Let tinkers' brats do tinkerings; we are their betters. I like to take
in hand none but clean, virgin, fair-and-square mathematical jobs,
something that regularly begins at the beginning, and is at the middle
when midway, and comes to an end at the conclusion; not a cobbler's job,
that's at an end in the middle, and at the beginning at the end.
It's the old woman's tricks to be giving cobbling jobs.
Lord! what an affection all old women have for tinkers. I know an old
woman of sixty-five who ran away with a bald-headed young tinker once.
And that's the reason I never would work for lonely widow old
women ashore when I kept my job-shop in the Vineyard; they might
have taken it into their lonely old heads to run off with me.
But heigh-ho! there are no caps at sea but snow-caps. Let me see.
Nail down the lid; caulk the seams; pay over the same with pitch;
batten them down tight, and hang it with the snap-spring over
the ship's stern. Were ever such things done before with a coffin?
Some superstitious old carpenters, now, would be tied up in the rigging,
ere they would do the job. But I'm made of knotty Aroostook hemlock;
I don't budge. Cruppered with a coffin! Sailing about with
a grave-yard tray! But never mind.
Pages:
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843