Chapter I

“You have every thing comfortable, Maria,” said Mrs. Belladonna Buttercup, to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Sparrow, at whose house she was making a visit; “every thing comfortable.”

The speaker placed a very significant emphasis upon the last word, which, in connection with her peculiar tone of voice, and the half apparent sneer on her lips, was equivalent to saying, “You have all that is absolutely necessary to make your house habitable; you have beds, and chairs, and tables, but your furniture is of the most ordinary description—plain, cheap, and old-fashioned. It would not suit me.”

Mrs. Belladonna Buttercup was a New York lady; that is to say, she had formerly been a shop girl in Boston, and, having considerable talent at diplomacy, had captivated the senses of a dry goods clerk on four hundred dollars salary, become Mrs. Buttercup, and moved to New York. She was an ambitious person, and though she had been brought up in a ten footer in an obscure street, she earnestly desired to become what is technically called a “lady.” Fashion was her god. To dress well, to live in a fine house, furnished a la mode, and to move in fashionable society constituted her highest ideal of human happiness.

Mr. Buttercup entertained similar views. It is true, he was only a poor clerk when he married,—he had married to redeem his wife from the drudgery of her occupation,—and when he went to New York he had a hard struggle to support her, even in a five dollar boarding house. At the end of a year, circumstances so favored him that he was enabled to go into business on his own account. In a small shop, which his former employer stocked for him, taking a mortgage with interest at the rate of twenty per cent. per annum, he rushed boldly into the stream, assured it would bear him to opulence and an influential position in society.

Fortune favored him, and the first year showed a gain of a thousand dollars. The young man was elated, and having lived within his means, he had a considerable surplus on his hands. Taking a larger store and employing two additional clerks, he commenced his second year. He was the biggest man on Broadway; talked magnificently about his business operations, and innocently magnified his last year’s profits to five thousand dollars. Things looked so promising with him that the importers and jobbers gave him all the credit he desired. Mr. Buttercup was perfectly satisfied that he was on the high road to fortune. As Richelieu says in the play, there was no such word as “fail” in his vocabulary.

Of course, a five dollar boarding house could no longer be tolerated, and to Mrs. Buttercup’s inexpressible satisfaction, her husband engaged a room in a fashionable establishment “up town.” It was only one room, and Mr. B. had contracted to pay twenty dollars a week for it, washing and “sundries” extra. The ambitious lady went a shopping a few days after, and contrived to get rid of a hundred dollars, which the complacent shopkeeper in an impulsive moment had placed in her hands. Milliners and dressmakers were in demand for a time, and Mrs. Buttercup’s present ambition was fully satisfied. It is true, she could see in the distance an establishment of her own, with imported carpets and mirrors, with a train of liveried servants, a carriage with the Buttercup arms blazoned on its panels; and a faint whisper from the admiring crowd, “There goes the elegant Mrs. Buttercup!” reached her ears. The future was full of glorious visions, full of royal splendors, full of every thing that the heart of vanity could conceive. But for the present, she was satisfied.

Things went on swimmingly at the new store, and when Mrs. Buttercup proposed a tour to the east, her husband readily assented. Our lady of magnificent aspirations had considerable difficulty in deciding whether she should propose Saratoga or home for the summer excursion. On the one hand, Saratoga was fashionable, and she would have abundant opportunity to make the acquaintance of the exclusives. But on the other hand, if she went home, she could create a tremendous sensation among her own and her husband’s friends and relatives. She could carry the New York fashions among them; could astonish them with a display of her elegant silk, made by Madam Hippolyta Hyfalutin, from Paris, and her splendid new bonnet from the celebrated rooms of Madam Hesperiana Blomereaux, also from Paris. These things would scarcely be noticed by the fashionable of Saratoga—the absence of them alone would make a noise there.

And then her husband’s glorious prospects in the dry goods line, as well as the immense business he at present transacted—it would be so delightful to hear Tim tell them all about it! How his old father’s eyes would stick out when he heard his son talk about a hundred thousand dollars so beautifully and so indifferently; how he would open his mouth with wonder, when Tim should tell him that the firm of Funk, Hunk, and Co.—the most extensive dry goods establishment in New York—had offered him three thousand dollars salary to superintend their retail department, and how indignantly he had rejected the offer. Tim had such a graceful way of telling these things; indeed, she knew that he could make the most out of a very small matter.

They could create a sensation at home, and the prospect of being the “bright particular star” of a circle of admiring and wondering friends, enabled her to decide between Saratoga and the east. The preparations were completed, and in due time they reached the “village of Boston,” as Tim facetiously termed it.

Father and mother were duly astonished when the magnificent Mr. Buttercup spread himself. The old gentleman’s eyes stuck out, and his mouth was all agape with wonder. He “couldn’t exactly see how Broadway, if ’twan’t more’n a hund’ed foot wide, could hold all the carriages Tim telled on stoppin’ afore his door.”

In the course of events, Tim and his accomplished lady called on his sister, Mrs. Sparrow, whose husband was the secretary of an insurance company. Mr. Sparrow lived in his own house—a small, but neat and convenient structure. It was plainly furnished; but reasonable people said they were prettily situated, while those who knew them best were sure they were contented and happy.

Mrs. Belladonna Buttercup looked over the house, and turned up her nose at it. Tim’s mother was with them, and the simple-minded old lady was so indiscrete as to ask her magnificent daughter-in-law how she would like just such an establishment. She should not like it; it would not suit her. When she went to housekeeping, not less than six thousand dollars would furnish her house. At present, she preferred boarding.

“Then you don’t like my house, Belladonna?” asked Mrs. Swallow, with the slightest appearance of disappointment on her smiling face.

“Well, I can’t say that I do, Maria,” replied Mrs. Buttercup, languidly.

“It is as good as any body need have,” added Mrs. Buttercup, Senior. “If I ever see Tim as comfortably settled as Charles is, I shall be perfectly satisfied.”

“Dear me! Tim wouldn’t look at such an establishment.”

“He may be glad to yet.”

“I am sure I always liked my house very much indeed,” said Mrs. Swallow.

“You have everything comfortable, Maria; every thing comfortable.”

“It is as good as my husband can afford; and housekeeping is so much preferable to boarding.”

“Do you think so? I would not go to housekeeping for all the world.”

Mrs. Swallow shook her head.

“But then it depends, of course, upon whether you get a good boarding house,” continued Mrs. Buttercup. “We are delightfully situated. Some of the first families in the city board there. Besides, there is so much society in New York, I really don’t think I could find time to keep house. Why, there is the Hon. Mr. Flunkey—he is a member of Congress, you know—invited us to go out to his country seat on the Hudson and spend the summer. Mrs. Flunkey pressed and insisted, and would not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Did you go?” asked Mrs. Buttercup, Senior.

“Why, no; we couldn’t go. Tim’s business drove him so, that the poor fellow couldn’t sleep nights. And there are the Smallheads—they live next door to N. P. Willis, out to Lazywild——”

“Idlewild,” suggested Mrs. Swallow.

“So it was; well, they would have us come and spend a month with them. They are very fine folks. General Smallhead was an aide-de-camp with General Washington at Braddock’s defeat, you remember.”

“Indeed! then he must be a very old man,” added Mrs. Swallow.

“About fifty.”

“Why, Braddock’s defeat occurred a hundred years ago!”

“O, no; you are mistaken,” replied Mrs. Buttercup, blushing a little. “But no matter; he insisted on a visit. What could I do with a house?”

“Very true,” answered Mrs. Swallow, politely.

“And then Tim has a season ticket at the opera. He paid two hundred dollars for a choice of seats last season.”

“Did he?” said the mother-in-law, with a frown.

“And it is so pleasant when you are away so much, to be rid of the responsibility of keeping house.”

Mrs. Swallow did not think so. But Mrs. Buttercup had others in view whom it was her purpose to astonish, and she took her leave soon after.