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Updated: May 21, 2025
I was so accustomed to the Carlstrom of the gunshop that I could not at once reconcile myself to the Carlstrom of Dr. McAlway's sitting room. And, indeed, there was a striking change in his appearance. He came dressed in the quaint black coat which he wears at funerals.
"Charles Baxter brought it in," answered the old gunsmith, unable to conceal his delight. "He thought I couldn't mend it!" To the true artist there is nothing to equal the approbation of a rival. It was Charles Baxter, I am convinced, who was the deciding factor. Carlstrom couldn't leave with one of Baxter's saws unmended!
At one side of the forge you will see the great dusty bellows and you will hear its stertorous breathing. In front stands the old brown anvil set upon a gnarly maple block. A long sweep made of peeled hickory wood controls the bellows, and as you look in upon this lively and pleasant scene you will see that the grimy hand of Carlstrom himself is upon the hickory sweep.
The old man leaned forward, beaming through his spectacles, and said eagerly: "It ist America; it ist America." "No, Carlstrom, no it is not all America. It is Carlstrom, too. You work, Carlstrom, and you save." Every day since Wednesday there has been a steady pressure on Carlstrom; not so much said in words, but people stopping in at the shop and passing a good word.
You may know it by a great weather-beaten wooden gun fastened over the doorway, pointing in the daytime at the sky, and in the night at the stars. A stranger passing that way might wonder at the great gun and possibly say to himself: "A gunshop! How can a man make a living mending guns in such a peaceful community!" Such a remark merely shows that he doesn't know Carlstrom, nor the shop, nor us.
"Is it homesickness, or just old age?" "There ye have it, Davy; the nail right on the head!" exclaimed the Scotch Preacher. "Is it homesickness, or is he just old and tired?" With that we fell to talking about Carlstrom, the gunsmith. I have known him pretty nearly ever since I came here, now more than ten years ago and liked him well, too but it seemed, as Dr.
It makes me wonder what other great souls about me are thus concealing themselves in the guise of familiarity. On Wednesday night Carlstrom was at Dr. McAlway's house with Charles Baxter, my neighbour Horace, and several others. And I had still another view of him. I think there is always something that surprises one in finding a familiar figure in a wholly new environment.
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