Читать книгу Now I Remember: Autobiography of an Amateur Naturalist - Thornton Waldo Burgess - Страница 19

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Mother abhorred debt. What we couldn’t pay for we went without. From childhood she drilled me to always keep in mind that:

He who buys what he knows he cannot pay for is a sneak-thief.

He who assumes unnecessary debt has one foot in the mire.

He who lives beyond his means is stealing from his creditors.

He who is honest with himself will be honest with others.

He who masters himself commands his destiny.

So it was that in those difficult days I still clung to my independence and abhorred debt. I lived in the future. I have found that is a good plan when living in the present is difficult.

Playing back memory’s record, one must of necessity find many places where the needle failed to etch deeply in the wax of yesterday, or where it made only a few scratches or left no trace at all. I found that often this happened at a period of seemingly scant interest or no consequence at the time, but later in the perspective of mature vision proved to be of supreme, perhaps vital, importance and significance in completing the final record.

A change in values has much to [do] with this. In the beginning, the very early years, the child mind is so easily impressed that the unimportant registers as deeply as the important. Memory retains both in equal degree. In the period of adolescence specific events and experiences become so sharply focused they throw other things out of focus. Thus only the overemphasized events are recorded with sufficient depth to be retained. A third period is that of adjustment between adolescence and maturity, when nothing seems of sufficient moment to register at all, or if it does it is only in spots. With me this period was the interval “betwixt and between,” as Mother would say, when I had yet to find myself. It was the two years of maladjustment spent in Boston. Years later, when looking back, I found this a lost period, registering so faintly as to lose all detail except for a few things. All the time I had a feeling that could I but remember more I might find therein the hitherto unrecognized key to the future and my career as it ultimately developed.

Then, many years later, tucked away among Mother’s personal effects, her treasures, I found an overlooked package of letters she had put away for safekeeping sixty years before. They were the letters of a lonely boy, discouraged but still hopeful and determined, to a lonely mother whose faith and sustaining love never failed.

Extracts from these letters follow. They were written in that period of trouble and separation. They reflect some light on conditions at that time, 1894 and 1895. I like to think that in them I can trace the very beginning of finding myself. The first of these letters was immediately after the breaking up of the home. It is dated May 27, 1894.

My precious Mother:

Well, everything is over now and we must make the best of it. I’ve gotten quite nicely settled now and think I shall like it very well, but of course it is not a home. I told you I could get all my clothes in that washstand and I was right. It is exceedingly quiet here which I thoroughly appreciate. As small as the room is I don’t know as I would care for a much larger one.

June 3—Yes, it is but very little more than a week since you left but it seems a long, long time ago we were breaking up the home that meant so much to both of us and where we were planning this and that for the future. However, you must keep bright as you can, dear, knowing that I am well cared for at present and that the future is in God’s keeping only. My hall room being in the French roof, and a corner one, has two slanting walls, one in front with the window in it, and one on the left side. Of course no pictures can be hung on either but must be confined to the other two walls, one of which includes the door. I enclose $10 as you say you are short. Now I want you to take this and use it for I have no use for it at present, and it is not policy to draw money from the bank until one absolutely must. I realize this fact more and more. When I need money I will write and it will be time enough to draw then. I can get along first-rate on my $7 a week. If you need more can let you have $5 as well as not.

June 10—Last night when I reached home I found your ever-welcome letter and after a hard day’s work it was most refreshing. What a blessing to mankind the art of writing is, and the vast system by which we may communicate. How little we appreciate it. But now as the old saw runs, “business first; pleasure afterward.” The business in this case is the money I sent you. You are to keep that and use it when you have need. As to your having any feeling you are taking anything from me, the sooner you clear that idea out of your dear little head the better. You know, my dear Mother, we are partners as it were, and although you are the senior and I but the junior, as such my advice must have weight or there will be danger of a dissolution of the firm.

June 17—Well, the week has passed with all its haps and mishaps including the arrival (misery) and departure (joy) of my venerable relatives. They arrived at the store Tuesday afternoon and left in my care a big bag and some bundles. At 12 o’clock Wednesday they serenely bobbed up again with more bundles and appointed me guardian. At 3 o’clock that afternoon I beheld them darkening my horizon once more with more bundles. This time they put them down and opened and assorted the spoils. Aunt C. (who was with them) got hers together and took the night train for the Cape, while the old folks were to stay over another night. At 5 o’clock that afternoon a local store added to my collection a huge parcel of Heaven knows what, and my joys and sorrows of that day were over.

But the first thing next morning comes a long clumsy bundle of curtain poles. At 12 o’clock Grandpa left his coat. At 12:15 I gave the kiss of peace to Grandma and my two aunts, after which they departed to do an errand leaving me to stow away, a cape and some more bundles. At 12:30 in they all trooped again to await Grandfather who arrived a few minutes later. I was thinking seriously of opening negotiations for the lease of an office upstairs to be used as a storeroom. But being much fatigued with many cares, and rather faint with the thought of what the future might hold in store, I decided to adjourn and refresh the inner if not the outer man. Hardly had I returned when I beheld my troubles once more appearing. But this was final, for taking their bundles with them (they would have none of them expressed) amidst the smiles of my fellow workers the four wended their way out of the store en route for the sandy shores of old Cape Cod. All I could think of was a train of Rocky Mountain burros loaded with supplies.

June 24—Letter day once more. Though I have not the bundles to take up a page or so, will rake over what news I have. My general washing costs me 28 cents each time while to have my shirts and collars laundered costs between 20 and 30 cents. Today is positively cold. As the Englishman said, “New England has no climate, only samples.”

August 11—I am writing this letter at Winthrop and so you will please excuse pencil. Seated on the edge of a bluff I have the most beautiful view before me that it has been my good fortune to enjoy for a long time. I only wish you were here to enjoy it with me. Have some crackers and pressed ham for my supper and the whole thing, including my dinner, has cost just 23 cents. Pretty cheap racket, don’t you think? Dan (the bookkeeper) starts on his vacation. He wants me to try to get off in time for the 9 o’clock boat the Saturday before he comes up and go down to Provincetown, spend the night with him, and come up Sunday afternoon. It would be a great trip but I can’t afford it as it would cost $1.50. Never mind. All those things will come later on.

At that time a boy who had been in charge of stock at the store lived in Wakefield, a short distance out of Boston. This is the next town beyond where an uncle and aunt were living at that time. So it was that I had planned a double pleasure at the cost of one. I wrote Mother of this as follows:

I left the store yesterday at 1:15 with 12 minutes in which to catch the train for Wakefield. By running all the way I did it. Louis met me at the train and we hired a boat to go on the lake. Had a very pleasant time rowing about the lake and afterward viewing the town. Leaving Wakefield at 6:30 by electric car I arrived in Melrose Highlands 20 minutes later and went directly to Uncle Charlie’s store. He had not returned from supper. On the way up to the house I met him. Well, to make a long story short, I kept on to the house and there was very shocked to see how miserable Aunt Mary is. She looks on the verge of nervous prostration.

Now all this has a comical side to it. It makes me laugh every time I think of it. You see, having had to run for the train I had not had time to get a mouthful of dinner. Knowing that I would be late for supper when I reached Aunt Mary’s I had reckoned on asking for a cold bite. When I reached the house and found how very miserable Aunt Mary was I also found that their stove had so misbehaved that they had been unable to cook a thing and had been living on baker’s food. Of course under these circumstances I said nothing about my dinnerless, supperless condition, but sucked my thumbs as it were, and chuckled to myself at the practical joke on myself of which they were so unconscious. Left there at 10:12 that evening and in Boston had just time to buy a couple of bananas before starting for Somerville. So my dinner and supper combined consisted of two bananas. Beforehand, knowing nothing of Aunt Mary’s condition, I had thought it possible I would be invited to spend Sunday and by accepting would save enough on my board to pay for the expense of the trip. But as things turned out it has been very expensive. Twenty cents carfare each way and 40 cents for boat hire to make a total of 80 cents from which I can subtract 10 cents I would have spent for dinner. Can’t go anywhere next Saturday.

November 4—I am feeling prime and looking so, they all tell me, but that may be a bit of sarcasm as I am rather fat in the face. The fat is all on one side, the result of an ulcerated tooth. However, that doesn’t trouble me half so much as the fact that I have got to put $10 in my mouth instead of in the bank. Had a great deal rather put it in my pocket. There is one comfort—if the bank should fail I’ll have my $10 anyway. Saw the dentist today and made an appointment for next Sunday. Pity the sorrows of a poor young man.

November 25—As I had planned I spent the day at Riverside and enjoyed myself very much. They seemed much pleased to see me and urged me to come again soon. In fact, I expect to handle the drumsticks there this coming Thursday [Thanksgiving]. Do you think it would be extravagant for me to take Cousin Lottie some flowers? Should like to show them some little attention, they have done so much for me.

November 30—Yesterday I spent as planned and had a very enjoyable time. Took a fine bunch of chrysanthemums to Lottie and she was much pleased. Won the flowers on a wager, so I was not a bit extravagant. Sunday I once more go to the dentist. Have pity on me.

December 2—It is snowing and all the world is in a shroud of spotless white. This morning I spent as was planned and with the filling of four teeth I parted with a five-dollar bill. It was a very painful affair, especially the parting with the aforementioned bill. This is a queer world and the philosophy thereof is hard to understand. I hire myself out to a man and at the end of five days I say to my employer, “Will it be quite convenient for you to let me have my salary for the last five days?” He hems and haws a few moments, then hands me a five-dollar bill. The next day I hire an employee and have a man do some work on my teeth. After four or five hours of torture to myself he announces that he is through. Then I, the employer, turn to this hireling and say with a tremor in my voice, “Well, what are you going to tax me this time?” Then he, this hireling, this employee, hems and haws, looks in a little book, looks at the clock, and finally says, “Well, I guess I’ll let you off this time for $5.” Justice! Justice! Justice! Where art thou?

Mrs. G. found a washwoman for me and we have tried her for a two weeks wash. It cost me 60 cents. I cried, “Woe, woe, woe is me!” Am afraid I cannot do any better for they all charge at the rate of 50 cents per dozen pieces. Hereafter, during cold weather, I shall wear my flannels and nightshirts two weeks without a change so as to keep the bill down. Sometimes I go up to Hotel Reynolds for lunch. There I can get a big dish of soup or chowder with all the bread I can eat for 15 cents. Don’t worry about Xmas. We are poor but we can give the best of wishes and these are better than presents.

December 9—About that wager. I had a dispute with one of the fellows in regard to the name of a town. Healy sided with me. Finally the fellow offered to bet us each a supper that he was right. We took him up and won. Being much in want of those flowers, I told him I would let him off at that which was 25 cents cheaper than if he had given me a supper. Healy got his supper, a 75 cent one, last night. Just think, a little more than two weeks and Christmas will be here. Why, old Santa Claus himself must be filling his pack and catching his reindeer. Hope he will forget me altogether save in the matter of good wishes, for I have nothing to drop in his bag for others. So I would much rather that others will not drop anything in his bag for me. It is the loving thought, not the gift, that I appreciate. The poorest man has it in his power to give the best of Christmas presents if he would only look at it in the right way. A little sprig of holly with its vivid green and its bright red berries may mean far more, and give far greater pleasure, than the costliest present that money can buy. This worrying, fretting and denying of one’s self, perhaps of necessities, so that when Christmas comes a few gifts that are far beyond one’s means are given, is wrong. I, for my part, take far greater pleasure in the little simple sprig of holly than in the gifts which I know some friend had denied himself to give.

Now pray remember this, little sweetheart, and tomorrow put on that bonnet with the pink roses, go downtown, get a half yard of cheviot and make me a couple of string ties for next summer. They will give me more pleasure than any other gift, for they will be your own handiwork. I shall send you some simple little gift, but a whole heartful of love for a most joyous Christmas. And I know that you will receive it in the spirit in which it is sent. I know, my dear little mother, all that is in your heart to do and that knowledge is enough.

December 16—Say, dear, do you remember how we used to go out to see the city the night before Christmas? First, down to Uncle Frank’s store to behold the wonderful toys that were to make many youngsters happy the next day. Then down to Andrew Sherman’s where was a most wonderful collection of fancy articles, then slowly upstreet looking in all the windows as we passed. What good times we used to have, you and I, in spite of all that was hard to bear! Well, dear, we must spend this Christmas apart, I’m afraid, but we will be as merry as we can and perhaps another year we can have things different.

Yesterday was the day for the dentist and I had a lovely time. Had a front tooth filled with gold and I—er—er—I paid $3. By the Lord Harry, this drawing gold from your pocketbook to put in your teeth is—well, I won’t finish. Have paid out $8 now and next Sunday go again. Yesterday a woman had her pocketbook snatched here in front of the store and lost $175. Take warning and don’t, like so many otherwise sensible women, carry your pocketbook in your hand. Supposing you had lost 175—cents. Think what that would have meant to us.

That Christmas I did get to spend with Mother after all. Then comes a gap in the letters to the following summer. That found me job-seeking. To complete the situation I suffered a serious attack of malaria. Under date of July 9, 1895, I wrote:

I received a very nice letter from Grandma and with it $10. It was a godsend, for I never was so hard up in my life. Uncle Charlie also made me a present of $5 and would take no refusal. It hurts me to take it all. I must not be discouraged but must keep a good heart and will come out right, says Grandmother. She is very glad I am well and oh, remarkable, says that health is more to be desired than riches. I have had a haircut and shampoo. Oh luxury! Couldn’t afford it before. Have no work as yet but am watching every chance. Am living on faith, hope and doughnuts. The first two are not very satisfying. The third fills space. Well dear, am trying not to be discouraged and am staving off the blues, though last week I was in a very tight hole. Keep a brave heart and all will be well.

July 21—I will write just a few lines to let you know, and I hate to awfully, that I fear my old friend malaria has returned though it may not be. However, I was taken yesterday while in the city, looking up a job, with about the same old symptoms and could hardly drag myself home. Had a pretty high fever yesterday afternoon and evening. Sent for doctor who would not call it malaria until he had waited a few days. Tomorrow will show. Am very much better today. Got track of a job which I hope to secure. Nothing that I want; rather long hours and lots of dirty work but it is better than nothing, $5 to start with. It is in a machine shop, work for which I have no taste. Shall do bookkeeping and general work. That is, if I get the job. Unless I get over this at once, of course I shall not get it. If I could only get into a publishing house.

July 22—I am feeling very well today and have been down to the doctor’s. It is malaria. The doctor hopes to break it up at once. I don’t anticipate being kept quiet more than a week or ten days so don’t worry. Am taking heavy doses of quinine. Oh dear, this has taken money for doctor’s bills, medicine and provisions. I rather think I shall secure something soon now. Don’t worry, for I shall come out all right.

July 26—Today is my bad day but I have taken so much quinine that I have broken up the chills but do not feel very smart. However, I am getting the upper hand of the disease. The amount now in the bank, dear, is $260.93. Now dear, don’t worry for I am getting along fine.