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By Root 5024 0

long. All covered with knobs. Leap straight up in air and fall back in water. Viewed from horse car running then between St. Botolphs and Travertine. One bobtailed car. You got in at the back end. Dingey Graves was driver. Been to sea. One voyage to Calcutta. Gave me free rides always and sometimes let me drive the horse. Hold the reins and see the sturgeon leap. Boyish happiness. Dingey was lovelorn. Harriet Atkinson was the object of his passion. She was of the first families but Dingey’s financial and scholastic rating was a blank. They loved but never wedded. In such a place many dark lanes for lovers’ meeting. Wooded river banks and groves. Love child raised by old-maid sister. Harriet exiled to Dedham. Dingey led life of quiet desperation, driving horse car.

Dingey was nephew of Jim Graves, prop of old River House on waterfront. Honest gambler. Big chested. 5’11”. 200 lbs. Dark hair. River House bar very popular. Good liquor or so I was told. Ten cents per drink. Hard stuff. You got the bottle. Customers poured their own. Some lager. Cool lager. Some stock ale. Also native product. Barkham’s rum. Made here for many years. No cocktails; mixed drinks served. Uncle Jim Graves never walked. Rode in hacks or barouches. Pair of horses. Never singles. Always one or more companions with him. Quiet. Much dignity. Wore good-sized diamond stud in necktie on boiled stiff shirt front. Also large ruby ring with stone inside hand. Always had big roll but never vulgar display. Clothes of excellent quality in style of those days. Prince Albert coat and some double-breasted vests with cutaway. Hair a bit long according to today’s fashions. Mustache. Not walrus. Silk hat. Cards. Faro. Stud poker. Wheel. Sweatboard. No dice used as craps. Went with Uncle Jim and Dingey when of age to fancy house on Chardon Street, next door to sulphur, brimstone, deep-water Baptist Church. Whore with up-country accent. Lowell girl. Big thighs. Breath smelled of violets. Could hear the singing in the church. Uncle Jim ordered champagne by the basket. Well liked everywhere. Big shot. Big wagers. Big drinks. Never lost his head or legs. Never noisy. Died broke. Third-floor room of River House. Spare room. Cold. Went to see him. Forsaken by all. Like Timon. All fair-weather friends scattered. Not bitter. Gentleman to the end. Skin of ice in water pitcher. Shy flakes of snow falling.

On last summer of youth spent in valley J. G. Blaine, Presidential candidate, came to dinner. Sunday. Cousin Juliana visiting. Poor relation. Carried ivory ruler in apron pocket and gave writer cut on wrist when whistled on Sunday, went up stairs two at a time, said “awful” for “good.” “Awful nice pudding.” Crack! Porgies schooling in river then. Mackerel sharks—fourteen, fifteen feet long—chased porgies up to town dock in middle of afternoon. Big excitement. Ran up river bank to village. Water foaming white. Mysteries of the deep. Grand thunderstorm came down from the hills. Fierce rain. Stood under apple tree. Grand sunset after. Sharks went downriver with tide. Beautiful hour. Skies all fiery. Stagecoach horns and train whistles. (Trains running then regularly.) Church bells ringing. Everybody and his grandmother out to see departure of sharks. Walked home in twilight. Wished for gold watch and chain on evening star. Venus? House ablaze with light. Carriages. Remembered Mr. Blaine for dinner. Late. Afraid of Juliana’s ruler.

Front hall lamp lighted first time in two years. Moth millers all around lamp. Hall carpet seldom walked on. Felt coarse under bare feet. Barefooted most of summer. Five or six lamps burning in parlor. Grand illumination for those times. Splendid company. Mr. Blaine. Heavy man. Mother in garnet dress, later made into curtains. Something wrong. Juliana in best black dress, gold beads, lace cap, etc., squatted on floor. Big cigar in left hand. Speaking gibberish. Writer got upstairs without being seen. Troubled in spirit. Attic bedroom smelled of trunks, also swordfish spur. Would send you into the street on rainy weather. Made water in pot. No bathrooms