Hiram The Young Farmer | Page 6

as to what Mother
Atterson has laid out for us? You're pretty thick with the old girl, Hi."
"That's not a nice way to speak of her, Mr. Crackit," said Hi, in a low
voice.
The other boarders--those who were in the house-straggled into the
basement dining-room one after the other, and took their places at the
long table, each in his customary manner.
That dining-room at Mother Atterson's never could have been a
cheerful place. It was long, and low-ceiled, and the paper on the walls
was a dingy red, so old that the figure on it had retired into the
background--been absorbed by it, so to speak.
The two long, dusty, windows looked upon an area, and were grilled
half way up by wrought-iron screens which, too, helped to shut out the
light of day.
The long table was covered by a red figured table cloth. The "castors"
at both ends and in the middle were the ugliest--Hiram was sure--to be
found in all the city of Crawberry. The crockery was of the coarsest
kind. The knives and forks were antediluvian. The napkins were as
coarse as huck towels.
But Mrs. Atterson's food--considering the cost of provisions and the
charge she made for her table--was very good. Only it had become a
habit for certain of the boarders, led by the jester, Crackit, to criticise
the viands.
Sometimes they succeeded in making Mrs. Atterson angry; and
sometimes, Hiram knew, she wept, alone in the dining-room, after the
harumscarum, thoughtless crowd had gone.

Old Lem Camp--nobody save Hiram thought to put "Mr." before the
old gentleman's name--sidled in and sat down beside the country boy,
as usual. He was a queer, colorless sort of person--a man who never
looked into the face of another if he could help it. He would look all
around Hiram when he spoke to him--at his shoulder, his shirtfront, his
hands, even at his feet if they were visible, but never at his face.
And at the table he kept up a continual monologue. It was difficult
sometimes for Hiram to know when he was being addressed, and when
poor Mr. Camp was merely talking to himself.
"Let's see--where has Sister put my napkin--Oh! here it is--You've been
for a walk, have you, young man?--No, that's not my napkin; I didn't
spill any gravy at dinner--Nice day out, but raw--Goodness me! can't I
have a knife and fork?--Where's my knife and fork?--Sister certainly
has forgotten my knife and fork.--Oh! Here they are--Yes, a very nice
day indeed for this time of year."
And so on. It was quite immaterial to Mr. Camp whether he got an
answer to his remarks to Hiram, or not. He went on muttering to
himself, all through the meal, sometimes commenting upon what the
others said at the table--and that quite shrewdly, Hiram noticed; but the
other boarders considered him a little cracked.
Sister smiled sheepishly at Hiram as she passed the tea. She drowned
his tea with milk and put in no less than four spoonfuls of sugar. But
although the fluid was utterly spoiled for Hiram's taste he drank it with
fortitude, knowing that the girl's generosity was the child of her
gratitude; for both sugar and milk were articles very scantily supplied
at Mother Atterson's table.
The mistress herself did not appear. Now that he was down here in the
dining-room, Hiram lingered. He hated the thought of going up to his
lonely and narrow quarters at the top of the house.
The other boarders trailed out of the room and up stairs, one after
another, Old Lem Camp being the last to go. Sister brought in a dish of
hot toast between two plates and set it at the upper end of the table.

Then Mrs. Atterson appeared.
Hiram knew at once that something had gone wrong with the boarding
house mistress. She had been crying, and when a woman of the age of
Mrs. Atterson indulges in tears, her personal appearance is never
improved.
"Oh, that you, Hi?" she drawled, with a snuffle. "Did you get enough to
eat?"
"Yes, Mrs. Atterson," returned the youth, starting to get up. "I have had
plenty."
"I'm glad you did," said the lady. "And you're easy 'side of most of 'em,
Hiram. You're a real good boy."
"I reckon I get all I pay for, Mrs. Atterson," said her youngest boarder.
"Well, there ain't many of 'em would say that. And they was awful
provokin' this noon. That roast of veal was just as good meat as I could
find in market; and I don't know what any sensible party would want
better than that prune pie.
"Well! I hope I won't have to keep a boarding house all my life. It's a
thankless task. An' it ties a