The Minister's Charge; Or, The Apprenticeship of Lemuel BarkerHowells, William Dean
General
The Minister's Charge; Or, The Apprenticeship of Lemuel Barker
Howells, William Dean
Boston (Mass.) -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; Poets -- Fiction
“Used to be school-rooms,” said Lemuel's mate, in a low tone.
“Cots thirty-nine and forty,” said the attendant, looking at their
checks. “Right over there, in the corner.”
“Come along,” said the mate, leading the way, with the satisfaction of
an _habitué_. “Best berth in the room, and about the last they reach in
the morning. You see, they got to take us as we come, when they call us,
and the last feller in at night's the first feller out in the morning,
because his bed's the nearest the door.”
He did not pull down the blankets of his cot at once, but stretched
himself out in the quilt that covered them. “Cool off a little, first,”
he explained. “Well, this is what I call comfort, mate, heigh?”
Lemuel did not answer. He was watching the attendant with a group of
tramps who could not find their cots.
“Can't read, I suppose,” said the mate, a little disdainfully. “Well,
look at that old chap, will you!” A poor fellow was fumbling with his
blankets, as if he did not know quite how to manage them. The attendant
had to come to his help, and tuck him in. “Well, there!” exclaimed the
mate, lifting himself on his elbow to admire the scene. “I don't suppose
he's ever been in a decent bed before. Hayloft's _his_ style, or a
board-pile.” He sank down again, and went on: “Well, you do see all
kinds of folks here, that's a fact. Sorry there ain't more in to-night,
so 's to give you a specimen. You ought to be here in the winter. Well,
it ain't so lonesome now, in summer, as it used to be. Sometimes I used
to have nearly the whole place to myself, summer nights, before they got
to passin' these laws against tramps in the country, and lockin' 'em
up when they ketched 'em. That drives 'em into the city summers, now;
because they're always sure of a night's rest and a day's board here if
they ask for it. But winter's the time. You'll see all these cots full,
then. They let on the steam-heat, and it's comfortable; and it's always
airy and healthy.” The vast room was, in fact, perfectly ventilated,
and the poor who housed themselves that night, and many well-to-do
sojourners in hotels, had reason to envy the vagrants their free
lodging.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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