Plain Old Kitchen Chap

Mother's furnished up the parlor--got a full, new haircloth set,
And there ain't a neater parlor in the county, now, I'll bet.
She has been a-hoarding pennies for a mighty tedious time;
She has had the chicken money, and she's saved it, every dime.
And she's put it out in pictures and in easy chairs and rugs,
--Got the neighbors all a-sniffin' 'cause we're puttin' on such lugs.
Got up curtains round the winders, whiter'n snow and all of lace,
Fixed that parlor till, by gracious, I should never know the place.
And she says as soon's it's settled she shall give a yaller tea.
And invite the whole caboodle of the neighbors in to see.
Can't own up that I approve it; seems too much like fubb and fuss
To a man who's lived as I have--jest a blamed old kitchen cuss.
Course we've had a front room always; tidy place enough, I guess,
Couldn't tell, I never set there, never opened it unless
Parson called, or sometimes mother give a party or a bee,
When the women come and quilted and the men dropped round to tea.
Now we're goin' to use it common. Mother says it's time to start,
If we're any better'n heathens, so's to sweeten life with art.
Says I've grubbed too long with plain things, haven't lifted up my soul.
Says I've denned there in the kitchen like a woodchuck in his hole.
--It's along with other notions mother's getting from the club;
But I've got no growl a-comin', mother ain't let up on grub!
Still I'm wishin' she would let me have my smoke and take my nap
In the corner, side the woodbox; I'm a plain old kitchen chap.

I have done my stent at farmin'; folks will tell you I'm no shirk;
There's the callus on them fingers, that's the badge of honest work.

And them hours in the corner when I've stumbled home to rest
Have been earnt by honest labor and they've been my very best.
Land! If I could have a palace wouldn't ask no better nook
Than this corner in the kitchen with my pipe and some good book.

I'm a sort of dull old codger, clear behind the times, I s'pose;
Stay at home and mind my bus'ness; wear some pretty rusty clothes;
'Druther set out here'n the kitchen, have for forty years or more,
Till the heel of that old rocker's gouged a holler in the floor;
Set my boots behind the cook stove, dry my old blue woolen socks,
Get my knife and plug tobacker from that dented old tin box,
Set and smoke and look at mother clearing up the things from tea;
--Rather tame for city fellers, but that's fun enough for me.

I am proud of mother's parlor, but I'm feared the thing has put
Curi's notions her noddle, for she says I'm underfoot;
Thinks we oughter light the parlor, get a crowd and ontertain,
But I ain't no city loafer,--I'm a farmer down in
Maine.
Course I can't hurt mother's feelin's, wouldn't do it for a mint,
Yet that parlor business sticks me, and I guess
I'll have to hint
That I ain't an ontertainer, and I'll leave that job to son;
I'll set out here in the kitchen while the folks are having fun.
And if marm comes out to get me, I will pull her on my lap,
And she'll know--and she'll forgive me, for I'm jest a kitchen chap.