Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1886-03-31


began to chase itself around in my head,
like cat after her own tail. l was fascin-
ated by its faultless rhyme, by the lawless
abandon of its capitals. think it would
soon have set itself to music in my whirling
little brain, if voice had not cried out:
"Wal, little girl, how do you like my new
sign? Don't you call that first-class
poetry?"
"fes, it's very nice poetry" answered.
And then went on boldly: "But see a
word in it that isn't spelled right"
"Not spelled right? How's that2 ]
shall have to hobble out and take look at
it. You're pretty noticin' little critter,
amt yer?''
hunted that this sort of "too" was usu-
ually spelled with two o's; but Mr.. Rogers
looked hard at the word over his spectacles,
and did not seem to think favorably of the
change.
81 tell ye what" said he finally, 'I've
got way, and no spellin' about it,
What's spellin' as long as folks catch yer
idee? The idee's what yer can't git along
without"
the Objectionable ''to" and wrote triumph
antly in it's place a huge figure 2.
felt baff1ed and helpless and went home
L .
Rogers sign much worse than l had found
it. 1t still pursued me, however, and at
dinner l said suddenly
"Mamma, don't you want my shoe as
good as new, and better too?''
"Bless men' said my grandmother,
"What ails the child? She isn't beginning
so early to be a poet, is she ?"
''Oh, no." cried my father. 81 guess
she's been reading old John Rogers sign.
Wife, it is curiosity. You must go by
there. We must send him down some old
shoes. You know he broke his leg last
winter, and he's trying to work again.
We must give him lift"
So it was the next morning l found my
self again before the distracting sign, this
time with large bundle of old shoes in my
arms. lifted the latch and stepped into
the little shop.
81 declare fort if here amt rush of
business" said Mr.. Rogers, as he opened
my bundle. ''One pair O. copper-toes.-
Them your little brothers.? Congress,
with the 'larstie give out. Guess that S
yer grandmother's. And here's one O yer
pas boots, with a nice, handsome hole in
it.''
"And I'd like to buy some strings,
too," put in, feeling myself patron of
cOuslQeraDlo importance.
"Now, them copper-toes wouldn't take
more'n half an hour. Can't you sit down
and wait! l amt such a great talker, but
like somebody to speak to once in while.
There's the cat. talk to her. She will look
very knowing, but the minute my back S
turned she's fast asleep. That amt fat
term, yer see, and l STOP"
l sat down, and while listened used my
pVaS aS wall The sunliuht fouubt re NOW
through the dusty window frames, and diff
fused itself impartially over the floor, with
its wide, dirt-filled cracks. The decoration
of these walls was of an humble order, al
though by no means uninteresting.
In the first place, there were huge auction
bills, in every stage of yellowness and dirt.
My grandmother kept an obituary scrap
book; but as | afterward found out, it was
Mr.. Rogers practice to cherish the auction
bills of his departed friends. Amos Belden
had peacefully slept with his fathers for
thirteen years or more, but in j. Rogers
shop it was still proclaimed. in giant type,
that he wished to sell "ten milch COWS and
six healthy yearlings.''
Nor was this all. Ten years ago, a mis-
guided Snowman had come to our little
town, and had solemnly retreated the next
day, with more experience than profits, but
his advent still lived in the hand bills on
Mr.. Rogers walls. Behind the old man,
as he patiently bent over his work, an in
teresting family of lions were sporting,
while on the door were set forth, in vivid
pictures, the accomplishments of "The
Fairy of the Ring" a young woman in very
scanty petticoats. The ceiling, too, had
it share of decorations. From it hung,
among festoons of cob-web, broken bird
cage; battered Chinese lantern, whose
light had long since gone out; odd boots,
which had parted with their mates; baskets
with no bottoms, and numberless straps,
Outlived their usefulness.
But MIR. Rogers's workbench BATTLES all
enumeration. 1t was covered with de-
posit of from six to ten inches in depth,
from whose lower stratum Mr.. Rogers
would, from time to time, bring up an
awl or bit of wax.
1t was the old cobber himself on whom
my eyes at last rested. In his most up
right days he could not have been large
man; but now the years had settled heavi
ly upon him, and he had lost several inches
of his youthful height. His face was
framed with thin fringe of beard, while
check and chin were rough with granite
colored stubble. There were fine, nettled
wrinkles, but no deep burrows in the old
mans face, and on each cheek a wintry
bloom still fingered. His voice had the
roughness of a. nutmeg crater, but now and
then glanced off from it's usual key, and
ended in kind of chirp.
"You never came to see me before, did
you? l am the J. Rogers out there on the
sign. You've heard of John Rodgers that
was burnt at the stake? Well, Pm an
other John Rogers-not that one. l
warn't never quite so bad off as that. So
you like my shop, eh? I've got everything
handy, yer see. / haven't always been SO
well off as this,' he went out in tremu
lous chirp. "When my wife was alive.
My wife was fine woman, harnsum and
pretty housekeeping, when [ married her,
but trouble brung her down. She never took
kindly to it. Her folks called me shiftless.
L dunno: if shiftless means working hard
and getting little, s'pose I was. | warn't
one of the kind ter worry, and she was
Eight children there were; and every one
that come she was sorry it come. And
then, when one aftel another they died, all
but one, that VIZ what killed her at last
They was my children, too, and-well L
it's given me something to look forward to,
seeing EN- up there, yer see, but my wife,
she WASH right exactly in her mind, it's
my belief, after our troubles came. l
dunno's anybody's to blame for 'em. My
wife, she took to her bed two years before
she died, and then had to learn new
trade or two beside shoe-making. / was
hired gal and most everything else. I
made pretty bad mess of it. don't deny
it. Poor Jim-he's our boy-run Off He
couldn't stand it. She died after while.
She was one of the Budsons. A harnsome
set of gals they were. 1t was heavy day
for me | buried her in her grave. I've
been alone since, but I've had a great many
mercles."
81 thought you broke your leg last win
ter, Mr.. Rogers
$50 did; but, on the whole, 1 ruther
enjoyed it, l dunno when ever lived so
high, Or had SO many visits from friends" +"
Aud so Mr.. Rogers talked on, looking
sharply up at me now and then, as if to as
sure himself that l was a better listener
than the cat.
Two days after, l went for the rest of the
shoes, and Mr.. Rogers seemed SO glad tc
see me that was again fattered into stay
ing.
"Come, now, if you'll set down and stay
tQl ctn -