberry. You've got enough pokeberryin that bed to last a million years."

  "Well, Mr. Hoops, come over here to this bed. Now, how does thatcelery strike you? The munificent Federal government is spreading thatcelery all over this land of the free. Great, isn't it?"

  "Well, well!" said Hoops; "and they shoved that off on you for celery,did they? Too bad! It's nothin' on earth but pokeberry. This is theCalifornia kind--the deadliest pokeberry that was ever invented."

  "Are you sure you're not mistaken, Mr. Hoops? But you haven't seen mybeets there in the adjoining bed. The seeds of those beets were sentfrom Honolulu by our consul there. He reports that the variety attainsgigantic size."

  "Really, now," said Hoops, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, butto be fair and square with you, as between man and man, those are notbeets, you know. They are the Mexican pokeberry. I pledge you my wordit's the awfulest variety of that plant that grows. It'll stay in thisyer garden for ever. You'll never get rid of it."

  "This seems a little hard, Mr. Hoops. But I'd like you to inspect mycabbages. They're all right, I know. The commissioner of agriculturegot the seed from Borneo. They are the curly variety, I think. Youboil them with pork, and they cut down beautifully for slaw. Look atthese plants, will you? Ain't they splendid?"

  "Mr. Butterwick," said Hoops, "I've got some bad news to break to you,but I hope you'll stand it like a man. These afflictions come to allof us in this life, sir. They are meant for our good. But really, sir,those are not Borneo cabbages. Cabbages! Why, thunder and lightnin'!They are merely a mixture of California and Mexican pokeberry withthe ordinary kind, and a little Osage orange sprinkled through. It'sawful, sir! Why, you've got about two acres of pokeberry and not ablessed bit of cabbage or turnips among them."

  "Mr. Hoops, this is terrible news; and do you know I gave a lot ofthose seeds to Potts and Coffin?"

  "I know you did; and I seen Colonel Coffin this mornin' with ashot-gun goin' round askin' people if they knew where he could findyou."

  "Find me! What do you mean?"

  "Well, you see, sir, that there onion seed that you gave him wasreally the seed of the silver maple tree, and it's growed up so thickall over his garden that a cat can't crawl through it. There's aboutforty million shoots and suckers in that garden, and they'll have tobe cut out with a handsaw. It'll take about a year to do it."

  "You appall me, Hoops!"

  "And that's not the worst of it. The roots are so matted andinterlocked jes beneath the surface that you can't make any impressionon 'em with a pickaxe. That garden of Coffin's is ruined--entirelyruined, sir. You might blast those roots with gunpowder and it wouldmake no difference. And the suckers will grow faster than they're cutdown. He'll have t
o sell the property, sir."

  "And the commissioner of agriculture said that was onion seed. Whydidn't Coffin hunt _him_ with a shot-gun?"

  "Yes, sir; and Mr. Potts's got pokeberry and silver maple growin' allover his place, too, and he's as mad as--Well, you just ought to hearhim snortin' around town. He'll kill somebody, I'm afeard."

  Mr. Butterwick settled the difficulty with Coffin and Potts somehow,but he made up his mind to vote for another man for Congress at thenext election.

  Mr. Butterwick was the first man to introduce that ingenious anduseful implement the lawn-mower into our section of the country. Ashis mower was the only one in the village, it was at once in greatdemand. Everybody wanted to borrow it for a few days, and Butterwicklent it with such generosity that it was out most of the time, and agood many people had to wait for it. At last there was quite a rivalrywho should have it next, and the folks used to put in their claimswith the owner whenever they had an opportunity.

  One day Mr. Smith's wife died, and Mr. Butterwick attended thefuneral. Smith was nearly wild with grief. As the remains were putinto their last resting-place he cried as if his heart would break,and his friends began to get uneasy about his nervous system.Presently he took his handkerchief from his eyes for a moment to rubhis nose, and as he did so he saw Butterwick looking at him. A thoughtseemed to strike Smith. He dashed away a couple of tears; and steppingover a heap of loose earth as they began to shovel it in, he graspedButterwick by the hand. Butterwick gave him a sympathetic squeeze, andsaid,

  "Sorry for you, Smith; I am indeed! A noble woman and a good wife. Butbear up under it, bear up! Our loss, you know, is her gain."

  "Ah! she was indeed a woman in a thousand," responded Smith; "andnow to think that she has gone--gone, left us for ever! But theseafflictions must not make us forget the duty we owe to the living. Shehas passed away from toil and suffering, but we still have much to do;and, Butterwick, I want to borrow your lawn-mower. If you can fix itfor Tuesday, I think maybe the worst of my anguish will be over."

  "You may have it, of course."

  "Thank you; oh, thank you! Our friends are a great comfort to usin the hour of bereavement;" and then Smith gave his arm to hismother-in-law, put his handkerchief to his eyes and joined theprocession of mourners.

  Upon the following Sunday, Rev. Dr. Dox preached a splendid sermonover in the Free church, and just as he reached "secondly" he paused,looked around upon the congregation for a minute, and then he beckonedDeacon Moody to come up to the pulpit. He whispered something inMoody's ear, and Moody seemed surprised. The congregation was wildwith curiosity to know what was the matter. Then the deacon, blushingscarlet and seeming annoyed, walked down the aisle and whispered inButterwick's ear. Butterwick nodded, and whispered to his wife, whowas perishing to know what it was. She leaned over and communicated itto Mrs. Bunnel, in the pew in front; and when the Bunnels all had it,they sent it on to the people next to them, and so before the doctorreached "thirdly" the whole congregation knew that he wanted to borrowButterwick's lawn-mower on Monday morning early.

  A day or two later, while Butterwick was crossing the creek upon atrain of cars, the train ran off the track and rolled his car intothe water. Butterwick got out, however, into the stream, and as heemerged, spluttering and blowing, he struck against a stranger whowas treading water. The stranger apologized, and said that Butterwickmight not recognize him in his dilapidated condition as MartinThompson, but while they were together, he would like to put in a wordfor that lawn-mower when the parson was done with it.

  TREADING WATER]

  At last Butterwick grew tired of lending, and refused all applicants.Then the people began to steal it, and six respectable citizens onlyescaped going to jail because Butterwick had consideration for theirfamilies. Finally he chained it to the pump, and then they sawed offthe pump and operated the mower with the log as a roller. Butterwickat last put it on top of his house, and that night fourteen ladderswere seen against the wall. They did say that Ramsey, the lawyer, madeone effort with a hot-air balloon, and failed only because he fell outand hurt his leg; but this was never traced to any reliable source.

  The following week a man arrived and opened an agency for the saleof the mowers in the village, and gradually the excitement abated.Butterwick, however, has cut his grass with a sickle ever since.