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Updated: June 29, 2025
On the contrary he asked, mildly, gazing on the scattered sheets of paper containing the selectman's efforts at town-report composition, "Do you write poetry, sir?" "Not by a by a " gasped the Cap'n, seeking ineffectually for some phrase to express his ineffable disgust. "I was in hopes you did," continued Mr. Crymble, "for I would like a little help in finishing my epitaph. I compose slowly.
But on the day of the race he carried it in its box to the selectman's office, at which common meeting-place the three judges were to be taken up by the official barouche of the Smyrna Fair Association.
Maybe I meant what I said to you at those times, Ros. I shouldn't wonder if I did. But 'twas a lie just the same. There are things I wouldn't sell, of course. Nellie, my daughter's one of 'em. She's goin' to get a good husband in George here, but her happiness means more to me than money. She's one of the things I wouldn't sell. And my Selectman's job is another.
He notes the intimate nature of an Article 19: "To see if the town will accept a gift from Hannah E. Bigelow, with conditions." He peruses "Selectman's Accounts" of expenditures, how there was "Paid on account of Grammar School" such or such an amount; he learns the cost of "Hay Scales," the expenses of "Fire Dep't, Cemetery, Street Lamps." He goes over appropriations for "Repairs at Almshouse."
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