Part 74 (2/2)

Drops pen with a groan) ... Gordon's letter _must_ come to-day. O, I would live, would live, for seeds are gendering in my mind that might their branches throw above the clouds and shake immortal buds to this bare earth!...

(Looks at writing) Words! Ye are but coffins for imagination! No more of you! (Crushes paper) Eternity's in labor with this hour! (Leaps up) I could make Time my page to carry memories from star to star! O Heaven, wouldst thou vouchsafe thy visions to these eyes, then fill them with cold clay? Pour to these ears thine own philosophies, then send the crawling worm to pluck their treasure out?

(Falls to chair. Enter Mrs. Schmidt)

Mrs. S. (Holding out letter) Here it is, sir.

Poe. (Rousing) What, Smidgkin?

Mrs. S. The letter's come, sir.

Poe. Thank you. (Takes letter. Mrs. Schmidt waits expectantly) If you will be so good, Smidgkin--I mean if you will be so cruel as to bereave me of your presence while I break this very personal seal--very personal, I a.s.sure you--

Mrs. S. No, sir. I stay to see what's inside o' that!

Poe. Since you desire it, madam. (Starts to open letter and hesitates) I--hope you are well, my good Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. Always am. Hadn't you better see what's in it?

Poe. To be sure.... I hope you have a good fire in your room this chilly weather, Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. Always do. I'll break it for you, Mr. Poe.

Poe. O, no, no! I couldn't think of troubling you. The rain beats very heavily. I hope your-er-roof will not be injured.

Mrs. S. Law me, I had every leaf tinkered up them sunny days last week. I believe in preparin' for a rainy day, _I_ do, Mr. Poe.

Poe. Indeed, yes,--if only we were all so wise, but, alas, my dear Smidgkin, some of us build so high that the angels have to come down and tinker our roofs ... and when they won't, Smidgkin ... when they won't (Lays letter on the table) ... I hope you have no errands to take you from your cheerful fireside in weather like this, Mrs.

Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. My name is Schmidt, Mr. Poe.

Poe. Pardon me, madam.

Mrs. S. Air you a goin' to open that letter or air you not?

Poe. Why, good woman, to be sure I am. I did not know you were particularly interested. Excuse me. Here goes--and G.o.d mend the devil's work. (Opens letter and reads) 'I have talked with Brackett--' Brackett! (Drops letter and sits dumb)

Mrs. S. He sent you the ten dollars, hey? Where is it, hey?

Seems to me that's white paper with mighty few marks on it! Not much like a ten dollar bill! Where is it, I say?

Lost in the mailbags, I reckon! It will come by next post!

You're certain--quite certain, Smidgkin! I tell you, Mr.

Poe, this is once too often!

Poe. A bare, unfurnished room like this--

Mrs. S. Is worth just a dollar a week to me, which is exactly a dollar more than you can pay!

Poe. Mrs. Smidgkin, there is a legend in the world that pity never wholly leaves the breast of woman.

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