A Hundred Collars
By Robert Lee Frost
Lancaster bore him — such a little town,
Such a great man. It doesn't see him often
Of late years, though he keeps the old homestead
And sends the children down there with their mother
To run wild in the summer — a little wild.
Sometimes he joins them for a day or two
And sees old friends he somehow can't get near.
They meet him in the general store at night,
Preoccupied with formidable mail,
Rifling a printed letter as he talks.
They seem afraid. He wouldn't have it so:
Though a great scholar, he's a democrat,
If not at heart, at least on principle.
Lately when coming up to Lancaster
His train being late he missed another train
And had four hours to wait at Woodsville Junction
After eleven o'clock at night. Too tired
To think of sitting such an ordeal out,
He turned to the hotel to find a bed.
"No room," the night clerk said. "Unless — — "
Woodsville's a place of shrieks and wandering lamps
And cars that shock and rattle — and one hotel.
"You say 'unless.'"
"Unless you wouldn't mind
Sharing a room with someone else."
"Who is it?"
"A man.
"So I should hope. What kind of man?"
"I know him: he's all right. A man's a man.
Separate beds of course you understand."
The night clerk blinked his eyes and dared him on.
"Who's that man sleeping in the office chair?
Has he had the refusal of my chance?"
"He was afraid of being robbed or murdered.
What do you say?"
"I'll have to have a bed."
The night clerk led him up three flights of stairs
And down a narrow passage full of doors,
At the last one of which he knocked and entered,
"Lafe, here's a fellow wants to share your room."
"Show him this way. I'm not afraid of him,
I'm not so drunk I can't take care of myself."
The night clerk clapped a bedstead on the foot.
"This will be yours. Good-night," he said, and went.
"Lafe was the name, I think?"
"Yes, Layfayette.
You got it the first time. And yours?"
"Magoon.
Doctor Magoon."
"A Doctor?"
"Well, a teacher."
"Professor Square-the-circle-till-you're-tired?
Hold on, there's something I don't think of now
That I had on my mind to ask the first
Man that knew anything I happened in with.
I'll ask you later — don't let me forget it."
The Doctor looked at Lafe and looked away.
A man? A brute. Naked above the waist,
He sat there creased and shining in the light,
Fumbling the buttons in a well-starched shirt.
"I'm moving into a size-larger shirt.
I've felt mean lately; mean's no name for it.
I just found what the matter was to-night:
I've been a-choking like a nursery tree
When it outgrows the wide band of its name tag.
I blamed it on the hot spell we've been having.
'Twas nothing but my foolish hanging back,
Not liking to own up I'd grown a size.
Number eighteen this is. What size do you wear?"
The Doctor caught his throat convulsively.
"Oh — ah — fourteen — fourteen."
"Fourteen! You say so!
I can remember when I wore fourteen.
And come to think I must have back at home
More than a hundred collars, size fourteen.
Too bad to waste them all. You ought to have them.
They're yours and welcome; let me send them to you.
What makes you stand there on one leg like that?
You're not much furtherer than where Kike left you,
You act as if you wished you hadn't come.
Sit down or lie down friend; you make me nervous."
The Doctor made a subdued dash for it,
And propped himself at bay against a pillow.
"Not that way, with your shoes on Kike's white bed.
You can't rest that way. Let me pull your shoes off."
"Don't touch me, please — I say, don't touch me, please.
I'll not be put to bed by you, my man."
"Just as you say. Have it your own way then.
'My man' is it? You talk like a professor.
Speaking of who's afraid of who, however,
I'm thinking I have more to lose than you
If anything should happen to be wrong.
Who wants to cut your number fourteen throat!
Let's have a show down as an evidence
Of good faith. There is ninety dollars.
Come, if you're not afraid."
"I'm not afraid.
There's five: that's all I carry."
"I can search you?
Where are you moving over to? Stay still.
You'd better tuck your money under you
And sleep on it the way I always do
When I'm with people I don't trust at night."
"Will you believe me if I put it there
Right on the counterpane — that I do trust you?"
"You'd say so, Mister Man. — I'm a collector.
My ninety isn't mine — you won't think that.
I pick it up a dollar at a time
All round the country for the Weekly News,
Published in Bow. You know the Weekly News?"
"Known it since I was young."
"Then you know me.
Now we are getting on together — talking.
I'm sort of Something for it at the front.
My business is to find what people want:
They pay for it, and so they ought to have it.
Fairbanks, he says to me — he's editor —
Feel out the public sentiment — he says.
A good deal comes on me when all is said.
The only trouble is we disagree
In politics: I'm Vermont Democrat —
You know what that is, sort of double-dyed;
The News has always been Republican.
Fairbanks, he says to me, 'Help us this year,'
Meaning by us their ticket. 'No,' I says,
'I can't and won't. You've been in long enough:
It's time you turned around and boosted us.
You'll have to pay me more than ten a week
If I'm expected to elect Bill Taft.
I doubt if I could do it anyway.'"
"You seem to shape the paper's policy."
"You see I'm in with everybody, know 'em all.
I almost know their farms as well as they do."
"You drive around? It must be pleasant work."
"It's business, but I can't say it's not fun.
What I like best's the lay of different farms,
Coming out on them from a stretch of woods,
Or over a hill or round a sudden corner.
I like to find folks getting out in spring,
Raking the dooryard, working near the house.
Later they get out further in the fields.
Everything's shut sometimes except the barn;
The family's all away in some back meadow.
There's a hay load a-coming — when it comes.
And later still they all get driven in:
The fields are stripped to lawn, the garden patches
Stripped to bare ground, the apple trees
To whips and poles. There's nobody about.
The chimney, though, keeps up a good brisk smoking.
And I lie back and ride. I take the reins
Only when someone's coming, and the mare
Stops when she likes: I tell her when to go.
I've spoiled Jemima in more ways than one.
She's got so she turns in at every house
As if she had some sort of curvature,
No matter if I have no errand there.
She thinks I'm sociable. I maybe am.
It's seldom I get down except for meals, though.
Folks entertain me from the kitchen doorstep,
All in a family row down to the youngest."
"One would suppose they might not be as glad
To see you as you are to see them."
"Oh,
Because I want their dollar. I don't want
Anything they've not got. I never dun.
I'm there, and they can pay me if they like.
I go nowhere on purpose: I happen by.
Sorry there is no cup to give you a drink.
I drink out of the bottle — not your style.
Mayn't I offer you — — ?"
"No, no, no, thank you.
"Just as you say. Here's looking at you then. —
And now I'm leaving you a little while.
You'll rest easier when I'm gone, perhaps —
Lie down — let yourself go and get some sleep.
But first — let's see — what was I going to ask you?
Those collars — who shall I address them to,
Suppose you aren't awake when I come back?"
"Really, friend, I can't let you. You — may need them."
"Not till I shrink, when they'll be out of style."
"But really — I have so many collars."
"I don't know who I rather would have have them.
They're only turning yellow where they are.
But you're the doctor as the saying is.
I'll put the light out. Don't you wait for me:
I've just begun the night. You get some sleep.
I'll knock so-fashion and peep round the door
When I come back so you'll know who it is.
There's nothing I'm afraid of like scared people.
I don't want you should shoot me in the head.
What am I doing carrying off this bottle?
There now, you get some sleep."
He shut the door
The Doctor slid a little down the pillow.
Poem Analysis:
Robert Frost’s A Hundred Collars is a richly layered dramatic narrative poem that explores the unease, mistrust, and class contrast between two strangers—one educated and refined, the other brash and working-class—thrust into sharing a hotel room. Through their tense, often humorous interaction, Frost investigates deeper themes of fear, civility, human connection, and the underlying suspicions that mark social relationships, particularly in early 20th-century rural America.
Overview and Narrative Structure
The poem unfolds as a dramatic monologue, with embedded dialogue between two men: Doctor Magoon, a scholar stranded late at night in Woodsville, and Lafe, a shirtless, confident newspaper agent already occupying the only available hotel room. Set in a rural New England town, the story traces the awkward tension that builds and diffuses over the course of their encounter, largely driven by class difference, perceived threat, and mutual misunderstanding.
The poem is written in blank verse—unrhymed iambic pentameter—a hallmark of Frost’s narrative style that gives the dialogue a natural, conversational rhythm while allowing for deep psychological nuance.
Key Themes
1. Class and Social Distance
At its core, A Hundred Collars highlights the discomfort that arises when individuals from very different social backgrounds are forced into close quarters. Doctor Magoon, a delicate, educated man, is visibly unnerved by Lafe, a shirtless, earthy, and physically imposing character. Their interaction is full of class-based assumptions: Lafe calls the Doctor “Mister Man” and mocks his academic demeanor, while the Doctor recoils at Lafe’s casualness, body, and touch.
The absurd moment about collar sizes—Magoon's "fourteen" against Lafe’s "eighteen"—becomes a humorous but telling metaphor for their social and physical disparity. Lafe's offer to give away “more than a hundred collars” becomes both a literal and symbolic gesture, representing his unasked-for generosity, and Magoon’s inability to accept what feels like an encroachment on his personal dignity.
2. Fear and Paranoia
A strong undercurrent of fear shapes the interaction. The Doctor is clearly afraid—not just of being robbed or harmed, but of the vulnerability that comes with being outside his social comfort zone. Lafe, in turn, is aware of this fear and alternates between goading and reassuring him. The tension is palpable: each man holds his money up for display as a sort of peace offering, or proof of good faith.
Lafe even comments on this, saying:
"There's nothing I'm afraid of like scared people. / I don't want you should shoot me in the head."
This ironic twist—that the "rough" man fears the "refined" one—reveals the absurdity and mutual suspicion that often clouds interactions across social lines.
3. Hospitality and Human Connection
Despite the discomfort and suspicion, there are genuine efforts to connect. Lafe attempts repeatedly to break through the Doctor’s guardedness with stories, humor, and even concern—offering him his collars, trying to pull off his shoes, and eventually leaving him in peace. He talks of his work, his horse, and his life on the road. There's an earnestness in Lafe’s rambling monologue, a desire to be understood and not dismissed.
Yet the Doctor remains largely closed off—polite but rigid, unwilling or unable to engage meaningfully. Frost critiques both characters gently: Lafe for being overbearing, and the Doctor for being judgmental.
Characterization and Dialogue
Frost is a master of using voice to reveal character. Lafe’s speech is expansive, casual, full of digressions and colorful details. He talks about everything from politics to hayfields, always positioning himself as a man of the people—"sort of Something" for the Weekly News—and clearly proud of his role.
Magoon, in contrast, is terse and cautious, rarely volunteering much about himself. His dialogue consists mainly of short, clipped responses, and his body language—standing on one leg, sliding down the pillow, resisting help—says more than his words.
This contrast not only creates comic tension but also underscores the disconnect between intellectual and working-class worlds.
Symbolism
- The Collars: Represent both material abundance and social trapping. Lafe has more than he needs, while Magoon is literally “choked” by his smaller size, and metaphorically by his social stiffness. The offer to give them away is both generous and intrusive.
- The Shirt: Lafe is shirtless while trying on a new, larger shirt—symbolizing growth, change, and perhaps an evolving self-image. Magoon, in his tight collar, is the opposite: constrained and unchanged.
- Money on the Bed: Laying out their cash becomes a symbolic peace treaty. It's a reversal of typical power dynamics—neither trusts the other, but both are vulnerable in different ways.
Tone and Style
The poem shifts between humor and unease, realism and symbolism. Frost balances the comedic awkwardness of two strangers sharing a room with deeper reflections on class tension, suspicion, and the challenges of human connection. His use of plain language, subtle irony, and nuanced observation makes the characters believable and the story emotionally resonant.
A Hundred Collars is a remarkable psychological and social study rendered in poetic form. Through a seemingly trivial late-night encounter, Frost exposes the fault lines of class, culture, and trust. The poem reveals how deeply ingrained social roles and personal fears can prevent genuine connection, even in the face of extended kindness.
Though both characters exit the scene much as they entered—strangers—their interaction leaves a lingering sense of what might be possible in a world less bound by fear and pretense. In typical Frost fashion, the poem offers no easy resolution, but it invites the reader to dwell in the complex, often humorous tension of human relationships.