FullReads

“And mark, madam, mark most of all, the economy of this invention. I need not say to you, a housekeeper of knowledge and experience, that churning-day and wash-day stand separate and distinct upon your household calendar. Under no circumstances is it conceivable that the churn and the wash-boiler shall be required for use upon the same day. Clearly the use of the one presupposes and compels the neglect of the other. Then why cumber your house with these two articles, equally large and equally unwieldly, when, by means of the beautiful invention that I have the honor of presenting to your notice, the two in one can be united, and money and house-room alike can be saved? I trust, madam, I believe, that I have said enough to convince you that my article is all that fancy can paint or bright hope inspire; that in every household made glad by its presence it will be regarded always and forever as a heaven-given boon!” Suddenly dropping his rhetorical tone and coming down to the tone of business, the man went on: “You’ll buy one, won’t you? The price–“

The change of tone seemed to arouse Susan from the spellbound condition in which she had remained during this extraordinary harangue.

“O-o-o-oh!” she said, shudderingly, “do take the horrid, horrid thing right away!” Then she fled into the house.

I was very angry at the man for disturbing Susan in this way, and I told him so pretty plainly; and I also told him to get out. At this juncture, to my astonishment, Gregory Wilkinson interposed by asking what the thing was worth; and when the man said five dollars, he said that he would buy it. The man had manifested a disposition to be ugly while I was giving him his talking to, but when he found that he had made a sale, after all, he grew civil again. As he went off he expressed the hope that the lady would be all right presently, and the conviction that she would find the combination churn and wash-boiler a household blessing that probably would add ten years to her life.

“What on earth did you buy that for?” I asked, when the man had gone.

“Oh, I don’t know. It seems to be a pretty good wash-boiler, anyway. I heard your wife say the other day that she wanted a wash-boiler. She needn’t use it as a churn if she don’t want to, you know.”

“But my wife never will tolerate that disgusting thing, with its horrid suggestiveness of worse than Irish uncleanliness, about the house,” I went on, rather hotly. “I really must beg of you to send it away.”

“All right,” he answered. “I’ll take it away. I’m going to New York to-morrow, and I’ll take it along.”

“And what ever will you do with it in New York?” I asked.

“Well, I can’t say positively yet, but I guess I’ll send it out to the asylum. They’d be glad to get it there, I don’t doubt–not as a churn, you know, but for wash-boiling.”

Then he went on to tell me that one of the things that he especially wanted done at the asylum with his legacy was the construction of a steam-laundry, with a thing in the middle that went round and round, and dried the clothes by centrifugal pressure. He explained that the asylum was only just starting as an asylum, and was provided not only with very few destitute red Indian children, but also with very few of the appliances which an institution of that sort requires, and that was the reason why he had selected it, in preference to many other very deserving charities, to leave his money to.

I must say that I was glad to hear him talking in this strain, for his sudden announcement of his intended departure for New York, just after I had spoken so warmly to him, made me fear that I had offended him. But it was clear that I hadn’t, and that his going off in this unexpected fashion did not mean anything. He always did have a fancy for doing things suddenly.