The young man John fell into a train of reflections which ended in his producing a Bologna sausage, a plate of “crackers,” as we Boston folks call certain biscuits, and the bottle of whiskey described as being A.1.

Under the influence of the crackers and sausage, he grew cordial and communicative.

It was time, I thought, to sound him as to those of our boarders who had excited my curiosity.

What do you think of our young Iris?—­I began.

Fust-rate little filly;—­he said.—­Pootiest and nicest little chap I’ve seen since the schoolma’am left.  Schoolma’am was a brown-haired one,—­eyes coffee-color.  This one has got wine-colored eyes,—­’n’ that’s the reason they turn a fellah’s head, I suppose.

This is a splendid blonde,—­I said,—­the other was a brunette.  Which style do you like best?

Which do I like best, boiled mutton or roast mutton?—­said the young man John.  Like ’em both,—­it a’n’t the color of ’em makes the goodness.  I’ve been kind of lonely since schoolma’am went away.  Used to like to look at her.  I never said anything particular to her, that I remember, but—­

I don’t know whether it was the cracker and sausage, or that the young fellow’s feet were treading on the hot ashes of some longing that had not had time to cool, but his eye glistened as he stopped.

I suppose she wouldn’t have looked at a fellah like me,—­he said,—­but I come pretty near tryin’.  If she had said, Yes, though, I shouldn’t have known what to have done with her.  Can’t marry a woman now-a-days till you’re so deaf you have to cock your head like a parrot to hear what she says, and so long-sighted you can’t see what she looks like nearer than arm’s-length.

Here is another chance for you,—­I said.—­What do you want nicer than such a young lady as Iris?

It’s no use,—­he answered.—­I look at them girls and feel as the fellah did when he missed catchin’ the trout.—­’To’od ‘a’ cost more butter to cook him ‘n’ he’s worth,—­says the fellah.—­Takes a whole piece o’ goods to cover a girl up now-a-days.  I’d as lief undertake to keep a span of elephants,—­and take an ostrich to board, too,—­as to marry one of ’em.  What’s the use?  Clerks and counter-jumpers a’n’t anything.  Sparragrass and green peas a’n’t for them,—­not while they’re young and tender.  Hossback-ridin’ a’n’t for them,—­except once a year,—­on Fast-day.  And marryin’ a’n’t for them.  Sometimes a fellah feels lonely, and would like to have a nice young woman, to tell her how lonely he feels.  And sometimes a fellah,—­here the young man John looked very confidential, and, perhaps, as if a little ashamed of his weakness,—­sometimes a fellah would like to have one o’ them small young ones to trot on his knee and push about in a little wagon,—­a kind of a little Johnny, you know;—­it’s odd enough, but, it seems to me, nobody can afford them little articles, except the folks that are so rich they can buy everything, and the folks that are so poor they don’t want anything.  It makes nice boys of us young fellahs, no doubt!  And it’s pleasant to see fine young girls sittin’, like shopkeepers behind their goods, waitin’, and waitin’, and waitin’, ‘n’ no customers,—­and the men lingerin’ round and lookin’ at the goods, like folks that want to be customers, but haven’t got the money!