Part 141 (1/2)
If ever there lived a Yankee lad, Wise or otherwise, good or bad, Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump With flapping arms from stake or stump, Or, spreading the tail Of his coat for a sail, Take a soaring leap from post or rail, And wonder why He couldn't fly, And flap and flutter and wish and try-- If ever you knew a country dunce Who didn't try that as often as once, All I can say is, that's a sign He never would do for a hero of mine.
An aspiring genius was D. Green: The son of a farmer, age fourteen; His body was long and lank and lean-- Just right for flying, as will be seen; He had two eyes as bright as a bean, And a freckled nose that grew between, A little awry--for I must mention That he had riveted his attention Upon his wonderful invention, Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings, And working his face as he worked the wings, And with every turn of gimlet and screw Turning and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his mouth round too, Till his nose seemed bent To catch the scent, Around some corner, of new-baked pies, And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes Grew puckered into a queer grimace, That made him look very droll in the face, And also very wise.
And wise he must have been, to do more Than ever a genius did before, Excepting Daedalus of yore And his son Icarus, who wore Upon their backs Those wings of wax He had read of in the old almanacs.
Darius was clearly of the opinion That the air is also man's dominion, And that, with paddle or fin or pinion, We soon or late shall navigate The azure as now we sail the sea.
The thing looks simple enough to me; And if you doubt it, Hear how Darius reasoned about it.
”The birds can fly an' why can't I?
Must we give in,” says he with a grin.
”That the bluebird an' ph[oe]be Are smarter'n we be?
Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?
Doos the little chatterin', sa.s.sy wren, No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?
Just show me that!
Ur prove 't the bat Hez got more brains than's in my hat.
An' I'll back down, an' not till then!”
He argued further: ”Nur I can't see What's th' use o' wings to a b.u.mble-bee, Fur to git a livin' with, more'n to me;-- Ain't my business Important's his'n is?
That Icarus Made a perty muss-- Him an' his daddy Daedalus They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax Wouldn't stand sun-heat an' hard whacks.
I'll make mine o' luther, Ur suthin' ur other.”
And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned: ”But I ain't goin' to show my hand To mummies that never can understand The fust idee that's big an' grand.”
So he kept his secret from all the rest, Safely b.u.t.toned within his vest; And in the loft above the shed Himself he locks, with thimble and thread And wax and hammer and buckles and screws And all such things as geniuses use;-- Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!
A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows;
Some wire, and several old umbrellas; A carriage-cover, for tail and wings; A piece of harness; and straps and strings; And a big strong box, In which he locks These and a hundred other things.
His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk Around the corner to see him work-- Sitting cross-legged, like a Turk, Drawing the waxed-end through with a jerk, And boring the holes with a comical quirk Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.
But vainly they mounted each other's backs, And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks; With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks He plugged the knot-holes and caulked the cracks; And a dipper of water, which one would think He had brought up into the loft to drink When he chanced to be dry, Stood always nigh, For Darius was sly!
And whenever at work he happened to spy At c.h.i.n.k or crevice a blinking eye, He let the dipper of water fly.
”Take that! an' ef ever ye git a peep, Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!”
And he sings as he locks His big strong box:--
”The weasel's head is small an' trim, An' he is little an' long an' slim, An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb An' ef you'll be Advised by me, Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!”
So day after day He st.i.tched and tinkered and hammered away, Till at last 'twas done-- The greatest invention under the sun!
”An' now,” says Darius, ”hooray fur some fun!”
'Twas the Fourth of July, And the weather was dry, And not a cloud was on all the sky, Save a few light fleeces, which here and there Half mist, half air, Like foam on the ocean went floating by-- Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.
Thought cunning Darius: ”Now I shan't go Along 'ith the fellers to see the show.
I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough!
An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off, I'll hev full swing fur to try the thing, An' practise a little on the wing.”
”Ain't goin' to see the celebration?”
Says brother Nate. ”No; botheration!
I've got sich a cold--a toothache--I-- My gracious!--feel's though I should fly!”
Said Jotham, ”Sho!
Guess ye better go.”
But Darius said, ”No!
Shouldn't wonder 'f you might see me, though, 'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head.”
For all the while to himself he said:--
”I tell ye what!
I'll fly a few times around the lot, To see how 't seems, then soon's I've got The hang o' the thing, ez likely's not, I'll astonish the nation, An' all creation, By flyin' over the celebration!