A HUNDRED COLLARS
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ancaster bore him—-such a little town,Such a great man. It doesn't see him oftenOf late years, though he keeps the old homesteadAnd sends the children down there with their motherTo run wild in the summer—-a little wild.Sometimes he joins them for a day or twoAnd sees old friends he somehow can't get near.They meet him in the general store at night,Preoccupied with formidable mail,Rifling a printed letter as he talks.They seem afraid. He wouldn't have it so:Though a great scholar, he's a democrat,If not at heart, at least on principle.Lately when coming up to LancasterHis train being late he missed another trainAnd had four hours to wait at Woodsville JunctionAfter eleven o'clock at night. Too tiredTo think of sitting such an ordeal out,He turned to the hotel to find a bed. "No room," the night clerk said. "Unless----"Woodsville's a place of shrieks and wandering lampsAnd cars that shock and rattle—-and _one_ hotel. "You say 'unless.'" "Unless you wouldn't mindSharing a room with someone else." "Who is it?" "A man. "So I should hope. What kind of man?" "I know him: he's all right. A man's a man.Separate beds of course you understand." The night clerk blinked his eyes and dared him on."Who's that man sleeping in the office chair?Has he had the refusal of my chance?" "He was afraid of being robbed or murdered.What do you say?" "I'll have to have a bed." The night clerk led him up three flights of stairsAnd down a narrow passage full of doors,At the last one of which he knocked and entered,"Lafe, here's a fellow wants to share yourroom." "Show him this way. I'm not afraid of him,I'm not so drunk I can't take care of myself."The night clerk clapped a bedstead on the foot."This will be yours. Good-night," he said, andwent. "Lafe was the name, I think?" "Yes, _Lay_fayette.You got it the first time. And yours?" "Magoon.
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