The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose SketchesRiley, James Whitcomb
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The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose Sketches
Riley, James Whitcomb
American poetry; American wit and humor
I forgot my pop-corn that night; I forgot my taffy; I forgot all
earthly things; and I tossed about so feverishly in my little bed, and
withal so restlessly, that more than once my father's admonition above
the footboard of the big bed, of "Drat you! go to sleep, there!"
foreshadowed my impending doom. And once he leaned over and made a
vicious snatch at me, and holding me out at arm's length by one leg,
demanded in thunder-tones, "what in the name o' flames and flashes I
meant, anyhow!"
I was afraid to stir a muscle from that on, in consequence of which I
at length straggled off in fitful dreams--and heavens! what dreams!--A
very long and lank, and slim and slender old woman in white knocked at
the door of my vision, and I let her in. She patted me on the
head--and oh! how cold her hands were! And they were very hard hands,
too, and very heavy--and, horror of horrors!--they were not
hands--they were claws!--they were iron!--they were like the things I
had seen the hardware man yank nails out of a keg with. I quailed and
shivered till the long and slim and slender old woman jerked my head
up and snarled spitefully, "What's the matter with you, bub," and I
said, "Nawthin'!" and she said, "Don't you dare to lie to me!" I
moaned.
"Don't you like me?" she asked.
I hesitated.
"And lie if you dare!" she said--"Don't you like me?"
"Oomh-oomh!" said I.
"Why?" said she.
"Cos, you're too long--and slim--an'"--
"Go on!" said she.
"--And tall!" said I.
"Ah, ha!" said she,--"and that's it, hey?"
And then she began to grow shorter and thicker, and fatter and
squattier.
"And how do I suit you now?" she wheezed at length, when she had
wilted down to about the size of a large loaf of bread.
I shook more violently than ever at the fearful spectacle.
"How do you like me now?" she yelped again,--"And don't you lie to me
neither, or I'll swaller you whole!"
I writhed and hid my face.
"Do you like me?"
"No-o-oh!" I moaned.
She made another snatch at my hair. I felt her jagged claws sink into
my very brain. I struggled and she laughed hideously.
"You don't, hey?"
"Yes, yes, I do. I love you!" said I.
"You lie! You lie!" She shrieked derisively. "You know you lie!" and
as I felt the iron talons sinking and gritting in my very brain, with
one wild, despairing effort, I awoke.
I saw the fire gleaming in the grate, and by the light it made I dimly
saw the outline of the old mantelpiece that straddled it, holding the
old clock high upon its shoulders. I was awake then, and the little
squatty woman with her iron talons was a dream! I felt an oily
gladness stealing over me, and yet I shuddered to be all alone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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