You'd better tuck your money under you
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Will you believe me if I put it thereRight on the counterpane—-that I do trust you?" "You'd say so, Mister Man.—-I'm a collector.My ninety isn't mine—-you won't think that.I pick it up a dollar at a timeAll round the country for the _Weekly News_,Published in Bow. You know the _Weekly News?_" "Known it since I was young." "Then you know me.Now we are getting on together—-talking.I'm sort of Something for it at the front.My business is to find what people want:They pay for it, and so they ought to have it.Fairbanks, he says to me—-he's editor—-Feel out the public sentiment—-he says.A good deal comes on me when all is said.The only trouble is we disagreeIn politics: I'm Vermont Democrat—-You know what that is, sort of double-dyed;The _News_ has always been Republican.Fairbanks, he says to me, 'Help us this year,'Meaning by us their ticket. 'No,' I says,'I can't and won't. You've been in long enough:It's time you turned around and boosted us.You'll have to pay me more than ten a weekIf I'm expected to elect Bill Taft.I doubt if I could do it anyway.'" "You seem to shape the paper's policy." "You see I'm in with everybody, know 'em all.I almost know their farms as well as they do." "You drive around? It must be pleasant work." "It's business, but I can't say it's not fun.What I like best's the lay of different farms,Coming out on them from a stretch of woods,Or over a hill or round a sudden corner.I like to find folks getting out in spring,Raking the dooryard, working near the house.Later they get out further in the fields.Everything's shut sometimes except the barn;The family's all away in some back meadow.There's a hay load a-coming—-when it comes.And later still they all get driven in:The fields are stripped to lawn, the garden patchesStripped to bare ground, the apple treesTo whips and poles. There's nobody about.The chimney, though, keeps up a good brisksmoking.And I lie back and ride. I take the reinsOnly when someone's coming, and the mareStops when she likes: I tell her when to go.I've spoiled Jemima in more ways than one.She's got so she turns in at every houseAs if she had some sort of curvature,No matter if I have no errand there.She thinks I'm sociable. I maybe am.It's seldom I get down except for meals, though.Folks entertain me from the kitchen doorstep,All in a family row down to the youngest." "One would suppose they might not be as gladTo see you as you are to see them." "Oh,Because I want their dollar. I don't wantAnything they've not got. I never dun.I'm there, and they can pay me if they like.I go nowhere on purpose: I happen by.Sorry there is no cup to give you a drink.I drink out of the bottle—-not your style.Mayn't I offer you----?" "No, no, no, thank you. "Just as you say. Here's looking at you then.—-And now I'm leaving you a little while. You'll rest easier when I'm gone, perhaps—-Lie down—-let yourself go and get some sleep.But first—-let's see—-what was I going to ask you?Those collars—-who shall I address them to,Suppose you aren't awake when I come back?" "Really, friend, I can't let you. You—-may needthem." "Not till I shrink, when they'll be out of style." "But really—-I have so many collars." "I don't know who I rather would have have them.They're only turning yellow where they are.But you're the doctor as the saying is.I'll put the light out. Don't you wait for me:I've just begun the night. You get some sleep.I'll knock so-fashion and peep round the doorWhen I come back so you'll know who it is.There's nothing I'm afraid of like scared people.I don't want you should shoot me in the head.What am I doing carrying off this bottle?There now, you get some sleep."
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