A Lonely House. [Page 40].

LIVING TOO FAST;

OR,

The Confessions of a Bank Officer,

BY

WILLIAM T. ADAMS,

(Oliver Optic.)

Author of “In Doors and Out,” “The Way of the World,”
“Young America Abroad,” &c. &c.

ILLUSTRATED.

BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM,
1876.

COPYRIGHT,

By WILLIAM T. ADAMS,

1876.

Electrotyped by C. C. Morse & Son, Haverhill, Mass.

PREFACE.

The story contained in this volume records the experience of a bank officer, “living too fast,” in the downward career of crime. The writer is entirely willing now to believe that this career ought to have ended in the state prison; but his work is a story, and he has chosen—perhaps unhappily—to punish the defaulter in another way. Yet running through the narrative for the sake of the contrast, is the experience of a less showy, but more honest young man than the principal character, who represents the true life the young business man ought to lead. The author is not afraid that any of his young friends who may read this book will be tempted into an “irregularity” by the example of the delinquent bank officer, for it will be found that his career of crime is full of remorse and positive suffering.

Dorchester, July 1, 1876.

CONTENTS.

LIVING TOO FAST;

OR,

THE CONFESSIONS OF A BANK OFFICER.

CHAPTER I.

GETTING A SITUATION.

“I DON’T wish to stand in your way, Tom Flynn.”

“And I don’t wish to stand in your way, Paley Glasswood,” replied Tom, with a refreshing promptness, which was intended to assure me, and did assure me, that he was my friend, and that he was unwilling to take any unfair advantage of me.

Tom and myself were applicants for the situation of discount clerk in the Forty-ninth National Bank of Boston. We had submitted our applications separately, and each without the knowledge of the other. If we had taken counsel together before doing so, possibly some sentimental outbreak would have prevented one or the other from placing himself even in a seeming attitude of competition with the other. We had been schoolmates in Springhaven, had been cronies, and agreed as well as boys usually do. It is true he had given me a tremendous thrashing on one occasion, when I ventured to regard myself as physically his equal. Though I could not quite forgive him for the drubbing he gave me, I did not respect him any the less. While we were good friends, as the world goes, I was sometimes rather annoyed by the consciousness of being slightly his inferior.

Tom was always a little ahead of me in scholarship, and always contrived to come out just in advance of me in every thing in which we were brought into real or fancied rivalry with each other. Still he was never so far before me as to shut me out of the sphere in which he moved. But in spite of my repeated partial defeats, I regarded myself as fully his equal. Perhaps my vanity assured me that I was slightly his superior, for, like the rest of the world, I was human then, as I have unfortunately proved myself to be since. I was tolerably sure that in the great battle of life which all of us are compelled to fight, I should come out all right. When it came to the matter of business, I was confident that I should outstrip him.

Both of us had been graduated at the Springhaven High School, with the highest honors, though as usual Tom was a little higher than myself, for while he received the first diploma, the second was awarded to me. Tom was my friend, and always treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration, but I could not help feeling just a little stung by his superiority; by his continually coming out about half a length ahead of me. Springhaven is not so far from the metropolis of New England as to be regarded as a provincial town; and though engaging in business anywhere except in the great city was not the height of his or my ambition, Tom had gone into a store in his native place, and obtained his earliest knowledge of the ways of the world. But when he was twenty-one he obtained a situation in an office in the city in which he received a salary of six hundred dollars a year.

Again, at this interesting period of life which seems to be the beginning of all things to a young man, Tom was ahead of me, for I had gone to the city as a boy of sixteen, and when I was of age, my employers refused to give me over five hundred a year. Tom had been lucky—this was my view of the case. Tom had blundered into a good situation, and it was no merit of his own. I deserved something better than I had, and it was only the stupid and stingy policy of the firm which had “brought me up” that rendered my position inferior to that of my friend.

I had one advantage over my friendly rival, however, in my own estimation. My character was above suspicion, which could not be said of Tom, though in the city not a word affecting his reputation had ever been breathed, so far as I was aware. At the store in Springhaven where Tom had served two years as a clerk, several sums of money had been missed. There was no proof that Tom took them, but a few people in town knew that he was suspected of the theft, especially as he appeared to be living beyond his income. I do not believe my friend even knew that he was suspected of the theft, but inasmuch as he was the only person besides the two partners who had access to the safe where the money was kept, it seemed probable to Mr. Gorham, the senior member, that he was guilty.

It was a serious matter, and the two partners used every effort to discover the thief. They put decoys in the safe, such as marked bank bills, and resorted to various expedients, but it always happened that none of these traps were ever disturbed. Though various sums mysteriously disappeared, the decoys were never touched. Mr. Gorham declared that Tom was too smart for him, and Mr. Welch, the junior, never said much about the matter. At a convenient time, without stating any reason for the step, Tom was informed that his services were no longer required; that a change in the business rendered them unnecessary. The junior partner retired from the firm, and the senior carried on the store alone.

Mr. Gorham was a relative of my mother, and knowing of my intimacy with Tom, he regarded it as his duty to inform her of the suspicions which he entertained. My mother was shocked and appalled. Tom was the son of one of the best men in the town, and as there was no direct proof of the crime, it was not deemed expedient to say anything about it. Mr. Gorham did not say anything, except to my mother, and she, appreciating the kindness of her kinsman, faithfully promised to keep the momentous secret. Probably there were not a half dozen persons in Springhaven who knew that Tom left his place under suspicion, and those were the family and intimate friends of the storekeeper.

I will not say that the knowledge of this circumstance afforded me any satisfaction, but it helped me to feel that I was the superior of Tom; that in being honest I had a decided advantage over him. I could not disbelieve the story as it came from the lips of my mother, though it was possible there was some mistake. Within three years after the change in the firm of Gorham & Welch, the junior partner “went to destruction,” and in the light of this after revelation, it was possible that he had appropriated the money. Mr. Gorham hinted as much to my mother, and she, knowing that Tom and myself were still intimate, gave me the suggestion as a confirmation of what I had always said in his defence. I had found it quite impossible to dissolve my relations with Tom, strongly as my mother desired it. Without exactly believing that he was guilty of the whispered iniquity, I felt that he would be a sufferer on account of it.

The position in the bank for which we were both applicants, was considered a remarkably good one for a young man like Tom or me. I had considerable influence which I could bring to bear upon the directors, and so had my friend, but it seemed to be an even thing between him and me. In the light of past experience, I felt that Tom would get ahead of me again, and I was intensely anxious to succeed, in order that I might regain the ground I had continually lost.

I have called my book “Confessions.” I mean that they shall be such; and of course I do not set myself up as a model man. I did wrong, and that was the source of all my misery. I shall not, therefore, deem it necessary to apologize for each individual fault of which I was guilty. My readers can blame me as they will—and I deserve the severest censure. I have sent grief and dismay into the bosoms of my friends, and my story is a warning voice to all who are disposed to yield to the temptations which beset every man in his business relations.

I met Tom Flynn on the street, and I think he was sincerely desirous not to step into my path. I am confident he had a genuine regard for me, and that, if he could have been sure of securing the situation in the bank to me by withdrawing from the competition himself, he would have done so on the moment. But there were other applicants, and if he retired from the field at all, he was as likely to do it in favor of some stranger as of me.

“I should like the place, Tom, though I don’t wish to stand in your way,” I added; but in saying so, I am afraid I only indulged in a conventional form of speech, desiring only to appear to be as generous and self-sacrificing as he was.

“Of course it is my duty to do as well as I can for myself, but if I can get out of your way without losing the chance for one of us, I will do so.”

“Thank you, Tom. That’s handsome, and I would do as much for you; but as neither of us can foresee the issue, we will each do the best he can to get the place. That’s fair.”

“Certainly it is; and whichever is successful, there shall be no hard feelings on the part of the other.”

At that moment Tom raised his hat to a lady, and turning from me spoke to her. She was a beautiful creature, and though it would have been quite proper for me to terminate the interview, I was not inclined to do so, for the lady filled my eye, and I could not help looking at her.

“Be sure and come, Mr. Flynn,” said she.

“I shall certainly go if nothing unforeseen occurs,” replied he. “Miss Oliphant, allow me to make you acquainted with my particular friend, Mr. Paley Glasswood,” he added, turning to me.

I was very glad indeed to know her, for I could not remember that any lady had ever before made so captivating an impression upon me, even after a much longer acquaintance. She was not only very pretty, but she was elegantly dressed, and I concluded that she belonged to some “nobby” family. I was pleased with her, and said some of the prettiest things I could invent for the occasion. I hoped we should meet again.

“Mr. Flynn, you must bring your friend with you to-morrow evening,” she continued.

“Thank you, Miss Oliphant; I should be delighted to take him with me, and as he is here, he can speak for himself,” replied Tom.

“Just a quiet little party of half-a-dozen at our house, to-morrow evening. I hope you will come, Mr. Glasswood,” she added.

“I should be very happy to join you, and I will do so,” I answered.

She was very pretty, and she seemed to grow prettier every moment that I looked at her. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled so sweetly, that I am forced to acknowledge I experienced a new sensation in her presence. I repeated my promise to join the little party, and no entreaty was necessary to render me a willing follower. She bowed and passed on, mingling with the bright throng that gaily flitted up and down Washington Street. My eyes followed her till she was lost in the crowd, and I almost forgot that I was an applicant for the situation of discount clerk in the Forty-ninth National Bank.

“Well, Paley, they say the place will be filled at the meeting of the directors to-morrow forenoon,” said Tom, calling me away from the sea of moonshine in which I was at that moment floating, as my eyes followed the graceful form of Miss Oliphant.

“So I have been told, and we shall have but little time left to work. By the way, who is Miss Oliphant?”

“She is a very pretty girl,” laughed Tom.

“Tell me what I don’t know. What is she?”

“She is the daughter of a small merchant, who is in rather shaky circumstances, they say. He lives on Tremont Street, and has three marriageable daughters.

“If they are all as passable as the one I have just seen, their chances are good.”

“I don’t know about that,” added Tom, laughing. “Miss Lilian dresses magnificently, you perceive; and whoever marries one of those girls will find money a cash article. You shall see them all to-morrow.”

“I should say that a wife like this Miss Oliphant was cheap at any price.”

“I think so myself, if a fellow can afford such an expensive luxury. But, Paley, we must not waste our time,” added Tom, glancing at the Old South clock. “I must find a man who can do a good thing for me at the bank.”

“So must I.”

We parted, and as I walked down the street, I could not help recalling the vision of loveliness I had beheld in the person of Miss Lilian Oliphant. I was on my way to one of the insurance offices frequented by my uncle, Captain Halliard, a retired shipmaster, who dabbled in stocks, and was a director in the Japan Marine Insurance Company. He had influence, and I relied principally upon him to engineer my application at the bank. He was a man of the world in the broadest sense of the term. He believed in making money, and in getting ahead in business, and though he paid a reasonable respect to conventional forms, I am not quite certain that he believed in anything higher. In character and purposes, he was the very antipode of my mother, whose brother he was.

I found him reading a newspaper in the office. He dropped it when he saw me, and I thought he looked very anxious. He had undertaken to procure me the situation I was ambitious to obtain, and though I don’t think he cared much for me individually, he was persistent in carrying out any scheme upon which he had fixed his mind.

“Paley, your chance is small,” said he, candidly, after we had passed the time of day.

My heart sank within me.

“I am sorry to hear it,” I replied, gloomily.

“Tom Flynn has the inside track.”

As usual! It seemed to be laid down as the immutable law of circumstances that Tom should always come out just a little ahead of me. I was vexed. Tom had six hundred dollars a year, while I had but five hundred. It was cruel and unjust to me. His income was to be doubled, and mine to remain as it was.

“I was afraid Tom would get ahead of me,” I added. “But I would rather he should have the place than any other person, if I can’t get it.”

“Nonsense, Paley. Don’t talk bosh! I haven’t given up all hope yet, by any means. Tom is well enough, I dare say, but you must have this place, if possible.”

“I should like to have it,” I added, hopelessly.

“Paley, what was that story about Tom which was kept so still in Springhaven?” continued Captain Halliard in a low tone. “I heard your mother say something about it, when she was speaking about your being intimate with him. I have forgotten about it.”

“His employers in Springhaven thought that he took money from the safe.”

“Exactly so; that was the idea,” added my uncle, rubbing his hands involuntarily.

“But I don’t think there was any foundation for the suspicion,” I protested, rather faintly, too faintly to produce any decided effect.

“We are not called upon to try the case,” he replied, chuckling at his own cunning.

“But I don’t wish to have anything to say about that old affair.”

“Then you needn’t have anything to say about it, except to me. I have begun to manage this business, and I shall finish it.”

“I don’t want to injure Tom in the estimation of any one,” I added.

“Don’t be a spooney, Paley. You must look out for your own chances. You can have this place, if we can get Tom off the track.”

Although I was not the author of the brilliant idea foreshadowed in my uncle’s remarks, I permitted him to develop it. I told him all I knew about Tom’s affair with Gorham & Welch. If I stated that those who knew anything about the matter now generally believed that the junior partner was the thief, I stated it so mildly that my uncle took no notice of it. I confess that I virtually assented to his scheme; at least, I offered no decided opposition to it. I knew that Captain Halliard had only to whisper the fact that Tom had been suspected, and had lost his situation in consequence of this suspicion, to throw my chief competitor out of the field.

Practically, I assented to the scheme; if I did anything to prevent its being carried into execution, I only “fastened the door with a boiled carrot.” I wanted the place, not alone for its emoluments, but in order, in the race of life, to surpass my friend. I regard this weak yielding as my first crime—the crime against my friend, one of the basest and most loathsome in the calendar of offences. This was my real fall; and it was this, it has since seemed to me, which made me capable of all that followed.

I left my uncle in the office, and went back to the store in which I was employed. Between the bright vision of Miss Oliphant’s loveliness and the dark one of my own perfidy, I was nervous and uneasy all the rest of the day. What was the use of being over nice? If I did not look out for myself, no one would look out for me! I think I did not sleep an hour that night, and the next day I performed my duties mechanically. About one o’clock I was rather startled to see Tom Flynn enter the counting-room.

“Paley, my dear fellow, I congratulate you,” said he, grasping my hand.

“What’s the matter, Tom?” I asked.

“Why, haven’t you heard of it?”

“Heard of what?”

“You have been appointed discount clerk in the Forty-ninth National Bank. ’Pon my soul, I am glad to be the first to tell you of it,” added Tom, with enthusiasm, as he rung my hand.

Iniquity had prospered, but only for a time.

CHAPTER II.

MISS LILIAN OLIPHANT.

HOW could I look Tom Flynn in the face, after what I had done, or permitted to be done? He had been my competitor in the race for the situation in the bank, and probably would have obtained it if my uncle had not whispered the old slander in the ears of Mr. Bristlebach, the president. It is true this plan had originated with Captain Halliard, but I consented to it, to say the very least. I could have prevented him from carrying it into operation. I could have protested in the strongest of terms that there was no truth in the story, and that I would not take the place if it were procured for me by such a base sacrifice of honor and integrity.

I did not do so. If I protested at all, it was so faintly that my worldly-minded uncle only regarded it as a piece of “buncombe.” It is not for me to blame him, for I regard myself as equally guilty of the infamous deed—more guilty, for Tom was my friend. It is a satisfaction for me now to know that I blushed when my old schoolfellow entered the counting-room; and to remember that my conscience stung me like a hot iron when he informed me that the situation had been given to me. It was not the glorious triumph which I had anticipated, and I could hardly felicitate myself that I was to step immediately into the enjoyment of a salary of twelve hundred a year. I could not even enjoy the triumph of being, for once, actually ahead of my fortunate friend.

“I congratulate you, Paley, with all my soul,” said Tom, with enthusiasm. “I should have liked the place myself, but I am really better satisfied with the result, than I should have been if I had been successful.”

“You don’t mean that, Tom,” I suggested; and I felt that I was almost incapable of giving birth to a lofty emotion.

“‘Pon my word, I do, Paley. I was thinking this forenoon that, if the place fell to me, I should reproach myself for having stood in your way. I never should have felt just right about it. Now I am satisfied—more than satisfied; I am delighted with the result.”

“I thank you, Tom. I didn’t expect any such magnanimity from any person in this world;” but I comforted myself with the thought that, if the place had been assigned to him, he would have contrived to endure the disappointment which fell to my lot.

“If I had known that you were an applicant, with any chance of success, I would not have entered the field. But it is all right as it is; and I am as much pleased as you are,” added Tom.

“I don’t exactly see how I happened to get the place,” I replied, in order to tempt him to tell what he knew about the canvass, rather than because I was astonished at the result.

“I do,” answered Tom, laughing. Your uncle, Captain Halliard, has a great deal of influence with Mr. Bristlebach, the president. Rhodes—you know Rhodes?”

“I know of him; he’s book-keeper in the Forty-ninth National.”

“Yes; well, he says Captain Halliard had a long talk with Mr. Bristlebach this forenoon. I have no doubt he made a strong personal appeal for you, and that settled the case.”

I should very gladly have believed that I owed my good luck to the personal influence of my uncle, but I was confident that he had used that old slander to procure my appointment. Tom left me after I had promised to meet him at Mr. Oliphant’s in the evening. I was sad, and I felt mean. I was tempted to go to Mr. Bristlebach and undo what my uncle had done. I could even procure a letter from Mr. Gorham testifying to the integrity of Tom. Alas! I had not the courage to do justice to my friend. A salary of twelve hundred dollars was too glittering a prize to be thrown away; and after all it was possible that Tom had been guilty—possible, but not at all probable.

Before the store closed I received official notice of my appointment, and informed my employers of my intention to leave them. They did not say much, and I am not sure that they were very sorry to have me go. I went to my boarding-house, and dressed myself with the utmost care for the occasion in the evening. Miss Lilian Oliphant was a bright vision before my eyes. I wondered that she had been condescending enough to notice a person so insignificant as I was. I was thinking only of her, and as the happy moment drew near when I was to see her again, I even forgot my own infamy towards Tom.

Twelve hundred a year! It was an immense sum for a young fellow like me, and with such a foundation for an air-castle, I pictured to myself a pleasant home with Lilian as the presiding genius of the place, shedding unutterable bliss upon my existence. Twelve hundred dollars would hire a house, furnish it, and enables me to live like a lord. If Lilian did dress well, if she was rather extravagant, I could stand the pressure with the magnificent income which would be mine.

I was admitted to the parlor in which the family were seated. Tom and two other gentlemen were there, conversing with the young ladies, all of whom were dressed elegantly, and were evidently “got up” for the purpose of making an impression. Miss Lilian gave me a cordial welcome, and introduced me to the rest of the party. Mr. Oliphant had heard of my good fortune. He congratulated me, and did me the honor to say that I should soon be the cashier of the Forty-ninth National Bank. I was treated with distinguished consideration, and, without exactly knowing why, I felt myself to be the lion of the occasion. Discount clerk of the bank, I was a bigger man than any of the gentlemen present.

Miss Lilian was very gracious to me, but I bore my honors with tolerable meekness. I tried to avoid putting on any airs, and I think I produced a favorable impression. We played whist, and Lilian was my partner; I did not do myself justice, for I was so fascinated by her loveliness that I could not keep my thoughts about me, and Tom and Miss Bertha beat us badly. But Miss Lilian attributed our misfortune to ill-luck, and smiled as sweetly as ever. I may as well hasten to the catastrophe, and declare at once that I was deeply and irretrievably smitten, as I had intended to be from the first. She was very kind to me, and seemed to look with a favorable eye upon me; but I could not, of course, know whether she would accept me. I was fearful that she would require even a bigger man than the discount clerk of the Forty-ninth National Bank.

I left the house at eleven o’clock with the most intense regret. I knew not how soon I might see her again, but I ascertained where she went to church, and I went there the very next Sunday. It was cloudy, and she did not appear. I was sad and impatient. It seemed to me that I must see her again soon, or I should do some desperate deed. I tried to invent an excuse for calling at her father’s house on Sunday evening, but my ingenuity failed me. I dropped in upon Tom Flynn, and talked of nothing but Lilian Oliphant. I hoped he would take the hint, and propose to call upon her that evening, but he would not; in fact, he was going to a prayer-meeting, and only invited me to go there with him. It was not Lilian’s church, and I did not wish to go. It would be pleasanter to walk on the Common and think of her, if I could not see her.

I did not sleep half an hour that night. I was madly, desperately in love with Lilian, and I was afraid that some young fellow with only a thousand a year might snap her up while I was waiting to go through all the forms of society in decent and conventional order. I was not to take my desk in the bank till the first day of the new year, a week hence, and I induced my employers to let me off from the last four days’ service, for the reason that I was so infatuated with Miss Lilian I could not do anything. I walked by Mr. Oliphant’s house twenty times a day, but I had not the pluck to call. On Tuesday afternoon I sent her a beautiful bouquet labelled “In memory of a pleasant evening. P. G.” When I had done so, I happened to think that one of my companions during the pleasant evening alluded to was Paul Grahame. It was an awful blunder on my part, for how could she know whether Paul Grahame or Paley Glasswood was the sender of the flowers, which had cost me five dollars! If Paul, who was more intimate in the family than I, should happen to call during the week, Lilian, under the consciousness that such a pretty bouquet could come only from a sincere admirer, might speak a gentle word or bestow a loving smile upon him, which would forever darken my hopes.

The situation looked desperate, and I must call on Wednesday, or drown myself in the icy waters off Long Wharf on Thursday. Water below a reasonable temperature was particularly repugnant to me, and I did not relish the alternative. I wondered if she would be glad to see me. I tried to determine whether her gracious demeanor towards me during that important evening had been dictated by mere politeness, or by a genuine interest in me. I was vain enough to flatter myself that I had made an impression upon her gushing heart. In my native town I had been accounted a good-looking fellow, as revealed to me through sundry “compliments.” I thought I was not bad looking, and I consulted my mirror on this momentous question. The result was satisfactory, and I was quite willing to believe that Miss Lilian ought to be pardoned for feeling an interest in me.

On Wednesday afternoon I walked by her father’s house seven times, and probably I should have passed it seven times more, if on the eighth I had not seen Lilian at the window. The stars favored me. The dear divinity saw me; she smiled, she bowed to me, and I thought she blushed. Whether she did or not, I blushed, and the die was cast. The thrilling glance the fair being bestowed upon me inspired me with a resolution equal to the occasion. I rushed to the door, and before I had time to change my purpose, I rang the bell.

I was admitted. I asked for Miss Lilian Oliphant, and was shown into the parlor in which she was seated. My heart throbbed like the beatings of the ocean in a tempest, and my face felt as if a blast of fire had swept over it; but I survived. I was more than fascinated; I was infatuated with the fair being before me. I am free to say that no such vision of loveliness was ever realized before or since in my experience.

“This is a very unexpected pleasure, Mr. Glasswood,” said she, more self-possessed than I was.

“I beg your pardon for calling,” I stammered.

“I’m sure you needn’t do that, for I’m very glad to see you, sir,” she replied, kindly helping me out.

“I didn’t—really—I thought—it’s a beautiful day, Miss Oliphant.”

“Splendid day!” laughed she; but I saw that she was beginning to be embarrassed.

I ventured to hint that I had spent a very pleasant evening at her house on the preceding Friday; and she was kind enough to say she had enjoyed it very much, and hoped I would call again soon with my friend, Tom Flynn, and have another game of whist.

“I played so badly then that I shall hardly dare to try again,” I replied. I was—really, I was—”

“What?” she asked, when I broke down completely.

“I was going to say that I usually play better, but something disturbed me that evening so that I was not myself;” and I fixed my loving gaze upon the threadbare carpet at my feet.

“Why, what was the matter with you?” laughed the vision of loveliness before me.

“I don’t know, but I didn’t seem to have the command of my faculties.”

“Then you must come again and redeem your reputation, if you feel that you did not do yourself justice.”

“Thank you! When shall I come?” I asked eagerly.

“As soon as you please.”

“If it were as soon as I pleased, it would be this very evening,” I added with a boldness which absolutely confounded me.

“Do come this evening then. We can make up a set without any other help.”

Why didn’t she say something about that bouquet, and thus enable me to advance a step nearer to the conquest. She did not, and I was afraid the five dollar trifle had been placed to the credit of Paul Grahame. I went away, but I hastened to the florist’s and bought another bouquet—price seven dollars. On the card I wrote, “In memory of a pleasant call. P. G******d.” She could not make Grahame out of that.

Early in the evening I rang the bell, and was ushered into the parlor. On the piano was my bouquet, and near it stood Lilian, who, as I entered the room, was in the act of inhaling its fragrance. I think she blushed a little when she saw me.

“What a beautiful bouquet!” she exclaimed with rapture, after the preliminary formalities had been disposed of. “I am very grateful to you Mr. Glasswood, for this kind remembrancer.”

“O, not at all; it was the best I could find, but it is altogether unworthy.”

“Why, it is positively lovely! It is beautiful, delicious. My friends are very kind. It was only the other day that Mr. Grahame sent me one, but it was not so pretty as this one.”

“Did he, indeed?” I asked.

“How stupid I am! Why it was you Mr. Glasswood. I interpreted the initials as those of his name.”

Miss Lilian looked upon the floor, and her chest heaved with emotion that agitated me more than her. I fancied it was all right—and it was. I played whist, and the old gentleman and one of the other daughters beat us worse than before. I trumped my partner’s tricks, and put my ace upon her king. But I consoled myself with the reflection that she must be thinking of something else, or she would not so often have played the king before the ace was out. We played a double game, of which whist was the less important; but we played into each other’s hands, and won the game in which hearts were trumps, if we lost on all other suits.

I ought to have gone home at ten o’clock, but I staid till half-past eleven. I was cordially invited to come again, and I may say I went again, until my visits included every evening in the week, not excepting Saturday and Sunday, when all but “fiddlers and fools” stay at home. Before the snows melted we were engaged.

On the first day of the new year I took my place in the bank. It looked to me then like a bed of roses; I have since found it to be a bed of thorns; though I ought to add that I made it so myself. I knew the routine of bank business tolerably well, though I had much to learn. I tried to discharge my duties faithfully, and though Mr. Bristlebach, the president, was a hard man, I won even his approval. I need not dwell on this season of happiness, for as I look back upon it, I appreciate it; I could not then.

My services were so satisfactory that when our paying teller was promoted to a higher place in another institution, I was advanced to his situation with a salary of eighteen hundred dollars, and a promise of an additional two hundred if I proved to be competent to discharge the duties of the office. My uncle and others were my bondsmen. Never did a young man look forward to a brighter future than I did.

Every evening in the week I went to Mr. Oliphant’s and was treated as one of the family. During the year I had been paying assiduous court to my beautiful charmer. I spent all my salary, and more than all, for I was in debt at the end of this time. I wore good clothes, for I wished Lilian to be proud of me; I sent her bouquets, I took her to the theatre, the opera, the concerts, and to balls and parties, a single one of which in some instances, spoiled a twenty dollar bill. I took her out to ride, and paid for many costly suppers. But Lilian appeared to love me with all her soul, and I was satisfied.

I had found the end of my twelve hundred dollars so easily that I dared not think of getting married; but my promotion decided me. Lilian offered no unreasonable objections, neither did her parents, and the happy day was fixed. Tom Flynn, who had taken my place as discount clerk in the Forty-ninth National, was to stand up with me. Somewhat oddly, as it seemed to me, my good friend advised me not to marry, and we almost quarrelled over some plain talking which he did. The die was cast; I would not have retreated if I could.

CHAPTER III.

GOING TO HOUSEKEEPING.

I was married in the spring, and the bank gave me my vacation on the joyous occasion, so that I was enabled to make a bridal tour of ten days to the South. I went to Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, and while I distinctly recollect that I enjoyed myself exceedingly, and traveled like a prince, I can more vividly recall the rapidity with which my funds were expended. It had cost me all my salary to pay my board and to take Miss Lilian to the opera and the balls, but I could not afford to deprive Mrs. Glasswood of any luxury.

Before we started I was “hard up,” and I tried to contrive some clever expedient by which the bridal tour might be dispensed with. I suggested to Lilian that the journey was not absolutely necessary; that some very “nobby” people staid at home after they were married. Her chin dropped down as though a ten pound weight had been attached to it, and she looked so sad and gloomy that I could not think for a moment longer of depriving her of this triumphal march, for so I am afraid she regarded it. Of course I did not hint to her that I could not afford to spend two or three hundred dollars in travelling, for we were still lovingly cheating each other into the belief that she was a princess and I was a representative of Crœsus himself.

There was not a dollar to my credit at the bank, and I had not a dollar to my credit anywhere else. I was fretful one day, and unguardedly mentioned to Tom Flynn that I was short. The generous fellow promptly offered to lend me a hundred dollars. I am surprised now that I was able to accept it, but I did, and he put my “value received” into his wallet as choicely as though it had been as good as the gold itself. But a hundred dollars, though Tom seemed to think it would pay for every thing which it could possibly enter into the head of a groom to procure, was expended in trifles and before we were ready to start upon the bridal tour I was penniless again.

I wanted three hundred dollars, for it would not be safe to start on a ten-days’ trip attended by such a helpmate as Lilian with less than this sum in my pocket. First class hotels, private parlors, carriages, the opera in New York, would make large demands upon my purse. I was rather sorry that Tom Flynn had offered to lend me a hundred dollars, for if he had not done so I should have asked him to favor me with the loan I now needed. I could not ask him, after what he had done. My uncle, Captain Halliard was a rich man, though he was a calculating and a careful one. I had been a favorite of his in my earlier years, and I knew that he had a great deal of regard for the honor of the family. I had hardly seen him since he helped me into my situation, for he had been on a business mission to Europe.

Three hundred dollars was nothing to a man of his resources, and, with some sacrifice of pride on my part, I made up my mind to wait upon him with my request. He would understand the case, and readily see that a young man about to be married must incur a great many extraordinary expenses, and it would not be at all strange that he was temporarily “short.” I found the worthy old gentleman in the insurance office, up to his eyes in the news of the day. I talked with him for some time about indifferent topics, about my mother’s health and the affairs of Springhaven. Then I rose to depart, in the most natural manner in the world though I was rather grieved to see that he was not sorry to have me go; in fact, he returned to his newspaper with an eagerness which seemed to intimate that I had bored him. I took a few steps towards the door, and then, as though I had forgotten something, I hastily retraced my steps.

I call upon my Uncle. [Page 45].

“By the way, uncle—I’m sorry to trouble you, but—could you lend me three hundred dollars for a few weeks?”

“Three hundred dollars!” exclaimed the venerable seeker after the main chance, just as though I had attacked him in the tenderest part of his being.

“The fact is, uncle, getting married in these times is an expensive luxury, and I find myself a little short, though, of course, I shall be all right as soon as I get settled down.”

“It’s rather a bad sign for a young man to have to borrow money to get married with,” he added with a glance of severe dignity at me.

“Never mind it, uncle. I won’t trouble you, then, if it is not convenient,” I replied, in a thoroughly off-hand manner, as though the little favor I asked was of more consequence to him than to me. “I shall expect to see you at the house of Mr. Oliphant at the ceremony, and remember the levee is at eight o’clock. Don’t fail to be there, uncle.”

“Stop a minute! I suppose if you need three hundred dollars, I can let you have it,” he added.

“O, it is of no consequence. Don’t trouble yourself. Two or three of my friends wanted to lend it to me, but I did not exactly like to accept such a favor outside of the family. Aunt Rachel, I dare say, will be glad to accommodate me.”

“Write a note,” said he, rather crustily, as he went to one of the desks, and drew a check for the amount I required.

I could not help smiling, as I wrote the due bill, to think of the address with which I had managed my case. I am confident if I had whined and begged until the sun went down, he would have been hard enough to refuse me. Possibly he did not like to have me apply to Aunt Rachel. She was a maiden sister of my father who had about twenty thousand dollars and lived with my mother. Her inheritance had been the same as my father’s, but, having no expenses, she had kept certain lands in the middle of the town till they increased in value so that she was made independent. As I wished to be her heir, I had always treated her with the utmost consideration. Captain Halliard managed some stocks for her, and he was anxious to keep in her good graces.

I put the check in my pocket with the utmost nonchalance, and again begging my uncle not to fail to be present at the ceremony, I left him. It was all right with me for the present. When I started on my bridal tour I owed about six hundred dollars, which I calculated that I could easily pay off in six months with my increased salary. When we returned from Washington I had barely money enough left to pay the hackman for conveying us to the house of my wife’s father. If I had not been so cautious as to count up my money, and estimate the expenses of the return trip, I should have exhausted my exchequer before we reached home. When I found I had just enough left to pay these expenses, I told Lilian that I had received a letter which compelled me to return immediately, though we had intended to stay two days longer.

She pouted, but I told her I should lose my situation if I did not go back. She thought I might get another situation rather than break up the pleasant excursion so abruptly. I told her I could easily get another situation, but it was not exactly prudent to give up one until the other was obtained. It almost broke my heart to cross her in anything, and if I could have met a friend good-natured enough to lend me a hundred dollars I might have been spared the annoyance. I met no such friend, and we went on cheating each other as before. It was stupid in me to do so, but I had not the courage to tell her that I was not made of money, and I permitted her to believe that my pockets were still well lined.

We returned home, but on the way I was obliged to pretend that I was sick, in order to save the expense of supper aboard the steamer. We had dined at four o’clock, and though it was absurd to eat again at six, Lilian wanted to see who were at the tables; but my pretended illness saved me, and, what was more important, saved the two dollars for the hack hire in Boston.

“What shall we do when we get home?” asked Lilian, as we sat that evening in the cabin of the steamer.

“We shall live on love for years to come,” I replied, with enthusiasm.

“Of course we shall do that,” she added; but I thought she did not seem to be exactly pleased with the diet. “Shall we board or keep house?”

“Which do you prefer, my dear Lilian?” I asked, for though we had discussed this question before, she had not been able to make up her mind.

“If we can board at the Revere House, or at Mrs. Peecksmith’s in Beacon street, I would rather board.”

“It would not be possible to obtain such rooms as would suit us at the Revere House at this season of the year; and I heard a gentleman in Washington say that Mrs. Peecksmith had not a single apartment unoccupied.”

“How provoking!”

It was provoking, but I had to invent my excuses as I went along. I did not venture to suggest that my entire salary would not pay the expenses of boarding at either of the places she named. I was too weak and vain to tell her the truth. I deceived her. She had no knowledge of the world, no experience of the value of money, for her poor father had actually ruined himself in a vain attempt to keep up the style of living he had enjoyed in more prosperous days. Nearly all his profits went upon the backs of his daughters, each of whom had been taught to believe that a husband, when interpreted, was money. I did nothing to disturb the illusion.

“I think we must find a place to board for a few weeks, till we can get a house, and then we will go to housekeeping,” I suggested.

“We must go to housekeeping if we can’t get rooms at the Revere, or at Mrs. Peecksmith’s,” added Lilian. “But dear ma will take us to board for a time; and really I could not think of going anywhere else.”

We went to “dear ma’s,” and after I had paid the hackman, I had just twenty-five cents left in my pocket. “Dear ma” was willing to take us to board for a time, under the circumstances, though it would be a great inconvenience to her. She would not think of taking anybody else, though she had plenty of house room. I ventured to hint that, as a prudent man, I should like to know what the terms would be, though really it did not make the least difference to me, in point of fact. “Dear ma” did not like to speak of such things; she was going to take us simply as a matter of accommodation—“under the circumstances.”

“Of course, Mrs. Oliphant, I understand you, and I am very grateful for the sacrifice you propose to make; but it is always well to have things clearly set forth,” I replied, mildly.

“Certainly it is. I always believe in having things in black and white. I suppose it would cost you fifty dollars a week to board at Mrs. Peecksmith’s; but I should not think of charging you that,” she continued, with a benevolent smile.

“Gracious! I should hope not,” I mentally ejaculated, for at the Beacon Street house the boarders walked on Wilton carpets, looked out through windows decked with velvet draperies, slept upon rosewood bedsteads, and had seven courses at dinner, while Mr. Oliphant’s house was an old one, its furniture worn out and dilapidated, its carpets threadbare, and the fare—when they had no extra company—below the grade of a cheap boarding-house. If I had not loved Lilian with all my soul, I should have deemed it a charity to take her off her parents’ hands. As it was, she was cheap at any price.

“Whatever you say will be all right,” I replied. “I am getting a handsome salary now, and I am willing to pay a fair price.”

“I think thirty dollars a week would be no more than the cost to us. Of course I don’t expect you to pay anything near what it would cost at Mrs. Peecksmith’s.”

Whew! I could board at a house only one grade below Beacon Street for twenty. I expected she would say ten, or at the most fifteen dollars, but, poor “dear ma!” I suppose she needed the money to deck out the next daughter for the sacrifice. I could not object. It was all in the family; but I determined to find a house with all possible dispatch.

I went to the bank and took my place. I flatter myself that I was smart, for I won the approbation of even Mr. Bristlebach. I made no mistakes. I was not nervous. When I drew my month’s salary of one hundred and fifty dollars, all but about twenty dollars of it went into the purse of “dear ma,” for board which would have been high at ten dollars a week. Though Lilian complained of the accommodations, she said nothing about housekeeping. I made some inquiries, and found I could board better for half the price I was paying. I then said something about engaging rooms nearer to the bank. My dear wife protested. She could not leave “dear ma’s,” where she had all the comforts of a home, and was in her own family. I saw that she was a party to the swindle; that “dear ma” had instructed her what to do and what to say.

My home was no home at all, and I was determined to leave it before I had another month’s board to pay. To stay any longer would be ruin. My twenty dollars’ surplus would pay for only a few concerts and rides, and in less than a fortnight I was penniless again. My debts began to trouble me. One day Captain Halliard wanted to know if he had not lent me three hundred dollars for a few weeks. I assured him he had, and that I intended to pay him in a few days. Tom Flynn hinted that he was short, though he did not directly say he wanted his money. My tailor was becoming slightly unreasonable, and the keeper of a livery stable stupidly insisted upon being paid, and even had the audacity to refuse to trust me for any more teams.

It would not do for me to have these importunate creditors coming into the bank to see me. The president and the cashier would be alarmed if they discovered that the paying teller was in debt. But trying as these duns were, they were insignificant compared with the annoyances which I endured at “dear ma’s.” Lilian hinted, and then insisted, that I should refurnish our room at my own expense. I told her I would think of it, and went out to walk after dinner. I did think of it; and thought I would not do it. Strange as it may seem, “dear ma” was absolutely becoming disagreeable to me, and I wondered how such an angel as Lilian could have been born of such a designing woman as I found her mother to be.

I stumbled upon a friend who had been to look at a house. It was a splendid little place, but not quite large enough for him, and the rent was only six hundred dollars a year. I went with him to see it. It looked like a fairy palace to me, and was just the size I wanted. It was an English basement house, three stories high. I went to see the owner. Another man had just left it, and meant to take the house, but he must first consult his wife. If I stopped to consult mine, I should lose it, and I closed with him on the instant, regarding myself as the luckiest fellow in the world.

Lilian would be delighted with it; there could be no doubt of that. What a magnificent surprise it would be to her, if I could take her in, after it was all furnished! Stupid as the idea may seem to lady housekeepers, I was so enamored of my plan that I determined to put it into operation. I was satisfied we could live in this gem of a house for less than I paid for board, and live in much better style.

The idea of a surprise to Lilian was delightful to me, and I laid out the plan in detail; but the first thing was to provide the funds. Then my jaw dropped down. I owed over six hundred dollars to certain restless creditors; but I could save money by going to housekeeping, and my duty to them required that I should do so. I had not yet troubled Aunt Rachel, and taking Lilian with me, I went down to Springhaven to spend the Fourth of July, ostensibly to escape the noise and dust of the city, but really to lay siege to my venerable aunt’s purse strings.

The only thing that was likely to defeat me was the fact that Aunt Rachel did not like my wife, for Lilian, who regarded the worthy spinster as an “old fuss,” had not always been as prudent in her presence as I could have wished. But I caught my aunt alone at five o’clock in the morning, for the noise of fire-crackers had driven the old creature from her bed at an unwonted hour. I played my cards with all the skill of which I was master. She not only gave me the money, a thousand dollars, which she had “salted down” in the house for fear all the banks would break, but she promised to keep my secret. She declared that Lilian was too extravagant for a young man like me, and I explained that I wished to furnish the house without her knowledge, so as to save expense. She commended my good motive, and I returned to the city with a thousand dollars in my pocket, to furnish the English basement house.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ENGLISH BASEMENT HOUSE.

A THOUSAND dollars in cash was more than I had ever before possessed at one time. I felt like a rich man, for the shadow of the six hundred dollars which I owed did not offensively obtrude itself upon me. I could hardly conceal my exhilaration from Lilian, but I was so intent upon giving her a grand surprise that I kept the great secret, and preserved a forced calmness. I had made very careful estimates of the cost of living in my new palace—I thought they were very careful—and I was fully satisfied that I should save one-third of my present expenses.

My column of figures, after I had thought of every possible expense that could be incurred in the course of the week, footed up at a trifle over twenty dollars a week, but I was entirely convinced that I should bring the actual below the estimated expense. From the first of July my salary was to be two thousand a year, or about thirty-eight dollars and a half a week. I could therefore let my expenses go up to twenty-five dollars a week without upsetting the argument.

Then I allowed three hundred a year for clothing my wife and myself, and for incidental expenses. In our beautiful home we should not care to ride and go to concerts and theatres much, and both of us were well supplied with clothing. I deemed the sum appropriated as amply sufficient. At this rate I could pay off my debts in a year and a half, and be square with the world. Until this was done, I intended to hold myself to a most rigid economy. I must even contrive some way to let Lilian know that I could not spend money so freely as I had done, but I could promise her that, when my debts were paid, she should have every thing she wanted.

I was perfectly satisfied. My prudential calculations set me all right with myself and with the rest of mankind. The vision of the English basement house, all finished and furnished, with Lilian sitting in state in the little boudoir of a parlor, was my castle in the air for the present. I was very cheerful and light hearted, and went to my daily duties at the bank with an alacrity I had never before felt. I told Lilian I should not be at home to dinner that day. When she wanted to know why, I said something about bank commissioners, and was afraid I should be detained until a late hour. She kissed me as usual when I left her, and even “dear ma” looked so very amiable, that I was afraid she would kiss me too. But she did not, and my heart smote me as I thought of the treason I was meditating against her and the two unmarried daughters.

I ought to say here, in justice to myself, that these two sisters of my wife were a heavy burden upon me, independently of the thirty dollars a week I paid for my board; for if Lilian and I proposed to go to a concert, to the theatre or the opera, it was somehow contrived that one or both of them should join the party. My wife reasoned that a carriage would cost no more for four than for two, and the paltry expense of the tickets was all the additional outlay I incurred, while it was such a pleasure for the sisters to go. Then I could just as well purchase three pairs of white kids as one—Mrs. Oliphant would pay me for them. I must do her the justice to say that she always offered to do so, but, as it was “all in the family,” I was too magnificent to stoop to such trifles; and I know that she would have considered me mean if I had accepted the paltry dollars. I went to the bank with the thousand dollars in my pocket. I intended to devote the afternoon to selecting the furniture for my new house. My friend Buckleton was in the furniture business. He would not only keep my secret, but he would give me a bargain on his wares; and what was better, if I came a little short he would trust me. The thousand dollars’ worth of goods in my house was so much real property, the possession of which would add to my credit, and was available as security, if occasion required.

Shaytop’s Little Bill.

The bank closed, and after I had settled my cash, I decided to take a little lunch at Parker’s before I went to Buckleton’s store. I was going out of the bank when that confounded Shaytop, the stable man, presented himself before me like the ghost of a faded joy. He had the impudence to thrust his little bill, which amounted to only sixty odd dollars, in my sunny face. Humph! sixty dollars was nothing to me in my present frame of mind. I didn’t “cotton” to any such sum as that, and Mr. Bristlebach, the president of the bank, who was reputed to be worth a million, could not have looked more magnificent than I did, if he had tried.

“Mr. Glasswood, I am getting rather tired of calling on you about my bill,” Shaytop began, in the most uncompromising manner.

“Do I owe you anything, Mr. Shaytop?” I inquired, very loftily.

“Do you owe me anything!” exclaimed the fellow, opening his eyes wide enough to catch a vision of the prophetic future. “I reckon you do.”

“Is it possible? I declare, I had quite forgotten the circumstance.”

“Forgotten it! I’ll bet you didn’t! I think I have taken pains enough to keep you informed of it.”

“Don’t be rude, Mr. Shaytop. I don’t permit any man to dun me.”

“Don’t you? Well, by George, you have made an exception in my favor. Haven’t I been to see you once a week for the last three months?”

“I don’t remember,” I replied, vacantly.

“Look here, my gay bird, you can’t tom-fool me any longer. I’m going to have my money, or break something,” he added, with an energetic gesture.

“Certainly, my dear sir, if I owe you anything, I shall pay it with greater pleasure than you will receive it.”

“I’ll bet you won’t! I want to see Mr. Bristlebach. I don’t think he likes to have his clerks run up bills for teams, and not pay for them.”

“All right; you can see Mr. Bristlebach, if you wish. He is in the director’s room. Shall I introduce you to him?”

“I want to see him if you are not going to pay me.”

“Haven’t I told you that I should take great pleasure in paying you, if I owe you anything. It had slipped my mind that I owed you’ a bill, though now it comes to me that there is a small balance due you.”

“A small balance! You owe me sixty-two dollars!”

“Well, I call that a small balance. In the bank we deal in big figures. How long have I owed you sixty-two dollars, Mr. Shaytop?”

“About six months.”

“Exactly so! Have you added interest?”

“No. I shall be glad enough to get the bill, without saying anything about the interest.”

“If I forgot this little matter, it is not right that you should lose anything by my neglect. Add the interest to your bill, and I will pay it.”

“That’s what you said every time I asked you for the money—all but the interest.”

“I’m going up to Parker’s for a lunch now. If you will call there in half an hour, I will pay you the bill and the interest,” I continued, glancing at the clock in the bank.

“If you mean so, I’ll be there.”

“Don’t insult me, Mr. Shaytop.”

“I’ll be there, and if you are not there, I’ll take the next best step.”

He turned on his heel, and left me. It was painfully impressed upon my mind that I must pay that bill, and thus diminish the resources for furnishing the house. But I was something of a philosopher, and I argued that paying this demand would not increase the sum total of my indebtedness; it would only transfer it to the account of the furniture. This thought suggested a new train of ideas. My tailor was bothering me about a little bill I owed him; Uncle Halliard would be asking me again if I did not owe him three hundred dollars; and Tom Flynn would hint that he was short. Why could I not improve my credit by paying off all these debts, and “running my face” for the furniture? It was worthy of consideration as a piece of financial policy.

I went to Parker’s, and ordered “a little lunch” which cost me a dollar and a half. Before I had finished it, Shaytop made his appearance. I never saw a fellow look more doubtful than he did. He evidently believed that he had come on a fool’s errand. Since I could not well avoid paying the bill, I was to have the pleasure of dissolving this illusion in his mind.

“Sit down, Mr. Shaytop,” I began politely, pointing to the chair opposite my own at the table.

“I haven’t much time to spare,” he replied, glancing at the viands before me, perhaps with the ill-natured reflection that this was the way the money went which ought to be used in paying his bill.

“Won’t you have something to eat, Mr. Shaytop; or something to drink, if you please?”

“No, I thank you; I’ve been to dinner, and I never drink anything.”

“Happy to have you eat or drink with me,” I added, coolly.

“I’m in a hurry, Mr. Glasswood.”

“Are you? Well, I’m sorry for that. We don’t live out more than half of our lives on account of always being in a hurry. By the way it seems to me very strange I forgot that little bill of yours. One hundred and sixty-two dollars, I think you said it was?”

“Sixty-two dollars, I said,” he answered as if congratulating himself that it was not the sum I named.

He took the bill from his pocket, and laid it on the table before me.

“Good!” said I, glancing at the document. “I’m a hundred dollars in. I was thinking you said it was a hundred and sixty-two.”

I intimated to the waiter that he might bring me a Charlotte Russe, and he removed the dishes from the table.

“I don’t like to hurry you, Mr. Glasswood, but I ought to be at the stable.”

“O, you are in a hurry! I had quite forgotten that you said so. Well, I will not keep you waiting,” I replied drawing my porte-monnaie from my pocket.

His eyes glistened, and I think he had a hope by this time. I glanced at the bill again.

“You haven’t added the interest,” I continued.

“Never mind the interest.”

“But I am very willing to pay it.”

“Well, you add it. You can figure as fast again as I can.

“Sixty-three, eighty-six,” I replied. “Receipt the bill, Mr. Shaytop.”

He went over to the cashier’s desk and performed this pleasing operation. I think the act gave him an additional hope of receiving his money.

“Perhaps you had just as lief take my due bill for six months for this amount, now that we have added the interest?” I suggested.

“No, I’ll be hanged if I had!” retorted he, very sharply. “Have you brought me up here, and wasted an hour of my time, to give me your note, which isn’t worth the paper you will write it on?”

“You are impudent, Mr. Shaytop.”

“Perhaps I am, but—”

“Never mind; if you don’t want the note, you can have the money. It don’t make much difference to me, though it would be more convenient to pay the bill at another time than now. There isn’t the least need of making use of any strong language.”

“Pay me, and I won’t use any, then.”

I opened my porte-monnaie and took therefrom the roll of bills I had received from Aunt Rachel. A five hundred dollar bill was on the top, and the balance of the pile was in hundreds and fifties. I ran through the bills with professional dexterity, so that he could see the quality of them.

“I can’t make the change, Mr. Shaytop,” I replied, with cool indifference.

I glanced at him. I went up in that man’s estimation from zero to summer heat. He would have trusted me for a span every day in the week for six months. I took out a hundred dollar bill and tossed it over to him. As I suspected, he could not give me the change. He went to the counter and procured smaller bills for it, and gave me the sum coming to me. He had ceased to be in a hurry.

“If you want any more teams, Mr. Glasswood, I think I can fit you out as well as any other stable in the city,” said he, after he had put his wallet back into his pocket.

“I don’t,” I replied, curtly.

“Don’t you ride any now?”

“Yes, just as much as ever; but you see, Mr. Shaytop, I don’t like to be bothered with these small accounts, and to deal with men who think so much of little things,” I answered, magnificently. “You have threatened to speak to Mr. Bristlebach, which you are quite welcome to do; and you intimate that my note is not worth the paper on which it is written.

“I hope you will excuse me for what I said, but I was a little vexed” pleaded he. “I was mistaken in you. The fact of it is, I lost two or three bills—”

“You haven’t lost anything by me, and I don’t intend you shall,” I interposed.

I finished my “little lunch,” rose from the table, and having paid my bill, left the house. Shaytop followed me. He wanted my trade, now that he had seen the inside of my pocket-book. But I shook him off as soon as I desired to do so, and hastened to the store of Buckleton. Confidentially I stated my plan to him, and he was willing to be my bosom friend. In the course of the interview I opened my porte-monnaie, and contrived that he should see the figures on the bank bills it contained. It was surprising how those figures opened his heart.

When I suggested that I was making a large outlay, he volunteered to trust me to any extent I desired. He was kind enough to go with me to the carpet store, and assist me in the selection of the goods I wanted. I insisted upon paying two hundred dollars on account, which made the carpet people astonishingly good-natured to me; and I was taken aback when they offered to give me credit. Buckleton then went with me to the kitchen furnishing store, and his advice helped me very much as I wandered through the long lists of articles. I made the selection and paid the bill.

When we returned to the furniture store, I warmed toward him, and finally prevailed on him to accept two hundred dollars towards the bill I bought of him. He gave me a receipt. When we footed up the prices of the goods I had selected, I was rather startled to find they amounted to nearly eight hundred dollars.

“I can’t afford that!” I protested, “I must go over it again, and take some cheaper articles.”

“It don’t pay to buy cheap furniture, Glasswood,” replied my friend. “You have been very moderate in your selections.”

He overcame my scruples by declaring that I need not pay for the goods till it suited my own convenience. I left him and went back to the bank to count my funds. I had only four hundred and seventy dollars left. I could not pay off the six hundred of old debts now; so I left the matter open for further consideration.

The carpet people went to work immediately, and in a week all the rooms were ready for the furniture. Buckleton was so obliging as to go to the house himself and arrange the chairs, tables, bedsteads and other articles. The kitchen furniture was all put in the closets, hung up on the walls, or otherwise disposed of, so that the place looked like an occupied home. I had sheets, pillow-cases, towels, and other articles made up, and in three weeks the English basement-house looked as cosey as the heart of a bank officer could desire.

But fearful inroads had been made upon my exchequer. The carpet people made up a total bill of three hundred and thirty dollars; and when I hinted that I might possibly find it necessary to avail myself of their offer to give me credit, they had a note to pay and wanted the cash. I was too magnificent to haggle. I settled their bill—and cursed them in my heart. When I had paid everything except the six hundred I owed Buckleton, I had only ninety dollars in my pocket.

I was alarmed. A cold sweat stood on my forehead as I added up the items and found that I was twelve hundred dollars in debt. The situation worried me for a few days, but I soon became accustomed to it. I consoled myself with the hope that the bank would raise my salary, though I could pay off the debts with my present income in three years. It would all come out right in the end, and it was useless to worry about the matter.

I didn’t worry long. The English basement house, all furnished, new and elegant, with a Biddy in the kitchen, was a joy which could not be ignored. If it had cost me nearly fifteen hundred dollars to furnish the house, I had that amount of property on hand, and my debts were really no more than before. The house was ready for my wife, and I proposed to her, one afternoon, when all was ready, to take a walk with me.

CHAPTER V.

LILIAN ASTONISHED—SO AM I.

IN spite of the doubts and fears which had disturbed me, I was delighted with the English basement house and already in anticipation I enjoyed the surprise of Lilian, when I should tell her that the beautiful home was her own. I asked her to walk with me, but she was a little fretful that day; somehow she seemed more like “dear ma” than I had ever seen her before.

“I don’t want to walk to-day, Paley. I’m tired,” she replied, with a languid air.

“I only wish to go a little way,” I added.

“Not to-day, Paley.”

“I want to show you a house, Lilian.”

“A house!” she exclaimed with something like an abused expression on her beautiful face, as though she half suspected the treason towards “dear ma” which I was meditating.

“I saw a little English basement house in Needham street, which I would like to have you look at, just as a curiosity, you know,” I continued, with as much indifference as I could assume.

“Why do you wish me to see it, Paley?” she asked, exhibiting more interest and apparently forgetting that she was tired.

“Well, because I saw it, and liked the looks of it. There can be no harm in seeing it.”

“I don’t know, Paley,” she answered, doubtfully; but whatever suspicions she cherished, she could have no idea of the truth, “We will go some other day.”

“But we may not have the opportunity another day. I happen to know that the house is open to-day.”

What do you mean, Paley? You look just as though you were planning something.”

“So I am. I am planning a little walk that will not take half an hour of your time.”

“Something worse than that,” she added, shaking her head.

“I was thinking that, some time or other, we might possibly go to housekeeping.”

“Well, I suppose we shall, some time or other,” she answered, languidly. “But I hope you are not thinking of doing it yet awhile. I can’t bear the thought of leaving dear ma; we are so pleasantly situated here.”

To use a vulgar expression, “I did not see it.” I was not wicked enough to attempt to prejudice my darling against “dear ma,” and I felt obliged to manage the matter with care. But, as the shock could not long be deferred, I might as well make some approaches.

“Of course we are situated pleasantly enough here; but you know, Lilian, that you said we must go to housekeeping.”

“Certainly, we must go to housekeeping in time, but not yet.”

“But you know that your mother was kind enough to take us to board only till we could complete our arrangements. She is very obliging, and I am very grateful to her for the favor; but I don’t think it would be right for us to impose ourselves upon her any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

“O—well—of course not; but it will be very hard for me to go away from home.”

“We need not go far; indeed, not so far but that you can call upon her every day. My conscience reproaches me when I think of the trouble we are giving her.”

“She does not complain.”

“She will not complain, but at the same time it is not right for us to remain here, under the circumstances, any longer than we are compelled to do so. You know she said she should not think of taking any body else to board; and after she has been so kind to us, we ought to be considerate enough not to trespass upon her goodness.”

“I will speak to her about the matter; and if she really does not wish to keep us, why, we’ll leave,” added Lilian.

“But, my dear, you must not forget that she is your mother, and that she will make any sacrifice for your sake, even to her own great injury. It is a matter of conscience with me; and I do not feel like asking her to make this sacrifice of comfort any longer than necessary. Our coming here was only a temporary arrangement, you know, and whatever she may say, our being here will give her a great deal of trouble and anxiety. Come, Lilian, dearest, put on your bonnet. It will do no harm to look at the house. It is already rented to a young couple who are just going to housekeeping,” I continued; but I did not think it necessary to say who the young couple were, and she did not seem to care enough about it to ask me.

“If the house is let, why do you wish me to see it?” she inquired.

“I want to get at your ideas in regard to a house,” I replied, ingeniously.

She looked at me, and seemed to have some doubts, but she probably reasoned that the house was already rented, and there could be no treason against “dear ma” in merely looking at it. She put on her bonnet and shawl. When my hand was on the door the ever watchful Mrs. Oliphant appeared, and wished to know whether we should be back to tea.

We should; but this was not enough. Lilian was not very well, and she must not walk too far. We were only going around to Needham street, and should return in half an hour. If Lilian was going to call on the Trescotts, why had she not told her mother, for both owed them a call? We did not intend to call on the Trescotts; we were only going out for a little walk. If we were going to walk, why were we particular in saying that we were going through Needham street? There was some treason in Needham street, and Lilian was forced to say that we desired to see a house which was already leased to a young couple who were going to housekeeping.

“Dear ma” looked uneasy, but she permitted us to depart. I was afraid she would insist upon accompanying us, as I think she would, had she not been satisfied by the assurance that the house was already leased. We walked to Needham street. I was full of hope. Lilian would like the English basement house—she could not help liking it, and what a rapturous moment would it be when I told her that it was all her own! Even the anticipated battle with “dear ma” seemed to be farther removed and of much less consequence than before. We approached the house, and my heart beat high with transports of delight. In a few days, perhaps the very next day, I should see the idol of my soul enthroned within its walls!

With Lilian leaning lovingly on my arm, I halted at No. 21. On the door, to my intense confusion and disgust, glittered a new silver plate whereon was inscribed the name,”P. Glasswood,” not in Old English, German text, or any other letter which he who runs may not often read, but in plain script! I had told the maker not to put it on the door for a week; but he had misunderstood me, or had taken it upon himself to defeat my plan.

“P. Glasswood!”—exclaimed dear Lilian, stunned and horrified, so that the shock she had thrilled my whole frame.

“Certainly; P. Glasswood,” I interposed, promptly. “You know Pierce—don’t you, Lilian? I think you saw him when we were at Springhaven. He is only a second cousin of mine, but he is a good fellow.”

“I didn’t know you had a cousin of that name,” she replied, much comforted.

As I did not know it myself, I did not blame her for not being aware of the circumstance. I opened the door, and we went in, for I had already provided myself with a night key—that gross metallic sin against a wife. Of course the house and furniture were at their best estate. Every thing was new, nice and elegant. The hall gave the first cheerful impression of the house, and Lilian was delighted with it. The little sitting-room was so cosy and snug that my wife actually cried out with pleasure.

The parlors and the chambers were equally satisfactory, and Lilian thought my cousin would be very happy with his bride in this new house. We proceeded to the kitchen, where the Biddy in charge smiled benignantly upon her new “missus,” though, she did not betray the secret she had been instructed to keep. My wife was not so much interested in the kitchen as in the parlor and sitting-room, but she was kind enough to say that every thing was neat and convenient, though I am afraid she was hardly a judge on the latter point. We returned to the sitting-room, and my wife seated herself in the low rocking-chair which had been selected for her use.

“How do you like it on the whole, Lilian?” I asked, dropping into the arm-chair, in which I intended to read the Transcript every evening.

“I think it is real nice,” she replied, with a degree of enthusiasm which fully rewarded me for all the pains I had taken, and the anxiety I had suffered.

“I’m glad you like it, Lilian. I like it exceedingly, and I am glad to find our tastes are one and the same.”

“I don’t mean to say that, if I were going to housekeeping, I wouldn’t have some things different,” she added.

“But you think you could contrive to exist in a house like this?”

“Why, yes; I like it very much indeed.”

“Then it is yours Lilian!” I added, rising from my arm-chair, as I precipitated the climax upon her.

“What do you mean, Paley?” she asked, bewildered by my words.

“This house and all that it contains are ours, dearest Lilian.”

“I thought you said it was your cousin’s.”

“So I did, Lilian; but that was only a little fiction to aid me in giving you a delightful surprise. This house is yours, my dear, and all that it contains, including myself, and Biddy in the kitchen.”

“Is it possible? Do you mean so, Paley?”

“I do; every word, syllable, letter and point, including the crossing of the t’s and the dotting of the i’s, of what I say is true. The house and all that it contains are ours.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“Well, dearest, it is plain enough. Not only to give you a pleasant surprise, but to save you all trouble and anxiety, I have hired the house and furnished it.”

“You have, Paley?”

“I have, dearest Lilian! How happy we shall be in our new home.”

“I don’t think so!”

Certainly Lilian had been duly and properly astonished. It was my turn now, and I was, if possible, more astonished than she had been. She did not think so! What an unwarrantable conclusion!

“You don’t think so, Lilian?” I added, interrogatively.

“No, I don’t! If you begin in this way we can never be happy.”

“Why not?”

“In the first place, I don’t want to go to housekeeping yet.”

“But I thought you did. The plan has been from the beginning, since we could not get board at the Revere or in Beacon Street, to go to housekeeping,” I replied, with rather more sharpness than I had ever before found it necessary to use to dear Lilian.

She was evidently angry, and her eyes glowed like diamonds in the sunlight. But she never looked so pretty as she did at that moment when her face was rouged with natural roses, and her eyes appeared like a living soul.

“Do you think, Paley, that I want to go to housekeeping in a little, narrow contracted box like this?” she added.

“I thought you liked the house, dearest Lilian.”

“I like it very well for Mrs. Pierce Glasswood, but not for Mrs. Paley Glasswood.”

“I am sorry you don’t like it, for it is too late now to recede,” I replied, gasping for breath. “I was sure it would please you.”

“It don’t!”

“What possible fault can you find with it?”

“It don’t suit me. How could you do such a thing, Paley, as to hire a house and furnish it, without saying a word to me?”

By this time I had come to the conclusion that it was very stupid in me to do it.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you have surprised me,” she snapped, with such a sweet expression of contempt that I was almost annihilated. “Do you think a lady has no will of her own? No taste, no judgment, no fancy? How could you be so ridiculous as to furnish a house without asking my advice? Could you have found a homelier carpet in Boston, if you had looked for one, than this very carpet under our feet?”

“Buckleton said it was the handsomest one in the city, and the neatest pattern.”

“Then Buckleton has no taste. No one can select a carpet for a woman. What did you put that cold oil-cloth on the entry for? I should think you imported it from the polar regions on purpose to give me a chill every time I see it! The figure in the parlor carpet is large enough for a room a hundred feet square. That great blundering tete-a-tete is fit for a bar-room, but not for a parlor. There is no end to the absurdities in this house.”

“Now, really, dearest Lilian, I was sure you would be pleased with every thing,” I pleaded.

“You are a stupid, Paley Glasswood.”

I agreed with her.

“I am very sorry, Lilian; but I did everything with the hope of pleasing you.”

“Now here’s a pretty kettle of fish!” exclaimed my indignant bride. “What can we do?”

“I can’t alter the house, my dear, but I can change the furniture so as to suit you, though doing so will be very expensive,” I continued, meekly, as I endeavored to conciliate her.

We had been married only about four months, and the present occasion looked very much like a quarrel. I had not had the remotest suspicion that she was so spunky. It did occur to me that she was slightly unreasonable, if one so beautiful could be unreasonable. Her father was as poor as a church mouse. His house, as I have hinted, was meanly furnished, and certainly neither the house nor the furniture was worthy to be compared with the one I had provided for my little wife. She had no reason for putting on airs, and being so fiercely critical about the carpets and the chairs. They were vastly better than she had ever had at home.

“Do you think I will live in this house, Paley Glasswood?” said she, with her lips compressed and her eyes snapping with indignation.

“Why, I hope so,” I replied, more astonished than she had been at any time during the visit to the new house.

“You are mistaken, Paley Glasswood. I am your wife, but not your slave; I am not to be dragged from my home when and where you please. You ought to have told me what you intended to do in the beginning.”

“I know it now; and I confess that I was wrong,” I replied, with due humility, and, I may add, with perfect sincerity. “I hope you will forgive me, this time Lilian, and I will never be guilty of such an offence again.”

“I should hope not. But here we are! What’s to be done with this house and furniture?”

“Why, my dear, won’t you go to housekeeping with me?”

“Certainly not, in this house,” she answered, with a flourish.

This announcement was very startling to me. It was appalling to think that I had expended fifteen hundred in preparing a cage which the bird refused to occupy. Intensely as I loved, adored Lilian, I could not help seeing that she was developing a trait of character which I did not like. But I was a politic man, and seeing how useless it was to attempt to argue the matter while she was in her present frame of mind, I had to keep still. We left the house and walked home. For the first time since we were married she declined to take my arm, and I began to be very miserable. Somehow it seemed to me that the meeker I was, and the more I deprecated her wrath, the greater became her objection to the house.

“What shall I say to dear ma?” demanded Lilian, after she had thrown off her things.

“My dear, you need not say a word to her. I will do all this unpleasant business myself,” I replied. “You can lay all the blame upon me. I will tell her that we are going to our new house to-morrow.”

“You needn’t tell her any such thing, for I am not.”

Before we had proceeded any farther with the discussion Mrs. Oliphant entered the room. The battle was imminent.

CHAPTER VI.

A FAMILY JAR.

I DID not feel at all at ease when Mrs. Oliphant entered the room. I was entirely willing to be conquered and trodden under the little feet of the fair Lilian, but I was not so ready to be trampled upon by the unromantic feet of “dear ma.” I was conscious that my pretty wife was getting the weather-gage of me—that she had already got it, in fact. I was not disposed to complain of this, but I intended, if possible, to out-manœuvre Mrs. Oliphant. I regarded Lilian as “my family,” and I wished to have her “set off” from my mother-in-law.

In spite of all the strong talk which my lovely wife had used in regard to the English basement house, I confidently expected that she would take her place in the new home I had provided for her. If she was dissatisfied with it, she would soon love it for my sake, if not for its own. But I was sure she did not rebel on her own account; it was the influence of her mother which had controlled her. I accepted the theory that the queen’s majesty could do no wrong. If anything was not right, it was the fault of the ministers.

After I had permitted her to say all she had to say, and to exhaust her vocabulary of invective, she would quietly submit to the new house, move in, be as happy as a queen in a short time, and wonder how she had ever thought the little snuggery was not a palace. I had made a fearful expenditure in preparing the house for her; I had thrust my head into the jaws of the monster Debt, and I must make the best of the situation.

“Ma,” said Lilian, as her mother entered the room, “what do you suppose Paley has done?”

The poor child looked at the faded carpet as she spoke, hardly daring to raise her eyes to the maternal visage. I hoped she contrasted the hueless fabric on the floor with those bright colors which gleamed from her own carpet in the Needham street house.

“Why, what has he done?” asked Mrs. Oliphant, with a theatrical start, which was modified by a tiger smile bestowed upon me.

“He has hired a house?” replied Lilian, with a gasping sigh, which was simply intended as convincing evidence that she was not implicated in the nefarious transaction.

Mrs. Oliphant.

“Hired a house!” exclaimed Mrs. Oliphant; and her sigh was genuine, and not intended for effect.

“And furnished it too!” added Lilian, with horror, as she piled up the details of my hideous wickedness.

“And furnished it too!” groaned poor Mrs. Oliphant, sinking into a chair, as though she had reached the depth of despair in the gulf into which my infamous conduct had plunged her.

“He did not say a word to me about the house or furniture until this very afternoon!” continued my beautiful wife, holding up both her pretty white hands the better to emphasize her astonishment and chagrin.

“Of course, if you desire to leave your own pleasant home, Lilian, it is not for me to say a word,” added the meek mamma, with another sigh, which seemed to measure the depth of the resignation that could submit to such an outrage.

“But I do not desire to leave my pleasant home,” protested Lilian. “I never had such a thought. I am sure, I have been so happy here that I never dreamed of another home, as long as you were willing to keep us, mother.”

“You have been very kind indeed to us, Mrs. Oliphant,” I ventured to remark, though I was not certain that the time had come for me to defend myself. “I feel very grateful to you for the sacrifice you have made to accommodate us; and I am sure I shall never forget it.”

“A mother lives for her children alone,” sighed Mrs. Oliphant. “Even when they are married she cannot lose her interest in them.”

“Certainly not, madam; especially not in so good a daughter as Lilian.”

“It is hard enough to have them removed by marriage from the direct influence of a mother, and to feel that she is no longer a mother in the sense she has been.”

I thought that Mrs. Oliphant had submitted to the marriage of her daughter with tolerable resignation, and would even permit the other two to go to the sacrifice without rebelling against the dictates of fate.

“Of course she can never be entirely removed from a mother’s influence,” I replied, wishing that she could. “You have been very kind and considerate toward us since we were married—to me for Lilian’s sake.”

“And for your own,” she interposed.

“I trust I shall never be ungrateful. I feel called upon to explain my conduct,” I continued. “You remember, when we returned from our bridal tour that something was said about boarding. We could not find such accommodations as we desired, and you were so kind as to offer to accommodate us till we could obtain a house, or make other arrangements.”

“Yes, I remember,” replied Mrs. Oliphant. “I don’t take boarders, but I was willing to do what I could for Lilian’s comfort and happiness.”

“You were, madam; and I was very grateful to you for your consideration, both to Lilian and to me. You intimated that it would not be convenient for you to take us to board, but you were willing to sacrifice your own comfort and your own feelings to oblige us. I was very sorry indeed that the circumstances compelled us to trespass upon your kindness. You did us a favor for which I shall never cease to be grateful. But I did not feel willing to compel you to submit to the inconvenience of boarding us any longer than was absolutely necessary. My gratitude compelled me, when I found a house, to take it, and relieve you at once from all the care and responsibility which your self-sacrificing nature had imposed upon you.”

“And without even permitting me to see the house in which I was to live!” exclaimed Lilian, coming to the assistance of her mother, who seemed to be thrown into disorder by my tactics.

“I did not suppose it was possible for any one, even with your refined taste, Lilian, to object to such a beautiful little house. But I was obliged to hire it on the instant, or lose it. Another man would have taken it in less than half an hour. It is so near your mother’s that you can come to see her half-a-dozen times a day, if you please.”

“But I will never live in that house,” protested Lilian, with more energy than I thought the occasion required, though I could not help adoring her while her cheeks glowed and her eyes snapped.

“Don’t say that, dear Lilian. You should endeavor to conform to the wishes of your husband,” mildly interposed the suffering parent. “Doubtless he has done all for the best, and perhaps you will like the house, after all.”

“I know I never shall like it,” snapped the divine Lilian; which was as much as to say that she was fully determined not to like it.

“Mrs. Oliphant, would you do me the favor to walk over to the house with me?” I suggested to the affectionate mother.

“No; I would rather not. I never step between man and wife,” replied she, with praiseworthy resolution. “I do not wish to see the house. This is an affair between you and Lilian, and it is my duty to be strictly neutral.”

“But I hope you appreciate my motives?”

“I can not say that I do,” she answered. “I think a man should consult his wife before he hires and furnishes the house in which she is to spend a great deal more time than her husband.”

I wish to say to my readers that I heartily endorse Mrs. Oliphant’s position. A man ought to consult his wife about the house in which she is to spend more of her time than he. It is eminently proper, right and just that he should do so; but I beg to call the attention of the critic to my unfortunate position. Lilian was an angel (in my estimation); her mother was not an angel. The daughter was a mere doll—I am writing after the lapse of years. She was completely under the control of her mother. What I suspected then, I knew afterwards—that Mrs. Oliphant intended to have us as permanent boarders.

Mr. Oliphant had long been running behind-hand under the heavy expenses of his extravagant family. Something must be done to eke out his failing income, or the two unmarried daughters could no longer hold their position in society. They must dress, or be banished by their own vanity from the circle in which they moved—a circle which contained husbands. They could not take strangers as boarders, for the house was not fit to accommodate them; but a son-in-law would submit in silence, while a stranger would rebel. I was the victim.

If I proposed housekeeping, my plan would be condemned, as another boarding-place had been already. Perhaps I persuaded myself into the belief, under the necessities of the occasion, that I was hiring and furnishing the English basement house as a pleasant surprise to Lilian. If I did, it was a comfortable delusion, for it was really only a scheme to escape from the clutches of my mother-in-law, and to avoid the martyrdom of my situation on Tremont street. Perhaps the reader will forgive me after this explanation. If he does not, it is not the worst of my errors, and I would thank God most devoutly if I had no graver sin to answer for.

I told Mrs. Oliphant that I had hired a house which was rather better than I could afford; that I had furnished it at an expense which was beyond my means, in order to please Lilian. I said something more about the “pleasant surprise,” and was positive that no bank officer of my degree had so fine an establishment. I repeated all I had said about not imposing upon her self-sacrificing nature. But all I said seemed to fall flat upon her ear. She was not touched by my devotion to her daughter; on the contrary she was disgusted with me, as I read her sentiments in her face, for she did not utter them.

Lilian felt that she had an able champion in her mother, and she said but little. Still professing entire impartiality, Mrs. Oliphant read me a lecture on the impropriety of my conduct, frequently interpolating the discourse with the statement that it was none of her business though, as I had asked her advice (which I had not), she felt obliged to be candid with me. She and Lilian seemed to understand each other perfectly, and while the latter resolutely refused to occupy the house I had prepared for her reception, the former mildly and often declared that a wife should submit to her husband. Lilian knew what to say so as not to implicate her mother in any improper remarks. I think my wife loved me almost as much as she feared her mother. I am sure that she would have accepted the situation with pleasure, if she had not been under her “dear ma’s” influence.

What could I do? I had well-nigh ruined myself in fitting up the house. I was vexed, and as the conversation proceeded I began to grow impatient. Finally I left the house to buy some cigars, I said, but in reality to find an opportunity to think over my situation. I did think it over, and I did not buy any cigars, for I was not allowed to smoke them, even in the kitchen. Lilian would yield at once, if she could escape her mother’s influence. As it was, I must fight the battle with both of them.

I walked across the Common, thinking what I should do. If I submitted this time, I should not only be obliged to bear the privations to which the Oliphants subjected themselves in order to maintain their social position, but I must forever be the willing slave of “dear ma.” I could not endure the thought. If the family chose to live on tough beef and salt fish, it was their affair, not mine. I could not stand it, and the result of my deliberations was that I decided not to stand it. I went back to the house, stiffened for any thing that might occur, though it almost broke my heart to think of opposing Lilian.

“Perhaps the person who wanted the house you have hired would be willing to take it now, and purchase the furniture you have put into it?” suggested Mrs. Oliphant, when the subject was resumed.

Perhaps he would; but my idea just then was that he would not have the opportunity to do so.

“I think not; the party who wanted it would have furnished it at half the expense I have incurred,” I replied.

“Couldn’t you let it as a furnished house?” she added.

“My lease does not permit me to underlet it.”

“I think it would be cruel to take Lilian away from her own pleasant home, when she wishes to remain here so much,” continued Mrs. Oliphant, a little more sharply than she had yet spoken. “But, of course, it is none of my business and I do not wish to interfere between you.”

After supper, I saw Lilian alone in our room. She was as resolute as a little tiger. She positively refused to go into the English basement house, or to have anything to do with it.

“I think you have insulted my mother,” she added.

“Insulted her!” I exclaimed, rather startled by this new charge which had evidently been put into her brain by “dear ma.”

“She has made her arrangements to board us, and now you want to go away.”

“She hasn’t made any arrangements at all. Not an article of furniture has been added to the house.”

“She says she has; and I think she knows best,” retorted Lilian, sharply.

“You have spoken to me every day for a month about furnishing our room.”

“I think we ought to furnish it.”

“And pay thirty dollars a week for our board! I don’t think so,” I replied; and this was almost the first time I had ventured to disagree with her.

“Mother says she boards us cheaper than any body else would,” snapped my pretty one. “Now you insult her for her kindness to us.”

“I have already explained my position to her. I did not mean to insult her, and I don’t think my conduct will bear that construction. But, Lilian, the house in Needham Street is all ready for us. I have even hired a servant girl, who is there now.”

“I will not go into it, Paley. If you wish to abuse my mother you can, but I will not. I am sorry you have ceased to love me.”

“I have not ceased to love you, Lilian,” I replied, putting my arm around her neck and kissing her.

Then I went over the whole argument again, and if I did not convince her that I had not insulted or wronged her mother, it was because her fears set logic at naught.

“You will sell the furniture, and give up the house—won’t you, Paley?” said she, in her most fascinating way.

“I would if I could Lilian, but the die is cast. I must go, or I am ruined.”

Suddenly, in a fit of passion, she shook my arm from her neck and shrunk from me.

“For the last time, Paley, I say it, I will never go into that house,” said she, angrily.

“I am sorry, Lilian,” I replied, sadly. “You do not act like the loving wife you have always been.”

“I will not be insulted any longer.”

“Very well, Lilian; I am going to move into the new house to-morrow.”

“What!” exclaimed she, aghast, for she evidently did not believe me capable of such rebellion.

“I shall go to the new house to-morrow, after bank hours. If you will not go with me, I cannot help it; and I must go alone.”

“Do you mean to say that you will desert me?” gasped she.

“Lilian, I will not pretend to say that what I have done is right, though I did it to please you. I have provided you a house much better than the home of your parents. I have done everything I could to make it comfortable and pleasant. I am sorry I did this without your knowledge, but it is done, and cannot be undone. If you will live in the house for a year or so, and then are not happy, I will leave it. I can do no more to please you.”

“I will not move into it!” said she, more bitterly than ever.

I went out of the house, and walked the streets till eleven o’clock at night in utter misery. I returned home. Lilian told me ever so many things her mother had said, and was firmer than ever. The next morning when I went to the bank, I felt like a hopeless martyr.

“Mr. Bristlebach wishes to see you in the director’s room, Mr. Glasswood,” said the messenger to me.

The president looked stern when I entered the room, and I realized that some charge was pending against me.

CHAPTER VII.

A SHADOW OF SUSPICION.

I HAD not sinned against the bank in thought, word, or deed, and I had no fears of the result of an interview with the president. All my sorrows related to my domestic difficulty, which was hardly banished from my mind for a moment, though I did try to imagine what Mr. Bristlebach could possibly want of me. Whatever pecuniary trouble stared me in the face, I had never even been tempted to appropriate a penny belonging to the bank.

“Mr. Glasswood, I have sent for you,” said Mr. Bristlebach, sternly.

“Yes, sir; and I am here,” I replied, very respectfully.

“When did you balance your cash last?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Did it come out right?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, with the utmost confidence.

“Close the door, if you please.”

I did so, and though Mr. Bristlebach did not often take the trouble to spare any one’s feelings, this order looked ominous to me. I would give all my earthly hopes at this moment for the consciousness of the rectitude of my character which I possessed at that time. I shut the door, and took my stand again in the august presence of the great man—he was great to me, if he was not to others.

“Mr. Glasswood!” continued Mr. Bristlebach, sternly.

I bowed meekly, to intimate that I was ready to hear anything he pleased to say.

“Your cash is not right.”

“It was right yesterday, at three o’clock,” I answered.

“If it was right at three, it was not at five. I advise you, Mr. Glasswood, to make no denials to any statement which you know to be true. You are a defaulter, sir!”

Troubles never come singly. It was not enough that I should quarrel with my angelic wife, but I must cross swords with Mr. Bristlebach, who was far from angelic. I might as well find the deep water off Long Wharf and drown myself. What would Lilian say if I did? Would she care? Or would she be only shocked? Bad as it was, the affair at the bank did not seem half so desperate as the quarrel with Lilian. I bowed my head meekly to Mr. Bristlebach’s charge. I was innocent, and it did not make much difference to me what the president said. Under the shadow as I was of a heavier woe than this, it really did not seem worth while to defend myself.

“I say you are a defaulter, Mr. Glasswood,” repeated the president, more severely than before.

“No, sir, I am not,” I answered, very mildly.

“Have you the effrontery to deny the charge?”

“Yes, sir, I have.”

“You have robbed the bank of twelve hundred dollars, at least; and how much more I don’t know.”

“No, sir; I have not robbed the bank of twelve hundred dollars; nor of even a single cent.”

“I am surprised that you should have the hardihood to deny the charge. Shall I call on your uncle, who is one of your bondsmen?”

“If you please, I do not object,” I replied; and I think I should not have objected to any thing.

“Perhaps you will make the bank good yourself?” sneered Mr. Bristlebach.

“I don’t owe the bank a penny, sir.”

“Mr. Glasswood—sit down!”

I sat down.

“Listen to me, sir!”

I listened.

“I have worked up the case, and understand it perfectly. I am informed that three or four weeks ago you had in your pocket several hundred dollars—perhaps a thousand dollars or more,” continued Mr. Bristlebach, whose looks as well as his words were intended to carry confusion to my soul. “Will you do me the favor to say whether or not this statement is true?”

“Quite true, sir. The sum in my pocket-book was one thousand dollars,” I replied, beginning to gather up a little light on the subject.

“A thousand dollars! Very well, sir! I am glad you have not the effrontery to deny it. Bank officers in your situation do not usually carry a thousand dollars about with them.”

“I do, when I have it to carry, sir.”

“Don’t be impudent, Mr. Glasswood. Will you deny that this sum was abstracted from the funds of the bank?”

“Certainly I shall deny it, sir. Did Mr. Shaytop inform you that I had taken it from the bank?”

“Who said anything about Mr. Shaytop?” demanded he, sternly.

“I did, sir. It is not very manly in him to accuse me of stealing simply because I refused to hire any more teams of him. Since I was married I have found it necessary to curtail my expenses.”

“Do not attempt to dodge the issue, sir.”

“I am ready to look the issue fairly in the face.”

“You had this money. You confess it.”

“I affirm it. I don’t confess it.”

“Since you had it, perhaps you will not deem it impertinent in me to ask where you got it?” sneered Mr. Bristlebach, who seemed to be as certain that I had robbed the bank as though he had already proved the charge.

“Under the circumstances, sir, I should not deem it impertinent,” I replied coolly; and, under the influence of my domestic trouble, I felt rather reckless.

“Well, sir, where did you get it?”

“I borrowed it.”

“Precisely so! Borrowed it of the bank!”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Bristlebach, but there is a wide gulf between my premise and your conclusion. I did not borrow the money of the bank. If I had, doubtless the paper I offered would have passed under your eyes.”

“Mr. Glasswood, your tone and manner do not please me.”

“I hope you will excuse me, sir, if I venture to say that the charge you make against me does not please me.”

“Will you tell me of whom you borrowed the money?”

“With pleasure, sir. Of my Aunt Rachel.”

Mr. Bristlebach looked at me; looked sharply at me. He seemed to be a little staggered at something, though, of course, I did not suppose he believed me. He asked me twenty questions about my aunt, all of which I answered with a greater regard for the truth than I was sometimes in the habit of paying to that sublime virtue.

“Mr. Glasswood, your cash is twelve hundred dollars short,” he added.

“I was not aware of the fact,” I replied.

“After you went away yesterday, I made a strict examination of your department, and you have heard the result.”

I was surprised at the announcement, and of course I could not disprove the assertion.

“I can only say, sir, that I left it right at three o’clock yesterday,” I added.

“Do you doubt my statement?”

“Certainly not, sir; but I do not understand it.”

“The fact that you had a thousand dollars, or any large sum about you, and that you recklessly exhibited it in the dining-room of a hotel, was quite enough to excite my suspicions.”

“If I had stolen the money, I think I should not have been so stupid as to exhibit it. If I know myself, I should not.”

“But you did show it.”

“I did show it; but it was not stolen.”

“I think it was; and when I heard of the circumstances, I spent my afternoon here in making the investigation. Perhaps you can put me in the way of verifying your statement that you borrowed the money of your aunt?”

“I shall be very glad to do so. My aunt lives in Springhaven. She will show you my note.”

“Even if she does show me your note, and it is fully proved that you borrowed a thousand dollars of her, that will not explain how your cash happens to be twelve hundred dollars short.”

“Perhaps I can explain that myself, if you will allow me to examine my drawer,” I replied.

Just then a light flashed through my mind, and I recalled an incident which had occurred just after the closing of the bank on the preceding day, which my private griefs had driven out of my head. I understood it all then, and I was satisfied that I should utterly confound Mr. Bristlebach, though I was, at the same time, in danger of confounding the cashier. But the clock was striking nine, and it was time to open the bank. There was not time to count the cash again, and I did not care to expose a little irregularity on the part of the cashier, by telling what I knew.

Mr. Bristlebach bit his lips and looked at the clock. Through the glass windows of the directors’ room, he saw a man come in with a check in his hand. He was evidently deliberating upon the propriety of permitting me to discharge my duties for the forenoon. We were one hand short, and there was no one to take my place.

“Mr. Glasswood, you will not go out of the bank, even for a moment, until this matter is settled. Go to your place, and as soon as the bank closes, we will count the cash again in your presence.”

I went to my station, after taking my drawer from the safe. I was now not quite willing to believe that the president considered me guilty. If he did, he would not trust me with the funds of the bank, though he had forbidden me to leave the building. I proceeded in the discharge of my duties as usual, but I soon discovered that the eyes of my superiors were upon me, and if I had been disposed to indulge in a coup d’etat, I was too closely watched to permit it to be a success.

Within half an hour after the opening of the bank, the cashier handed me twelve hundred dollars in payment for a draft, which had been placed in my keeping, and which I had deposited in the safe. Just after the bank closed the day before, he had accommodated a friend from my department, by giving him the cash for this draft on a bank, which, for some reasons best known to its officers, declined to pay it after bank hours. It is not for me to discuss the propriety of this action on the part of my superior. It was irregular, and the cashier was personally responsible for his conduct. The draft had been handed to me, and I included it in my cash in balancing.

I learned that the cashier had not been present when the president counted my cash. The book-keeper and receiving teller had assisted him, and as the draft was not in my drawer, the amount appeared to be a deficit on my part. It was very strange to me that I did not think of this transaction sooner.

Perhaps if my family trouble had not perplexed me, I should have done so. But it came to my mind soon enough to correct the impression in the mind of the president, if I had not chosen to suffer rather than betray the irregularity of my superior.

“That makes it all right,” said the cashier, as he slipped the bills into my drawer, rather slyly.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Heavyside,” I replied, in a low tone, for Mr. Bristlebach seemed to be all eyes and ears on this forenoon.

“What do you mean, Glasswood?” he asked.

“What time did you leave the bank yesterday?”

“About three. I went out to ride with my wife.”

“Where do you get your teams?”

“Of Shaytop. Why do you ask?”

“My cash was examined yesterday afternoon, after both of us left; and I am charged with a deficit of twelve hundred dollars.”

“Whew!” whistled Heavyside, more alarmed than I was.

He stood by my side at the counter while I told him that Shaytop “had put a flea into the ear of the president” on my account.

“The scoundrel! I will never drive another of his teams!” exclaimed the cashier.

Shaytop was not likely to make much by his snivelling operation, which was too mean for any gentleman to appreciate. There was no ground for a charge against me, and I think the stable-keeper made it out of pure malice.

“I said nothing to Mr. Bristlebach about the draft,” I continued; “and he still thinks the cash is twelve hundred dollars short.”

“This is bad,” said he, biting his lips with vexation.

I paid a check, and the cashier walked away to his desk. I saw that he was much disturbed. He was an honest man, in the ordinary sense of the word, and the worst which could be said of the transaction in which he was implicated was that it was simply irregular. He came to me again soon.

“Although this affair amounts to nothing at all, it will cost me my situation, and perhaps my reputation, if the president knows of it,” said he.

“He shall not know of it through me,” I replied.

“Thank you, Glasswood,” he added, warmly; but the conversation was interrupted so that nothing more was said on the subject.

Mr. Bristlebach was a very particular man, but I do not complain of him on this account. It was proper and right that he should be very exact, and even very exacting, in his requirements. Though Mr. Heavyside had no intention of defrauding the bank of a single dollar, he was imprudent. I believe he did not realize the nature of the act when he obliged his friend out of the funds of the institution. I was fully satisfied in regard to his integrity, and I was more disposed to suffer myself than to excite a suspicion against him.

I am willing now to acknowledge that my position was wrong. The truth should have been told in the beginning. Mr. Heavyside might have been censured, as doubtless he ought to have been, but I do not think he would have been discharged. If he had been, perhaps the tendency would have been to make bank officers more circumspect, more inflexible in the discharge of their duties. It is not safe to step over the straight line of duty even for a moment, for there is no knowing how far one may wander on the wrong side of it.

If this incident did not injure him, it paved the way for me to take a long stride down the road to ruin. When he consented to be sheltered from the displeasure of the president by the cunning of his subordinate, he placed himself, to some extent, in my power. A superior should never sacrifice his dignity before a subordinate, and should never place himself in the attitude of dependence upon him.

The business of the bank went on as usual. My griefs at home had robbed me of my appetite, and I had taken no breakfast. I was not permitted to go out for a lunch, and when the doors were closed my empty stomach and my sleepless night had produced an effect upon me. I was pale and faint, but I was too proud to say anything, and my looks told against me. I could hardly stand up, and doubtless Mr. Bristlebach thought he saw in my wan features and trembling frame abundant evidences of my guilt. He looked triumphant.

The examination of my department was commenced at once. The checks paid were called off, and the bills counted. To the intense astonishment of the president, and, I am sorry to add, to his intense chagrin also, the balance came out all right. There was not a dollar missing. Two counts gave the same result. Mr. Bristlebach was compelled to give it up. I persisted that my account had been squared the day before, but I suggested that some papers had been laid upon a few odd bills which had probably escaped his notice in counting—if I had been present the mistake could not have occurred.

The president stumbled through something which he intended for an apology; and while he was doing so, I absolutely fainted away from sheer exhaustion. Mr. Bristlebach was not a bad man, and I am sure he regretted his inconsiderate accusation. I told him I was not very well, and that the satisfactory result of the investigation was all I desired. I did not blame him. I thanked him for his fairness, and all that sort of thing. From that moment he had more confidence in me than ever—and Shaytop lost another customer.

A cup of coffee and a beefsteak set me right, and I started for my miserable home. I was thinking of meeting Lilian, when my uncle, Captain Halliard, stopped me in the street.

“By the way, didn’t I let you have three hundred dollars some months ago?” said he.

“I think you did,” I replied, blandly.

He wanted to talk with me, and led the way into an insurance office.

CHAPTER VIII.

COMING TO THE POINT.

I WAS not pleased at the meeting, and ventured to suggest that I had important business at home; but my uncle gently dragged me into the insurance office. It was not pleasant to see him just then, and for several weeks I had avoided him, so far as it was practicable to do so. Captain Halliard was a rich man, and it could not possibly make any difference to him whether or not I paid the money I owed him. But I knew that he was exacting.

“I think you said you did borrow three hundred dollars of me,” said my uncle, as he seated himself at the long table and took out his pocket-book, evidently for the purpose of finding the note.

“There is no doubt about it,” I replied, with what self-possession I could command.

“Just so; I had forgotten the particulars,” he continued, as he took the note from the papers in his pocket-book.

He might as well have told me that I had forgotten it, as that he had; but I am sorry to say that both of us had a bad habit of pretending not to remember what, from the nature of the case, must have been uppermost in the mind. It was a stupid and ridiculous affectation. My creditors were often in my mind, and I am sure his debtors were as faithfully remembered.

“I am not prepared to pay the note just now,” I began, with more candor than I generally used.

“But, Paley, it is three or four months since I lent you the money; and you promised to pay it in a few weeks.”

His memory was improving wonderfully.

“I have just furnished my house, uncle, and that cost me a good deal of money,” I pleaded.

“But you got trusted for that,” said he, sharply.

“For only a small portion of it,” I answered, wondering how he could know that I owed any thing.

“Paley, how much do you owe?” he demanded.

“O, only a few hundred dollars! I don’t know precisely how much, but not more than I can pay in a short time.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” replied he, rather dryly. “In how short a time?”

“In a few weeks.”

“That won’t do. When I lend money to any one I expect him to pay me, whether friend or foe, in the family or out of it. I’m afraid you are getting along a little too fast.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Your wife is rather extravagant, I’m told.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Where have you taken a house.”

“In Needham street.”

“Humph! What do you pay for it?”

“Six hundred dollars.”

“Six hundred dollars!” exclaimed he, leaping to his feet.

“A very moderate rent for the house,” I added, not at all pleased at what I considered the impudence of my uncle.

“That is more than I pay, Paley. I’m astonished!”

“I think it is a fair rent.”

“I don’t think so. What did it cost you to furnish it?” he continued, fixing a severe gaze upon me.

“About eight hundred dollars,” I answered, not deeming it prudent to give more than half of the actual cost.

“You are crazy, Paley! You will run yourself out in a couple of years, at this rate. Eight hundred dollars! When I was married I didn’t spend a hundred dollars on my house. Paley, I will give you three days to pay this note. If you don’t do it in that time, I shall do the next thing.”

“What’s the next thing?” I asked, indignantly.

“I’ll trustee your salary!”

“You needn’t trouble yourself about the little sum I owe you; I will pay you,” I replied, rising and walking towards the door. “The next time I have occasion to ask a favor, I shall not go to a relation.”

Doubtless he regarded this as a very savage threat, though perhaps he did not think its execution involved any great hardship on his own part. I walked out of the insurance office with a degree of dignity and self-possession which would have been creditable in a bank president. My uncle must be paid. There was no doubt of that. I would not be thorned by him for all the money in the world, for he was a very uncomfortable sort of man to a debtor, and very obstinately insisted on collecting his dues.

It was patent to me that some one had been talking to Captain Halliard. Perhaps that mischievous stable-keeper had been in communication with him; and it was possible that my friend Buckleton had mentioned the trivial circumstance that I owed him eight hundred dollars. It was not impossible that Mr. Bristlebach and my uncle had been discussing my affairs. They were intimate acquaintances, and the captain did business at the Forty-ninth.

Tom Flynn.

I must pay Captain Halliard, or there would be a tempest about me at once. Not that he would trustee my salary, or anything of that kind; for this was only a hint that he would mention the matter to the president of our bank. I must pay him, but how to do so, was a matter about which I could not venture an opinion. I had little money, and I had already bled my friends as much as it was prudent to bleed them. I must “raise the wind,” or go under. I walked up State Street, trying to think who should suffer next for my sins, when I met Tom Flynn. We never passed each other without stopping to speak, though we stood side by side in the bank during business hours. I saw that he looked embarrassed, and it flashed upon my mind before he opened his mouth that he wanted his money, and that he had made up his mind to ask me for it. I did not regard it as proper for him to do so.

“Tom, I’m glad to see you,” I began. “I wanted to meet you.”

“That’s just my case. I was going down to the bank to find you, after calling upon you at Mr. Oliphant’s. I wanted to see you very badly;” and the honest fellow looked more embarrassed than ever.

“Well, that’s a coincidence,” I replied, deeming it my duty to spare him any unnecessary embarrassment. “I have just had a call for a little money I owe, and it was not convenient for me to pay it. It was awkward, because I have a habit of paying up all these little things at sight, even if I have to borrow the money to do so. I shall be flush in three or four days, but I dislike to make this particular fellow wait. Could you lend me a hundred dollars till Monday?”

“I am very sorry, Paley,” replied the poor fellow, the wind all taken out of his sails. “The fact is, I’m short myself.”

“O, well, never mind it. I’m sorry I said any thing,” I continued.

“There was no harm in saying it to me,” laughed he, apparently more troubled at my necessity than his own. “I had a chance to buy some stock at a low figure, if I could raise the money to-day, so that the owner can leave to-night for New York. I am one hundred short of the amount required; but no matter; let it go.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t the amount about me,” I replied, with a troubled look. “Perhaps I can raise it for you.”

“O, no! I don’t want you to do that. You said you should be flush in a few days.”

“Yes; I shall have some money on Monday.”

“Well, then, Paley, since you can’t help me out, I can help you out,” said the noble fellow, with a generous smile. “I can’t buy my stock, and you may as well have the money as to let it remain idle.”

“Thank you, Tom,” I replied, warmly.

“You said a hundred dollars,” he continued, stepping into a doorway and drawing out his wallet.

“I said a hundred dollars, but only because I had not the cheek to mention more. I must raise three hundred to-morrow—but only till Monday you know.”

“Three hundred,” said he musing. “I think I can help you out.”

“Thank you, Tom. Next Monday I will pay you this and the other hundred I owe you. And by the way, I had quite forgotten that you held my note.”

“It’s of no consequence. I haven’t wanted it very badly. But I have a chance to invest what little I possess next week, and if I can get it then it will suit me better than to receive it now.”

“You shall have the whole next Monday, without fail,” I replied, though I had no more idea where the money was to come from than I had of the source of the Nile.

“That will fit my case exactly.”

“We will step into the bank, and I will give you a note.”

Every body had left the bank except the messenger, and I wrote the note. I had the three hundred dollars in my fist. I was intent upon taking the sting out of my uncle’s tongue. I meant to overwhelm him by paying my note before I slept. I parted with Tom in the street, and hastened to the insurance office, where I had left Captain Halliard. I found him tipped back in his chair in the inner room, talking with Mr. Bristlebach. I suspected that my case was the subject of their discussion.

“Is that you, Paley?” called my uncle, as I made a movement to retire.

“Yes, sir; but I won’t trouble you now, if you are engaged,” I replied.

“Come in; we were talking about you, Mr. Glasswood,” said the president. “I was just telling your uncle how well satisfied I am with you.”

“Thank you, sir. I am very much obliged to you for your good opinion, and I hope I shall always merit it,” I added, with becoming modesty.

“Do you wish to see me, Paley?” asked my uncle.

“Only for a moment, sir; but I will wait till you are at leisure.”

Mr. Bristlebach took his hat and left the office, saying he had no particular business with my uncle.

“The president of the Forty-Ninth speaks well of you, Paley,” said my uncle, good-naturedly. “I was glad to hear it, for I had a hint that you were going a little too fast. Bristlebach and I talked the matter over yesterday.”

“I’m glad you found it all right. Have you my note in your pocket now?” I continued, rather stiffly.

“Yes, I have it.”

I drew my wallet, and took out the three hundred dollars I had just borrowed.

“You needn’t trouble yourself about that just now,” said he, laughing.

“I don’t like to be driven into so close a corner as you put me into a little while ago. Here is the amount of the note, with the interest.”

“What I said was spoken under a misapprehension. You needn’t pay the note till you get ready.”

“I am ready now, uncle.”

“Of course, I don’t object to taking the money; but I didn’t mean to press you.”

“Didn’t you, indeed? You gave me three days to pay the note, and threatened to trustee my salary if it was not paid in that time. If that was not pressing me, I took it as a gentle hint. If I don’t know any better than to borrow money of my relations another time, I ought to be hung for being a fool.”

“I am sorry now that I said any thing, Paley. I will take it all back.”

“Take principal and interest also, and I shall be satisfied.”

It was not in his nature to refuse money under any circumstances. He gave up my note and pocketed the amount. It is quite probable that he wondered where I had obtained the funds so readily, and he even hinted at a desire to be enlightened on the subject. Perhaps he would suspect that I had taken them from the vault of the bank; but if he consulted Mr. Bristlebach on the matter, the messenger could inform him that the vault had not been opened during my last visit. To remove any such disagreeable impression as this from his mind, I said something about having a sum of money due me from a friend which I had kept in reserve for another purpose.

After the excellent character which the president had given me, I think my uncle was satisfied. He apologized for the sharpness of his words and declared that he had more regard for my moral welfare than for any thing else. Perhaps he had, but his ideas of morality were very indefinite, for he had helped me into my situation by pulling down Tom, though I must do him the justice to say that he helped my friend into his present situation, by declaring that new light entirely convinced him of the innocence of Tom.

I left my uncle with the feeling that I had completely overwhelmed him, and made him blush for his conduct. I was satisfied that I could borrow five hundred dollars of him within a reasonable time, and with a reasonable explanation of the necessity. The affairs of the day had improved rather than injured my reputation. My integrity and honesty stood at the highest point. I had made a friend of the cashier, who had stupidly placed himself in my power when open conduct would have served him better in the end. I owed no more than before, but I had hampered myself with a promise to pay Tom Flynn four hundred dollars the next Monday. I had said Monday, because I had a faint hope that I might go down to Springhaven on Saturday and get the amount out of my aunt, who had at least another thousand dollars salted down in her bureau.

There was time enough to think of this matter before the day of payment; but, if the worst came, Tom could easily be cajoled, and even made to insist upon my retaining the money another week or another month. While all these events were transpiring, the unfortunate relations which I sustained to my beautiful wife were hardly out of my mind for a moment. It was nearly six o’clock when I started for home, and all my thoughts were then of Lilian and the new house.

I was tempted to recede from my hard and trying situation, and I probably should have done so if I had not been endowed with a certain obstinacy, sometimes called firmness. It seemed to me that my wife was not my wife while she remained in the home of “dear ma.” Her mother had more influence over her than I had, and I could not be happy till I had redeemed her from this bondage. My mother-in-law was swindling me for the benefit of her unmarried daughters. I could not endure it any longer, and come what would come, I would not. I entered the house the saddest and most miserable man in the whole city.

The hour for final action had come. I had informed Lilian that I should move into the English basement house that day. I had ordered an express wagon to come for my luggage at seven o’clock. We had nothing to move but our trunks, in which, for the want of suitable closets, our clothing was still kept. I had seen Biddy in the morning, and told her to have supper for me at half-past seven. I went up to our room. Lilian was there. I saw that she had been crying, but whether from grief or from anger I could not tell. I put my arm around her neck and kissed her, as I always did, when I came into the house.

“You are late, Paley,” said she, in forced tones of calmness.

“I was detained at the bank by the president,” I replied. “But the wagon will be here at seven, Lilian.”

“The wagon? What wagon?” she asked.

“The wagon to take our trunks to Needham Street, Lilian.”

“You do not mean that, Paley?” said she, looking up into my face, while her lips quivered and her chest heaved with emotion.

“Of course I mean it, Lilian.”

“Do you mean to say that you intend to drag me to that house, whether I am willing to go or not?”

“Certainly not. I have never hinted at any thing of the kind. I only say that I am going; and going at seven o’clock this evening.”

“O, Paley! I did not think you would do such a thing!” sobbed she.

“I did not think, Lilian, after I had done all I could to please you; after I had carried out the arrangement we agreed upon when we came to board at your mother’s; after I had nearly ruined myself in fitting up the house, that you would refuse to live in it,” I pleaded. “I acknowledge that I have done wrong, but I cannot help it now. If you will go to the new house with me, I will promise to give it up in a reasonable time, if you are not happy there.”

“I will not go, Paley! I have said it, and I mean it,” said she, spitefully.

“Very well. I am going at seven o’clock,” I replied, sadly enough.

I began to pack my trunk, while she sobbed in her chair.

CHAPTER IX.

A LONELY HOUSE.

“DO you mean to desert me, Paley?” asked Lilian, sobbing bitterly.

“Does it look as though I meant to desert you when I have nearly ruined myself to provide a house that would please you?” I replied, as gently as I could speak, for I was not angry.

“But you say you will go to that house without me?” she added, looking up as if she had a gleam of hope that I did not mean what I said.

“I did say so, Lilian. I am going at seven o’clock, when the express wagon comes.”

“Don’t you call that deserting me?”

“No, Lilian; it will not be that I desert you, but you desert me.”

“But I never will go into that house,” said she, sharply, as she dashed away the tears that filled her eyes.

“Very well; then we need say no more about it,” I answered, placing the last of my wearing apparel in the trunk, and locking it.

I did not think you would be so cruel, Paley.”

“Cruel, Lilian! Do I ask anything unreasonable?”

“I think you do. You come home, and wish to pack me off at half an hour’s notice into a strange house.”

“I think I spoke of the matter last night, and told you I intended to go. If the time is too short, you may fix a day yourself to move. Name the time you will go, three days, a week, a month hence, and I will not object.”

“I shall name no time. I will not live in that house!”

“Then we may as well settle the matter now as at any other time,” I replied, with Spartan firmness.

“You will leave me, Paley?”

“I will.”

“O, Paley! Have I lost all influence over you?”

“I do not believe in this sort of influence. I repeat that I have done everything to please you; and before I told you that the house was for you, were you not delighted with it?”

This was a sore subject to her. I knew very well that she liked the house herself. Her mother intended to keep us in our present quarters, for the sake of the income to be derived from us. She could board us for ten dollars a week, and make something even at that, for salt fish and round steak form a cheap diet. I estimated that it cost five hundred dollars a year apiece to clothe the two younger daughters, and the profits on my board more than paid the bills. This was the whole matter in a nutshell. I do not think that Lilian was a party directly to the conspiracy, but she knew that it would upset all her mother’s plans if we left. Unfortunately for me, I had given the impression that I was made of money; that I not only had a large salary, but that I was the heir of Aunt Rachel, whose wealth was supposed to equal the capital of the Bank of England.

My wife was too proud to acknowledge that she had any interest in her mother’s scheme; it was safer to say that she did not like the house. I knew that her family was reduced to the greatest straits; that Mr. Oliphant’s income was utterly insufficient to keep up the style of former years. I knew that Mrs. Oliphant pinched herself in every possible way, that the prospects of her two unmarried daughters might not be injured. But I felt that I had done enough for the family when I relieved them of one mouth to feed, and one form to clothe. It certainly was not fair that I should pay the extravagant expenses of making the world believe that my wife’s two sisters were fine ladies.

I was fighting the battle for my own independence, and not less for that of my wife. I know that mothers-in-law are shamefully traduced, but only because such a one as Mrs. Oliphant is taken as a type of the whole class. I regard her as the exception, not the rule. Her plan required that she should hold my wife as a slave within the maternal home. In little things, I found that Lilian consulted the will of her strong-minded mother, rather than my feelings. For example, I once overheard Mrs. Oliphant tell my wife to induce me to go to a certain concert, simply because Miss Bertha desired to go. Lilian did induce me to go, and I went. She came up to the point by regular approaches. Not a word was said about Miss Bertha till I was closing the door behind me, as I went to the bank, when it was—“By the way, Paley, don’t you think we had better ask Bertha to go with us?” Of course I thought so, and she went with us. Lilian did not care a straw for the concert; neither did I.

This is only a specimen of the manner in which I was victimized. I not only dressed the two marriageable sisters, but I was to introduce them into society, by paying their bills at concerts, theatres, parties and balls. But this was not the most objectionable part of the arrangement. I could not endure the thought of having my wife made the cat’s paw for the monkey to pull the chestnuts out of the fire. She was not my wife, in the just and proper sense of the word. She did not think so much of my interests and my happiness as she did of her mother’s will and wish. Neither of us was to live for each other, but both of us for the Oliphants’ ambitious schemes. So thoroughly was I persuaded in my own mind of the justness of my position, that I was determined to stick to it, even if it resulted in a complete separation.

The door-bell rang, and we heard the sound of it in our room. I looked out the window. An express wagon stood before the door. The crisis had come, but I was as resolute as ever, and I expected to spend the night alone in the house in Needham Street.

“A man at the door wants to see you, Paley,” said Mrs. Oliphant, who did not keep a servant.

I went down to the door, and brought the man up with me. Lilian and her mother stood aghast. They appeared to be utterly confounded, and neither of them spoke in the presence of the stranger.

“That trunk,” I said to the expressman.

“Is that all?” asked he.

“That is all,” I replied, giving him the number of the house in Needham Street.

The man picked up the trunk and I followed him down stairs. I paid him, and he went off with my baggage. I was not willing to leave my wife without saying good-by to her, for I had some hope that she would yet relent. When my hand was on the door which I intended to close, Lilian called me from the stairs above. She came down, followed by Mrs. Oliphant. I hoped that both of them would understand me by this time.

“What’s the matter, Paley?” asked “dear ma,” trying to look pleasant.

“Nothing is the matter,” I replied, not caring to discuss the question with her.

“Lilian tells me you are going to your new house.”

“Doubtless she told you that before.”

“But I did not think you would go off and leave her.”

“Such is my purpose, unless she decides to go with me.”

“Of course it is not for me to say any thing about it,” she added, in her magnanimous way. “But I must say I think you are a little unreasonable.”

“Well, Mrs. Oliphant, I don’t care about discussing the subject any more. If Lilian chooses to desert me I can’t help myself.”

“Desert you! Goodness gracious! I should think it was just the other way, and you are deserting her.”

“I think not. If I provide a suitable home for my wife, it seems to me that she ought to occupy it with me,” I answered, meekly. “I do not wish to be unreasonable, but I think Lilian will admit that our plan discussed, and agreed to while we were on our bridal tour, was to go to housekeeping. I have provided a pleasant house, near yours, and furnished it in a style much better than I can afford. I have told her that, after occupying the house for six months or a year, if it does not suit her, I will conform to her wishes, whatever they may be. I think my view is a reasonable one, and I intend to adhere to it.”

“Is she to go there whether she wants to or not?” demanded Mrs. Oliphant.

“Am I to stay here whether I want to or not?” I replied. “In the matter of housekeeping, I consulted her, and we were of the same mind.”

“You will not leave me, Paley, will you?” pleaded Lilian, satisfied that her mother was making no headway in solving the problem.

“No; but you will leave me, Lilian. I am going now.”

“Don’t go, Paley!”

“Will you name a time when you will go with me, Lilian?”

“I cannot go, Paley! Indeed I cannot.”

“Good-by then, Lilian,” I replied, kissing her, while the tears gushed from my eyes.

I rushed from the house, without stopping to close the door behind me. I wiped away my tears as I crossed the street at a furious pace. I walked till I had subdued the emotions which crowded upon me. It was half an hour before I dared to present myself before the Biddy I had engaged, lest she should fathom the secret that worried me. I rang the bell at my house, and the servant admitted me. She opened her eyes wide when she saw me alone.

“Where is the missus?” asked she.

“She has concluded not to come, to-night,” I replied, hanging up my hat in the hall.

“The pretty crayture! Sure I’m dyin’ to have her in the house wit me!” exclaimed Bridget. “Is it sick she is?”

Biddy.

“She don’t feel very well this evening,” I replied evasively.

“Sure the supper is all ready for the two of ye’s. The tay is drawn this half hour, and the crame toast is breakin’ in flitters wid waitin’ for ye’s.”

“Very well; I will have my supper immediately.”

The tea and the toast were certainly good enough even for Lilian; but it was the most miserable supper to which I ever sat down. My heart seemed to be almost broken. I lighted the gas in the little sitting-room, and threw myself into the rocking-chair. I looked around the apartment. Everything was neat, tasty and pleasant. Was it possible that Lilian refused to share such a palace with me? No; it was not her fault. With her mother’s permission how gladly she would have taken her place by my side. Mrs. Oliphant evidently had not given me credit for any considerable amount of resolution. She was “the better horse” in her own matrimonial relations, and she found it difficult to comprehend any other than a similar arrangement in her daughter’s family.

I tried to read the newspaper I had brought home with me, but my thoughts were with Lilian. I turned over the leaves of the books I had laid on the centre-table. I went into the dining-room and smoked. I was almost worn out with fatigue and excitement. I was miserable beyond description. I went to bed at midnight, and I went to sleep, but it was only to dream of Lilian, goading and persecuting me, led on by a demon who was always at her side.

I rose in the morning, and found my breakfast ready at the time I had ordered it. It was such a breakfast as Lilian liked, but she was not there to enjoy it, and I groaned in spirit. I must go to the bank. I was not to see my wife, but I decided to write her a line—it was only a line:

“Dearest Lilian:—I shall hope to find you at our new home when I come up from the bank.

“Paley.”

I sent Biddy to deliver it, and told her not to wait for an answer.

I went to the bank. Everything was “lovely” there. Even Mr. Bristlebach was “lovely;” and that was a most unusual attitude for him. Captain Halliard dropped in to see me. He was “lovely.” Tom Flynn was in excellent spirits; but he took occasion to tell me something about his business affairs, so that I could distinctly understand what a sad mishap it would be to him if I should fail to pay him the four hundred dollars I owed him on Monday. I felt that I must pay him, and I decided to visit Springhaven on Saturday, and cajole Aunt Rachel into lending me the amount.

I went through my duties mechanically, but that day I lived on hope. I had ordered my dinner at home at half past three, which was the hour I usually dined. Lilian knew my habits, and I felt almost sure that I should find her in Needham Street. I believed that she loved me, and I could not believe that she would desert me. How my heart beat when I went into the English basement house! How it sank within me when Biddy failed to tell me that the “missus” was there. I dared not ask her any questions, lest she should discover the anxiety under which I was laboring.

I looked into the sitting-room. It was as empty as the tomb of all I desired to see. I went into the dining-room. The table was set for two, but one of the plates seemed to mock me. Lilian was not there. She was not in the kitchen. I went up stairs, but the same oppressive vacancy haunted every spot in the house. No Lilian was there, and without her the house was not home. The casket and all its appliances were there, but no jewel flashed upon my waiting, longing eyes.

There was no note in reply to mine. Biddy did not deliver any message to me. It was plain enough that she had not heard from the “missus.” I was sure that Lilian loved me, and that if left to herself she would come to me, even if I had been lodged in a prison instead of the palace I had provided for her. I ate my dinner alone and in silence. The dinner was a good one, but it would have been the same thing to me if the roast beef and mashed potato had been chips and shavings, so far as I had any interest in their flavor.

When the meal was finished I left the house, and wandered about the streets till tea-time. I kept walking without going anywhere; I kept thinking without knowing what I was thinking about. After I had been to supper, and Biddy had finished her work, she came into the sitting-room where I was looking at the blank sheets of the newspaper I held in my hand. She begged my pardon for coming. She wanted to know when the “missus” was to be at the house. I evaded an answer. She told me she couldn’t stay in a house with no missus in it. She didn’t “spake to a sowl all day long,” and she couldn’t “shtop in a house wid only a man in it. She had a charrackter, and people would be talking if she shtopped in a house wid only a man in it.” Of course I was utterly confounded at this complication of the difficulty, but I told her that if the “missus” was not able to come by Monday she might go, and I would pay her wages for an additional week.

“God bless your honor! but is the missus sick?” she asked.

“She is not very well, and does not like to leave her mother yet.”

She appeared to be satisfied, and I was permitted to spend another miserable night in the loneliness of my new home. I heard nothing from Lilian. I thought she might, at least, send me a note in reply to mine; but I knew that she acted upon the advice of “dear ma.” That strong minded woman evidently intended to bring me to terms. If possible, I was more resolute than ever.

Before I went to the bank the next morning I decided to write one more note—one which could not fail to bring the unpleasant matter to an issue within twenty-four hours. It was in the form of an advertisement, as follows:—

“Whereas, my wife, Lilian O. Glasswood, has left my bed and board, without justifiable cause, I hereby give notice that I shall pay no debts of her contracting, after this date.

“Boston, Aug.—.

Paley Glasswood.

“Shall I insert the above in to-morrow’s papers?

P. G.”

I sent this epistle to Mr. Oliphant’s by Biddy. Though it was directed to Lilian, it was intended for her mother.

CHAPTER X.

MY WIFE AND I.

I KNEW very well that this note would produce a tremendous sensation in the Oliphant family, and, as I walked down to the bank, I considered whether so violent a demonstration was justifiable. But I soon came to the conclusion that it was not a mere feint, and that if my wife would not live with me in Needham Street, she could not live with me anywhere else. If she did not choose to share my lot in the pretty residence I had provided for her, I would not pay her board in Tremont Street.

I wanted my wife. I had not married Mrs. Oliphant, and was willing to dispense with the benefit of her advice. Perhaps it was reckless in me to do so, but no man had ever made up his mind on any point more decidedly than I had made up mine on this one. I attended to my duties as usual, but there was a sort of grimness about everything I did which astonished me, if it did not any one else.

At my usual hour I rang the bell of my house with a more intense anxiety than had before agitated me. If the savage measure I had taken did not bring Lilian and her mother to their senses, nothing would, and the breach must be regarded as permanent. I hoped and confidently expected to find my wife in the house, and I braced my nerves for the scene which must ensue. Biddy opened the door, with a sweet smile on her face which augured well for my anticipations.

“There’s a bit of a letther on the table for ye’s, sir,” said she, as I hung up my hat in the hall. “Shtop! and I’ll bring it to ye’s.”

“A bit of a letther!” Was that all? Of course it was from Lilian. She did not intend to surrender without conditions, Biddy handed me the missive. It was in my wife’s pretty hand-writing, but I was disappointed, and more than ever disposed to be morose. I opened the envelope.

“Come and see me this afternoon, Paley.

“Lilian.”

That was all. The case did not look hopeful. If I went I must fight the battle with “dear ma.” I promptly decided that it would be worse than folly for me to heed this request. It was only an ingenious device of Mrs. Oliphant to carry her point by some new strategy. To go would be to throw myself into the toils of the enemy.

Biddy stood looking at me while I read the “bit of a letther.” If she did not suspect the trouble, she was more stupid than I supposed. She was a good girl, though her manners needed some improvement. If the wife was ill, the place of the husband was at her side. My gem of the Green Isle could reason out this proposition without exploding her brain. She must understand that a family tempest was gathering.

“Av coorse the bit of a letther is from the missus,” said she. “I hope she is betther.”

“Is dinner ready, Biddy?” I replied, trying to laugh.

“All ready, sir. Sure the missus must be betther, for she brought the letther herself.”

“She is better, Biddy. There is trouble between us.”

“Faix, I knew it from the firsht!”

“Let me have my dinner now, and we will talk about it another time.”

She seemed to be proud to have even so much of my confidence, and she flew around with an alacrity which was as creditable to her locomotive powers as it was to her Irish heart. Even her looks were full of respectful sympathy. I sat down to the table, and taking her place behind my chair, she waited upon me with a zeal which would have shamed the black coats of a fashionable hotel.

“In a word, Biddy, my wife refuses to live in this house with me. That’s all the trouble we have,” said I, as I began to eat my dinner.

“Bad luck to her for that same!”

It was very undignified for me to say anything to my servant, or to any one, indeed, about a matter of this kind, but I was absolutely hungry for a confidant to whom I could pour out my griefs. If the matter was to go any farther, I intended to send for Tom Flynn, and talk over the situation with him. It seemed as though my brain would burst, if I could not relieve it by exhibiting the cause of my sorrows. If Biddy had not known so much I would not have told her any more. I had informed her in the beginning about the “pleasant surprise” I was preparing for my wife. She had seen Lilian when she called, and it was stupid in me to attempt to conceal anything from her. I explained to her the difficulty as far as I deemed it necessary. Biddy was my strongest friend, then. She would not have left me even to save her “charrackter.”

She rehearsed the whole matter, declared that I was an angel, and the house a palace. It was not only unreasonable, but cruel and barbarous, for my wife to refuse to share my lot. Thus spake Biddy, and I endorsed her sentiments. When I had finished my dinner I wrote a brief note to Lilian, declining to see her again, until we could meet in “our own house.” Biddy was a zealous messenger. She was instructed to deliver it without any words, and without answering any questions, for I was afraid she would take the matter into her own hands, and complicate the difficulty by attempting to fight my battle for me.

An hour later came the reply to my note. Lilian wrote that she was “quite indisposed,” and unable to leave the house that day. She wished to see me very much, and begged me not to deny her this favor. Perhaps she was sick. So was I—sick at heart. It would not be strange if the intense excitement attending this affair had made her ill; it had made me so. But I knew she was not so ill that she could not leave the house. She had delivered her own letter in the forenoon when she knew I was at the bank. Yet, if I did not see her when she was sick, it would make the story tell with damaging effect upon me. I decided to see her at once—to see her as my sick wife, and not to make terms in the quarrel.

In five minutes I rang the bell at the door of Mr. Oliphant’s house. It was opened as usual by Mrs. Oliphant. A smile of triumph played upon her face as she stood aside to permit me to pass into the hall.

“I am glad you have concluded to come, Paley,” said she.

This remark indicated that she was already in possession of the contents of my last note; in fact that she, and not Lilian, was fighting the battle.

“Is Lilian sick?” I inquired.

“She is not very well.”

“I will go up and see her.”

I went up.

“O, Paley! how can you be so cruel?” exclaimed she, with much nervous excitement.

“Are you sick, Lilian?” I replied, taking her hand, and kissing her as though nothing had happened.

“I am sick, Paley.”

“I am sorry, Lilian.”

“Do you think I am made of iron?”

“Shall I go for Dr. Ingoldson?”

“I do not need a doctor so much as I need peace.”

“We both need that.”

“Are you going to drive me into that hateful house?”

“Certainly not, Lilian.”

“Did you write that cruel note which came this morning, Paley? I cannot believe it.”

“I did write it, Lilian; but if you are sick we will not talk about that,” I replied, tenderly, but firmly.

“But we must talk about it. Do you mean to say that you will print that horrid advertisement?”

“Most certainly I shall, if you persist in your present course. It is not right for me to support a wife who will not live with me. If you are sick, we will defer all action until you are better.”

“I am not well, but I wanted to see you about this awful business. Have you ceased to love me, Paley?”

“No, Lilian.”

Perhaps Mrs. Oliphant had tried to stay down stairs, and permit her daughter to pour out her griefs to me alone; but if she had tried, she had not succeeded; and at this stage of the interview she entered the room, without the ceremony of knocking.

“I am glad you have come, Paley, for we want to talk over this disagreeable business.”

“Lilian’s note informed me that she was sick, and I came to see her, but not to talk over any matter. If she is ill—”

“She isn’t very ill,” interposed Mrs. Oliphant.

I thought not; at least not too ill to discuss the exciting topic.

“I am glad she is not very ill. If she is, I will stay at her side and do all that a husband should do for a sick wife.”

“O, we can take care of her! But I wanted to ask you if you really intended to put that advertisement into the newspapers?”

“You will excuse me, but I have nothing to say on that subject beyond what I expressed in my note. If Lilian does not need any assistance from me, I will go. If Lilian is ill, I will defer the insertion of the advertisement until Monday morning.”

“O, Paley!” gasped Lilian.

“Are you such a monster!” exclaimed Mrs. Oliphant, her lips compressed and her eyes flashing in such a way as to indicate in what manner poor Oliphant had been conquered.

“I have nothing more to say, madam,” I replied, with all the dignity I could command.

I moved towards the door. Mrs. Oliphant was proceeding to rehearse the enormity of my offence, when I clipped the wings of her rhetoric by opening the door.

“Good-by, Lilian, if we are to meet no more,” I added. “On Monday it will be too late.”

I retreated down the stairs, and fled from the house, though Mrs. Oliphant made a lively pursuit as far as the street door, calling upon me with all her might to return.

I know that my lady readers are branding me as a barbarian, but I beg to remind them again that I was not fighting the battle with my wife, but with her mother. I was striking for my own and for Lilian’s independence. If I could not have her as my wife, I would not have her at all. I did not go directly home. I called to see Tom Flynn. He was not in, but I left a message for him to see me in Needham Street as soon as he returned.

I was tolerably calm, considering the amount of actual suffering I endured. Biddy was garrulous, and disposed to say harsh things of the “missus.” I checked her, declaring that Lilian was an angel herself, and that Mrs. Oliphant was the fomenter of the strife. Fortunately I was relieved from her comments by the arrival of Tom Flynn. The noble fellow looked sad when he entered, and I think he feared I intended to say I could not pay him the four hundred dollars on Monday, as I promised. He had not visited my house before, and he was lavish in his praise of the good taste displayed in the furniture. Perhaps it suggested him a doubt in regard to the safety of his money.

“Where is Lilian?” he asked. “I have not seen her for a month.”

The question opened the subject nearest to my heart. I began my story, and related it in the most minute detail up to the interview which had just taken place between my wife and myself. The noble fellow was astonished at the recital, and his countenance beamed with generous sympathy.

“I am very sorry for all this, Paley. It is an awkward and uncomfortable predicament,” said he.

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know. I think you are right in your main position, though I am not quite so sure in regard to your method of treatment,” he replied, musing. “I should not quite like to advertise my wife.”

“I don’t like to do it; but as sure as my name is Paley Glasswood, I will do it, if she does not come to this house before Monday morning!” I replied, quite excitedly.

“However, I don’t think you will have occasion to do it,” he added. “Oliphant has had the reputation of being a hen-pecked husband ever since I first heard of him. His wife is a strong-minded woman, and I suppose he found it cheaper to yield than to fight it out. He was a prosperous man formerly, but they say his spirit was broken by this domestic tyranny. I can’t advise you to back out, though I wish you had consulted your wife before you furnished the house.”

“That would only have transferred the battleground to another location. If I yield, I am lost.”

It was fully settled with the advice of my friend, that I should not yield. I explained that if Lilian did not like the house or the furniture after a reasonable trial, I would change either or both. Tom Flynn stayed with me till midnight, and told me a great many things in regard to the Oliphants that I was glad to know. It is enough for me to add that I had not misapprehended the character of “dear ma.”

The next day was Saturday. I went to the bank at the usual hour, and stayed there till the close of business. I wanted to go to Springhaven that day to make my assault upon Aunt Rachel’s purse-strings. The last train left at six o’clock. I was going home, and if my wife did not appear, I intended to spend Sunday at home with my mother. It was the last day of grace, both for Lilian and the money I was to pay Tom Flynn on Monday.

Biddy admitted me, but she had no tidings of my wife. Lilian had not come to my house, and had sent no message for me. Was it possible that Mrs. Oliphant meant to let the affair take its course—to make a “grass-widow” of her daughter rather than allow her to submit? It looked so, incredible as it seemed. After I had eaten my dinner, I wrote a note to Lilian, informing her that I intended to spend Sunday at my mother’s, that I would call at our house in Needham Street on Monday morning, and that, if I did not find her there, I should insert the advertisement in all the newspapers. It was then after four o’clock, and I sent the note by Biddy with the usual instructions.

I went up stairs to take a bath and dress for my visit. It was after five when I came down. Biddy had returned, and was busy with her work. I began to tell her where I was going when the door-bell rang.

“Bedad! the missus has come, and brought her mother with her!” exclaimed she, as she rushed into the dining-room where I was smoking away the half hour I had to spare before going to the train.

“Where are they?”

“In the parlor.”

It was not a very encouraging fact that Mrs. Oliphant had come with her. I went into the sitting-room where were seated my guests, for as such only could I yet regard them.

“I am glad you have come, Lilian,” said I, entering the room.

“But I have not come to stay,” she interposed, promptly.

“Then I am sorry you have come,” I added, as promptly.

“It is terrible, Paley, to think that my husband is prepared to desert me, and to advertise me in the newspapers,” said she.

“It is just as terrible for me to be deserted as for you, Lilian. I hope you will think well of it before it is too late.”

“I came over to see about this business, Mr. Glasswood,” interposed Mrs. Oliphant, stiffly.

“Nothing need be said, madam. I must add that I decline to discuss the question at all.”

“That’s a pretty way, sir!” continued she. “You married my daughter, and you promised—”

“I know I did, madam, and she promised, too. If she does not choose to occupy the house I have provided for her, that is the end of the whole matter; and also the end of all argument. I am going to Springhaven now. I have nothing more to say, except to add that when my wife returns to me I will treat her as tenderly as I know how, bury the past, and seek only her happiness.”

I moved towards the door. Lilian burst into tears. I saw her glance at her mother, who sat in dignified stiffness on the sofa.

“Good-by, Lilian,” I said, glancing tenderly at her.

“No, no, Paley! You shall not go!” gasped she, springing into my arms. “I will stay here!”

“Lilian!” exclaimed her mother, springing to her feet.

She was my wife then.

CHAPTER XI.

OVER THE PRECIPICE.

LILIAN was in my arms again, and all that I had suffered was compensated for by the bliss of the moment. I think she had been thoroughly aroused by the peril of her situation, and it was only at the last possible moment, as she understood the case, that she yielded. Lilian was human, like the rest of the world, and she was fond of her own way. I was willing to let her have her own way, but when it came to giving her mother the control of my affairs, I was rebellious.

My poor wife sobbed in my arms, and I could hardly restrain my own tears. I would not have repressed them if Mrs. Oliphant had not been present. Lilian was conquered, but I was sure she had only reached a point which she had desired to attain before. I am not sure that this same battle is not fought out by every man and wife, however gentle and affectionate they may be. Some husbands are brutes, some wives are head-strong, but each is always jealous of individual power and influence. I think Lilian was disposed to adopt the tactics of her mother, and rule her own household; but now she had suddenly become a gentle and submissive wife, and had thus placed herself in a position to be potential in regard to her husband.

My Wife concludes to stay. [Page 160].

Mrs. Oliphant was disgusted. She frowned savagely upon both of us. She realized that her influence was gone forever, if this state of feeling existed. Her cherished plan fell through and was a wreck beyond the possibility of redemption. I do not wonder that she was disgusted, for it was no trivial thing to be suddenly deprived of the handsome income she derived from me, which I should have been very glad to pay her, if I could have done so, though not under the egregious cheat of paying her thirty dollars a week for board which was dear at ten.

“Lilian,” said Mrs. Oliphant, sternly, “I did not think you were so weak and childish.”

“Weak and childish, mother? Shall I desert my husband?” added my wife, gently.

“It is not for me to say any thing, for I never interfere between man and wife,” continued “dear ma,” in the tone of a martyr. “But I can’t help thinking that your husband is very unreasonable. It isn’t every child that has so good a home as you have, and parents who are willing to slave themselves to death for her! And this is all the thanks they get for it!”

“Why, dear ma, what have I done?” asked Lilian, horrified at the implied charge of ingratitude.

“Nothing, nothing! It is no matter!” replied Mrs. Oliphant, with a vigorous effort to appear like a much-abused person. “I suppose it is a mother’s lot to be deserted by her children.”

“Deserted, mother!” exclaimed my poor wife.

“I would not say any thing, Lilian,” I whispered to her.

“After I had made all my arrangements to board you, suddenly, and without a word of notice you go off and leave me. What have I done to merit this treatment?”

Lilian followed my suggestion, and made no reply.

“Well, I suppose I am not wanted here, and I may as well go,” she said, flouncing up, and aiming for the door.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Oliphant, we shall both be very glad to have you come here as often and stay as long as you can,” I added.

“Yes, mother, my house shall be your house,” said Lilian, warmly and with much feeling.

“It is easier to talk than to do,” persisted Mrs. Oliphant, who was determined to be an abused person. “I’ll go home alone.”

“I will go with you, mother if you desire it.” interposed Lilian.

Mrs. Oliphant did desire it. It is quite possible she expected still to conquer our united forces.

“Send the wagon for my trunks, Paley, as soon as you please,” whispered Lilian, as she left the house with her mother.

I need not say that I lost no time in complying with these stealthy instructions. I hastened for the job wagon, but it was an hour before I reached Mr. Oliphant’s with it, for I could not readily find a team at that hour. The clock struck six, and I lost my train to Springhaven; but I hardly noticed the circumstance, so intent was I upon healing the breach in my domestic affairs.

When I arrived at the house, I found Lilian in tears, and a little inclined to yield again; but the appearance of the expressman seemed to strengthen her again. She permitted the trunks to be carried down, and the man departed with them.

“I cannot go, Paley,” said she, as she dropped into a chair.

“Why not, Lilian?”

“Mother is terribly incensed against me.”

“She will get over it in a few days. What does your father say?”

“Nothing,” said she, looking up at me, as though she thought I asked a curious question.

“The sooner we go, Lilian, the better it will be for all of us,” I suggested.

“I will go, Paley, but I am afraid I shall never be happy again,” said she, rising.

“Yes, you will, my dear. Your mother will be the same as ever by to-morrow.”

We went down stairs, and found Mrs. Oliphant in the parlor.

“Good-by, mother. I shall come to see you every day,” said Lilian, trying to be cheerful.

“Good-by, Lilian,” replied Mrs. Oliphant, in a tone which indicated the depth of her despair.

Lilian said good-by to her sisters, and hoped both of them would come to the house in Needham Street every day, Sundays not excepted. Then we went home. Blessed word! It meant more to me than ever before. I need hardly add that we talked of nothing during the evening but the exciting topic of the day, though I tried frequently to change the subject.

Biddy was the happiest girl outside of Ireland, for though my wife was very sad, she was still the “missus” in her own house. Lilian confessed to me that she liked the house very much; that she would not have had it any different if she had been consulted, but her mother was so anxious to have us remain at her house that she could not think of such a thing as leaving her. If her mother could only be satisfied with the new arrangement, she should be as happy as any mortal in existence.

I hoped for the best. I did not count upon any continued opposition from Mrs. Oliphant, as it was so obviously for her interest to keep the peace now that the Rubicon had been passed. If I had not been so busily occupied in smoothing the path for Lilian, I should have made myself very miserable over my failure to visit Springhaven. I had four hundred dollars to pay on Monday, with nothing on hand to meet the demand. It was an ugly subject, and I avoided it as much as possible in my meditations, though it would often flash upon me. I could not disappoint Tom Flynn.

I took an early walk on Sunday morning, and invited Tom to drop in upon us to dinner that day, which he did. He was delighted to see Lilian in her new home, and congratulated me privately upon the happy issue of the difficulty. In the afternoon Mr. Oliphant called. We showed him all over the house, and the old gentleman appeared to be in raptures. Then Bertha and Ellen came, and they visited every part of the new mansion, expressing their entire satisfaction with all the arrangements.

After church, Tom called again, for he never staid away from service for any reason, forenoon or afternoon. We sang psalm tunes till nine o’clock in the evening, and truly home was home to me then, as it had never been before. Bertha was a splendid singer, and I noticed that Tom, who was very fond of music, appeared to be more interested in her than I had ever before observed. He went home with her, and I ventured to hope that my example would not be without its influence upon him.

When I went to the bank the next morning, Tom told me, in the most careless manner in the world, that Bertha was a very pretty girl, and a magnificent singer. Of course I agreed with him, but the sight of my friend thrust upon me, more forcibly than any other consideration, the ugly fact that I owed him four hundred dollars, due that day. I had not the courage to ask him for further time. My honor, and more than that, my pride, were involved. What could I do?

I might run down to Springhaven at night. No, I could not leave, for, at church and elsewhere, we had invited all our friends to call upon us, and I expected to see company every evening during the week. I must be at home. The money must be paid. There was no possible way by which I could honorably postpone it.

“What time to-day do you want that little matter of money I owe you, Tom?” I asked of my friend.

“As soon after bank hours as convenient.”

“You shall have it at half-past two. I must go up the street for it, and can’t leave very well before the bank closes.”

“All right; it will do at three,” added my obliging friend.

What odds would it make to me whether the time was fixed at two or three? I was just as unable to pay it at one time as the other. A lucky thought occurred to me. I could call upon my uncle, Captain Halliard, who would no doubt be glad to redeem his credit with me by lending me any reasonable sum I wanted. In a week or so I could find time to see Aunt Rachel, and as I was her favorite, she would put me in funds.

The bank closed. I was in a tremor of anxiety. Before balancing my cash, I hastened out to find my uncle. He was in the Insurance Office as usual at this hour. I asked him a great many stupid questions about indifferent matters, without daring to put the main question. He actually appeared to have forgotten that he had insulted and offended me. He was rather patronizing and stiff in his manner, and the result of the interview was that I did not mention the matter nearest to my heart. I was sure he would refuse if I did; and I could not be humiliated for nothing.

I was in despair. My heart was in my throat. My pride revolted at the thought of telling Tom Flynn that I could not pay him. I went back to the bank and balanced my cash. I counted over an immense sum of money. Four hundred dollars would make me happy. Mr. Bristlebach had entire confidence in me. Why could I not borrow four hundred dollars of the bank as conveniently as of Captain Halliard.

I trembled at the bare thought of such a thing. Thus far I had kept myself honest before God and man. But then I did not mean to steal this sum. I would even put a memorandum in the drawer, to the effect that I was indebted to the bank for this amount. What harm? Who would be wronged by it? I intended to pay every penny of it back in a few days, as soon as I could visit my aunt. It was a little irregular, but even the cashier had done a similar thing within my knowledge. No one would ever know anything about it, and certainly no one would ever lose anything.

Why should I be tortured for the want of four hundred dollars, when thousands were lying idle in my drawer? Why should I humiliate myself before Tom Flynn, when, without wronging any body, I could pay my debt, make him happy, and be happy myself? I was certain that I could return the four hundred dollars. My aunt would certainly let me have it. My uncle even would lend it to me. I had property enough in my house to pay it three times over.

Why should I linger here at the brink of the precipice over which I had determined to leap? I thought, as hundreds of others have thought, in the same trying situation. I comforted myself, as they have done, with fallacious reasoning. I persuaded myself that, as I intended to pay back what I borrowed, and convinced myself that I had the means to do so, it was not dishonest for me to take the money. I assured myself it was only a slight irregularity that I meditated; that, even in the sight of God, it was only a trivial error of form. The Good Father judges us more by our intentions than by our acts.

Perhaps I had prepared myself for this step, as every young man does who permits himself to run in debt, who allows himself to be continually subjected to a fearful temptation by the pressure of obligations needlessly incurred. Certainly my experience in furnishing my house had prepared me for this temptation. It came when I least expected it. It was but a trivial form that I purposed to break through; not the law of honesty, of moral rectitude.

I took four one hundred dollar bills from my drawer, and slipped them into my vest-pocket. Everybody in the bank was minding his own business. No one took any notice of me. I think I must have been as pale as death when I did the deed, trivial as I chose to regard it. I wrote the amount in figures, on a slip of paper, and put it under the bills in the drawer. I convinced myself that this was a suitable acknowledgement of what I had done, which fully relieved me of every intention of doing anything wrong. It is astonishing how weak and silly we are when we are trying to conceal our own errors from our own eyes. The contents of my drawer were transferred to the vault, and I prepared to go home.

“Tom, I haven’t had time to get that money yet, but I will meet you at three o’clock, at the reading-room,” I remarked to my friend, as easily as I could.

“O, don’t put yourself out, Paley,” said the generous fellow. “If it is not convenient, let it go.”

“No, but it shall be paid. The money is all ready, only I have not had time to go for it.”

“I hope the matter has not given you any trouble, Paley,” he added; and perhaps I had not been entirely successful in concealing the anxiety which disturbed me.

“O no, not a bit! You see my affairs at home took up my time, and I neglected to attend to the matter on Saturday. Be at the reading-room at three, and I shall have the money for you, without fail.”

“I will be there, Paley. But what makes you look so pale?” he inquired.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been very well, and my difficulty at home has worn upon me. But I’m all right now,” I replied, assuming a very cheerful face, as I left the bank.

At the appointed time Tom was at the reading-room, and I gave him the four hundred dollars. The bills passed out of my hands, and it was forever too late to undo what I had done. I had leaped over the precipice beneath which lie dishonor, shame and disgrace. I was sorely troubled. My irregularity vexed me, and I felt as one tormented by a legion of devils.

The fact that Tom had noticed my altered appearance put me upon my guard. I tried to be gay and even jovial. I laughed, cracked jokes, rallied Tom on being in love with Bertha—any thing to banish from my mind the corroding feeling that I was a defaulter. I tore up my note which Tom handed to me. I invited him to come to my house in the evening. I invited him to come every evening. I know that I must have talked strangely. There seemed to be a twenty-four pound cannon shot in the centre of my brain. I wanted something to elevate my spirits. I went into a bar-room, and drank a glass of whiskey—a thing I had never before done, though I had taken a glass of wine occasionally.

The liquor inspired me. I drank a second glass, at another bar-room, and found myself capable of rising above my troubles. I went home. Buckleton was there, waiting to see me.

CHAPTER XII.

A KEEPER IN THE HOUSE.

LILIAN opened the door, and kissed me as usual when I came home.

“Why, Paley, you have been drinking,” whispered she.

“I had a severe pain, and took a glass of whiskey. I feel fetter now,” I replied.

“There’s a gentleman waiting for you in the sitting-room,” she added.

“Yes, I saw him. It is Buckleton, an old friend of mine. I may ask him to dine with us.”

I think Lilian suspected something was wrong with me, though I am sure she had not the remotest conception of the nature and extent of the mischief which was gathering around us. Probably the smell of my breath startled her, with the added fact that I was a little flighty in my manner, for I believe that nothing can be more justly startling to a woman than the possibility of her husband becoming a drunkard. She knew nothing whatever of my financial affairs. I had never made her my confidant; on the contrary, I had weakly and foolishly assumed to be “full of money,” and behaved with a liberality and extravagance far beyond my means.

Buckleton was waiting for me. I owed Buckleton eight hundred dollars, for which he had no security. What did Buckleton want with me? It had been his own proposition to give me, under a liberal interpretation of his own words, unlimited credit as to time, if not amount. Why had he come to my house? I had been at the bank all the forenoon, and that was the proper place to meet a man in relation to business. Of course if I had not owed him eight hundred dollars, I should not have troubled my head about this particular visit of an old acquaintance.

However, I had drank two glasses of whiskey, and the circumstance of his coming did not trouble me much. I still felt light-hearted, and was not disposed to let anything trouble me much or long. I smoothed down my hair, and after drinking a glass of ice-water in the dining-room, which my parched tongue required, I entered the room where Buckleton was waiting for me. He was as cordial as though he had come only as an old friend. But exhilarated as I was, I could not fail to notice a certain constraint on his part, as though his cordiality was in a measure forced.

He was glad to see me. He had business at the South End, and thought he would call in upon me as he was passing. The messenger at the bank told me, the next day, he had been there to find me ten minutes after I left. But his coming at this particular time, he labored to represent, was purely an accident. He was glad to see me so well situated. He hoped I should call on him at the West End with Mrs. Glasswood. He had not had the pleasure of knowing my wife, but he hoped to make her acquaintance. All these things he said with the utmost suavity, and then rose from the sofa to take his leave; but he did not take it, and I knew he did not intend to do so until he had said something about the little matter of eight hundred dollars that I owed him. He had his hat in his hand, and moved toward the door.

“Stay and dine with me, Buckleton,” I interposed. “Dinner is all ready, and I should be delighted to have you.”

“Thank you! Thank you! I should be glad to do so, but I have to meet a gentleman at the store in half an hour,” he replied, consulting his watch.

“Let him wait; you needn’t be over half an hour behind time.”

“I can’t do that, for the fact is he owes me some money, and I am desperately short just now.”

Bah! I had given him the opportunity to say that, and it was now an easy step for him to dun me.

“Well, come up next Sunday, won’t you? And bring your wife with you. We shall be delighted to see you,” I continued, hoping to throw him off the track.

“I will, if possible; but I often find that Mrs. Buckleton has made engagements for me, and, if I remember rightly, her father and mother dine with us next Sunday. Besides, I have been so annoyed with business matters for a week, that I have not felt much like going into company. I expected a remittance of six thousand dollars from Havana, and learned the other day that the party had stopped payment. I don’t know what we shall do to meet our own notes. By the way, Glasswood, would it be perfectly convenient for you to pay the amount you owe us in a few days?”

“It would not be perfectly convenient,” I replied, squarely.

“I know very well that I proposed to wait for it, but, you see, this confounded Cuban affair throws us all out of groove; and we are in hot water up to the eyes. Isn’t it possible for you to pay it?”

“Perhaps it is possible, but it would be deused inconvenient. You know I should not have bought so largely if you had not suggested that I might pay for the goods in my own time.”

“We sold you, as you are aware, at the very lowest cash prices,” he added.

I was not aware of it, but I did not deem it wise to open any controversy on a subject so insignificant.

“I don’t see how I can do a thing for you, Buckleton, at present.”

“It would be a very great accommodation if you could. Half would be better than nothing, though we want every dollar we can possibly raise. I will discount five per cent. for cash.”

“That’s liberal, but it won’t help me much.”

“Think it over, and see what you can do for me, Glasswood. I am in a tight place.”

“I am sorry for it, but I haven’t got quite settled yet. I shall be able to pay you in a couple of months.”

“I may be in bankruptcy before that time,” said he, with a grim smile. “I will call and see you to-morrow morning at the bank.”

He went away. I thought I was inclined to stretch the truth quite enough in making out a case, but I could not equal him. He was in no more danger of failing than our bank was. The Cuban matter was a myth. I was satisfied that he had been examining into the condition of my credit. It was more than probable that he had heard rumors of my little difficulty at the bank, and had not heard of the triumphant conclusion of the affair. Shaytop had been whispering in his ear. Very likely my uncle had hinted that I was living too fast. Certainly some persons had been busy with matters which, in my estimation, did not concern them. I was indignant, and felt that I had been abused. Let me say to young gentlemen that shrewd business men usually know us better than we know ourselves, and see sooner than we which way we are going.