The Self-seeker
“Willis, I didn’t
want you here to-day:
The lawyer’s coming
for the company.
I’m going to sell my
soul, or, rather, feet.
Five hundred dollars for the
pair, you know.”
“With you the feet have
nearly been the soul;
And if you’re going
to sell them to the devil,
I want to see you do it.
When’s he coming?”
“I half suspect you
knew, and came on purpose
To try to help me drive a
better bargain.”
“Well, if it’s
true! Yours are no common feet.
The lawyer don’t know
what it is he’s buying:
So many miles you might have
walked you won’t walk.
You haven’t run your
forty orchids down.
What does he think?—How
are the blessed feet?
The doctor’s sure you’re
going to walk again?”
“He thinks I’ll
hobble. It’s both legs and feet.”
“They must be terrible—I
mean to look at.”
“I haven’t dared
to look at them uncovered.
Through the bed blankets I
remind myself
Of a starfish laid out with
rigid points.”
“The wonder is it hadn’t
been your head.”
“It’s hard to
tell you how I managed it.
When I saw the shaft had me
by the coat,
I didn’t try too long
to pull away,
Or fumble for my knife to
cut away,
I just embraced the shaft
and rode it out—
Till Weiss shut off the water
in the wheel-pit.
That’s how I think I
didn’t lose my head.
But my legs got their knocks
against the ceiling.”
“Awful. Why didn’t
they throw off the belt
Instead of going clear down
in the wheel-pit?”
“They say some time
was wasted on the belt—
Old streak of leather—doesn’t
love me much
Because I make him spit fire
at my knuckles,
The way Ben Franklin used
to make the kite-string.
That must be it. Some
days he won’t stay on.
That day a woman couldn’t
coax him off.
He’s on his rounds now
with his tail in his mouth
Snatched right and left across
the silver pulleys.
Everything goes the same without
me there.
You can hear the small buzz
saws whine, the big saw
Caterwaul to the hills around
the village
As they both bite the wood.
It’s all our music.
One ought as a good villager
to like it.
No doubt it has a sort of
prosperous sound,
And it’s our life.”
“Yes, when it’s
not our death.”
“You make that sound
as if it wasn’t so
With everything. What
we live by we die by.
I wonder where my lawyer is.
His train’s in.
I want this over with; I’m
hot and tired.”
“You’re getting
ready to do something foolish.”
“Watch for him, will
you, Will? You let him in.
I’d rather Mrs. Corbin
didn’t know;
I’ve boarded here so
long, she thinks she owns me.
You’re bad enough to
manage without her.”
“And I’m going
to be worse instead of better.
You’ve got to tell me
how far this is gone:
Have you agreed to any price?”
“Five hundred.
Five hundred—five—five!
One, two, three, four, five.
You needn’t look at
me.”
“I don’t believe
you.”
“I told you, Willis,
when you first came in.
Don’t you be hard on
me. I have to take
What I can get. You see
they have the feet,
Which gives them the advantage
in the trade.
I can’t get back the
feet in any case.”
“But your flowers, man,
you’re selling out your flowers.”
“Yes, that’s one
way to put it—all the flowers
Of every kind everywhere in
this region
For the next forty summers—call
it forty.
But I’m not selling
those, I’m giving them,
They never earned me so much
as one cent:
Money can’t pay me for
the loss of them.
No, the five hundred was the
sum they named
To pay the doctor’s
bill and tide me over.
It’s that or fight,
and I don’t want to fight—
I just want to get settled
in my life,
Such as it’s going to
be, and know the worst,
Or best—it may
not be so bad. The firm
Promise me all the shooks
I want to nail.”
“But what about your
flora of the valley?”
“You have me there.
But that—you didn’t think
That was worth money to me?
Still I own
It goes against me not to
finish it
For the friends it might bring
me. By the way,
I had a letter from Burroughs—did
I tell you?—
About my Cyprepedium reginæ;
He says it’s not reported
so far north.
There! there’s the bell.
He’s rung. But you go down
And bring him up, and don’t
let Mrs. Corbin.—
Oh, well, we’ll soon
be through with it. I’m tired.”
Willis brought up besides
the Boston lawyer
A little barefoot girl who
in the noise
Of heavy footsteps in the
old frame house,
And baritone importance of
the lawyer,
Stood for a while unnoticed
with her hands
Shyly behind her.
“Well, and how is Mister——”
The lawyer was already in
his satchel
As if for papers that might
bear the name
He hadn’t at command.
“You must excuse me,
I dropped in at the mill and
was detained.”
“Looking round, I suppose,”
said Willis.
“Yes,
Well, yes.”
“Hear anything that
might prove useful?”
The Broken One saw Anne.
“Why, here is Anne.
What do you want, dear?
Come, stand by the bed;
Tell me what is it?”
Anne just wagged her dress
With both hands held behind
her. “Guess,” she said.
“Oh, guess which hand?
My my! Once on a time
I knew a lovely way to tell
for certain
By looking in the ears.
But I forget it.
Er, let me see. I think
I’ll take the right.
That’s sure to be right
even if it’s wrong.
Come, hold it out. Don’t
change.—A Ram’s Horn orchid!
A Ram’s Horn! What
would I have got, I wonder,
If I had chosen left.
Hold out the left.
Another Ram’s Horn!
Where did you find those,
Under what beech tree, on
what woodchuck’s knoll?”
Anne looked at the large lawyer
at her side,
And thought she wouldn’t
venture on so much.
“Were there no others?”
“There were four or
five.
I knew you wouldn’t
let me pick them all.”
“I wouldn’t—so
I wouldn’t. You’re the girl!
You see Anne has her lesson
learned by heart.”
“I wanted there should
be some there next year.”
“Of course you did.
You left the rest for seed,
And for the backwoods woodchuck.
You’re the girl!
A Ram’s Horn orchid
seedpod for a woodchuck
Sounds something like.
Better than farmer’s beans
To a discriminating appetite,
Though the Ram’s Horn
is seldom to be had
In bushel lots—doesn’t
come on the market.
But, Anne, I’m troubled;
have you told me all?
You’re hiding something.
That’s as bad as lying.
You ask this lawyer man.
And it’s not safe
With a lawyer at hand to find
you out.
Nothing is hidden from some
people, Anne.
You don’t tell me that
where you found a Ram’s Horn
You didn’t find a Yellow
Lady’s Slipper.
What did I tell you?
What? I’d blush, I would.
Don’t you defend yourself.
If it was there,
Where is it now, the Yellow
Lady’s Slipper?”
“Well, wait—it’s
common—it’s too common.”
“Common?
The Purple Lady’s Slipper’s
commoner.”
“I didn’t bring
a Purple Lady’s Slipper
To You—to you I
mean—they’re both too common.”
The lawyer gave a laugh among
his papers
As if with some idea that
she had scored.
“I’ve broken Anne
of gathering bouquets.
It’s not fair to the
child. It can’t be helped though:
Pressed into service means
pressed out of shape.
Somehow I’ll make it
right with her—she’ll see.
She’s going to do my
scouting in the field,
Over stone walls and all along
a wood
And by a river bank for water
flowers,
The floating Heart, with small
leaf like a heart,
And at the sinus under water
a fist
Of little fingers all kept
down but one,
And that thrust up to blossom
in the sun
As if to say, ‘You!
You’re the Heart’s desire.’
Anne has a way with flowers
to take the place
Of that she’s lost:
she goes down on one knee
And lifts their faces by the
chin to hers
And says their names, and
leaves them where they are.”
The lawyer wore a watch the
case of which
Was cunningly devised to make
a noise
Like a small pistol when he
snapped it shut
At such a time as this.
He snapped it now.
“Well, Anne, go, dearie.
Our affair will wait.
The lawyer man is thinking
of his train.
He wants to give me lots and
lots of money
Before he goes, because I
hurt myself,
And it may take him I don’t
know how long.
But put our flowers in water
first. Will, help her:
The pitcher’s too full
for her. There’s no cup?
Just hook them on the inside
of the pitcher.
Now run.—Get out
your documents! You see
I have to keep on the good
side of Anne.
I’m a great boy to think
of number one.
And you can’t blame
me in the place I’m in.
Who will take care of my necessities
Unless I do?”
“A pretty interlude,”
The lawyer said. “I’m
sorry, but my train—
Luckily terms are all agreed
upon.
You only have to sign your
name. Right—there.”
“You, Will, stop making
faces. Come round here
Where you can’t make
them. What is it you want?
I’ll put you out with
Anne. Be good or go.”
“You don’t mean
you will sign that thing unread?”
“Make yourself useful
then, and read it for me.
Isn’t it something I
have seen before?”
“You’ll find it
is. Let your friend look at it.”
“Yes, but all that takes
time, and I’m as much
In haste to get it over with
as you.
But read it, read it.
That’s right, draw the curtain:
Half the time I don’t
know what’s troubling me.—
What do you say, Will?
Don’t you be a fool,
You! crumpling folkses legal
documents.
Out with it if you’ve
any real objection.”
“Five hundred dollars!”
“What would you think
right?”
“A thousand wouldn’t
be a cent too much;
You know it, Mr. Lawyer.
The sin is
Accepting anything before
he knows
Whether he’s ever going
to walk again.
It smells to me like a dishonest
trick.”
“I think—I
think—from what I heard to-day—
And saw myself—he
would be ill-advised——”
“What did you hear,
for instance?” Willis said.
“Now the place where
the accident occurred——”
The Broken One was twisted
in his bed.
“This is between you
two apparently.
Where I come in is what I
want to know.
You stand up to it like a
pair of cocks.
Go outdoors if you want to
fight. Spare me.
When you come back, I’ll
have the papers signed.
Will pencil do? Then,
please, your fountain pen.
One of you hold my head up
from the pillow.”
Willis flung off the bed.
“I wash my hands—
I’m no match—no,
and don’t pretend to be——”
The lawyer gravely capped
his fountain pen.
“You’re doing
the wise thing: you won’t regret it.
We’re very sorry for
you.”
Willis sneered:
“Who’s we?—some
stockholders in Boston?
I’ll go outdoors, by
gad, and won’t come back.”
“Willis, bring Anne
back with you when you come.
Yes. Thanks for caring.
Don’t mind Will: he’s savage.
He thinks you ought to pay
me for my flowers.
You don’t know what
I mean about the flowers.
Don’t stop to try to
now. You’ll miss your train.
Good-bye.” He flung
his arms around his face.
