The Abandoned Farmers: His Humorous Account of a Retreat from the City to the FarmCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
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The Abandoned Farmers: His Humorous Account of a Retreat from the City to the Farm
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
Farms -- Recreational use -- United States -- Fiction; Humorous stories
During the months that followed I learned a lot about the intricacies
and the mysteries of house building. Beforehand, in my ignorance I
figured that the preliminary plans might be stretched out or contracted
in to suit the shifting mood of the designer and the sudden whim of his
client, but that once the walls went up and the beams went across and
the rafters came down both parties were thereafter bound by set metes
and bounds. Not at all. I discovered that there is nothing more plastic
than brickwork, nothing more elastic than a girder. A carpenter spends
days of his time and dollars of your money fitting and joining a certain
section of framework; that is to say, he engages in such craftsmanship
when not sharpening his saw. It has been my observation that the average
conscientious carpenter allows forty per cent of his eight-hour day to
saw sharpening. It must be a joy to him to be able to give so much time
daily to putting nice keen teeth in a saw, knowing that somebody else is
paying him for it at the rate of ninety cents an hour. Watching him at
work in intervals between saw filing, you get from him the impression
that unless this particular angle of the wooden skeleton is articulated
just so the whole structure will come tumbling down some day when least
expected. At length he gets the job done to his satisfaction and goes
elsewhere.
Along comes a steamfitter and he, whistling merrily the while, takes a
chisel or an adze or an ax and just bodaciously haggles a large ragged
orifice in the carpenter's masterpiece. Through the hole he runs a Queen
Rosamond's maze of iron pipes. He then departs and the carpenter is
called back to the scene of the mutilation. After sharpening his saw
some more in a restrained and contemplative manner, he patches up the
wound as best he can. Enter, then, the boss plumber accompanied by a
helper. The boss plumber finds a comfortable two-by-four to sit on and
does sit thereon and lights up his pipe and while he smokes and directs
operations the assistant or understudy, with edged tools provided for
that purpose, tears away some of the cadaver's most important ribs and
several joints of its spinal column for the forthcoming insertion of
various concealed fixtures.
Following the departure of these assassins the patient carpenter returns
and to the best of his ability reduces all the compound fractures that
he conveniently can get at, following which he sharpens his saw--not the
big saw which he sharpened from eight-forty-five to ten-fifteen o'clock
this morning, but the little buttonhole saw which he has not sharpened
since yesterday afternoon; this done, he calls it a day and goes home
to teach his little son Elmer, who expects to follow in the paternal
footsteps, the rudiments of the art of filing a saw without being in
too much of a hurry about it, which after all is the main point in this
department of the carpentering profession.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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