Chapter I
Reading edition
“Another new dress!” exclaimed Mr. Simeon Montague to his wife. “It does not seem to be more than three weeks since you had one.”
“Just two months, Simeon.”
“And you need another?”
“I should not ask for the money if I did not. And Franky must have a new jacket, and Nellie a new cloak.”
Mr. Montague sighed.
“I gave you fifteen dollars only a week ago.”
“What is fifteen dollars? Do you think it will clothe me and the children a year?” replied Mrs. Montague indignantly.
“Money comes hard,” suggested Mr. Montague.
“I suppose it does; but if you wish me and the children to go half clothed, why, only say so.”
“Of course, I wish nothing of the kind; I only want you to be as prudent as possible.”
“I intend to be so.”
“These are dreadful tight times.”
“I should think they were,” replied the lady, with a palpable sneer on her lip. “They have been just so, though, ever since we have been married.”
“Won’t next week do?”
“I engaged a dressmaker for next Friday.”
“I don’t see how I can spare fifteen dollars to-day,” said Mr. Montague, musing, apparently, upon his financial affairs. “I have a note to pay to-day.”
“You have had a note to pay every time I have asked you for money since we were married.”
“I will try and have it for you to-morrow.”
“I want to go out shopping to-day; I can’t go to-morrow.”
“I cannot possibly spare it to-day. Won’t ten dollars answer your purpose?”
“Perhaps I can make it do.”
“If you can, I wish you would,” replied the husband, as he took out his pocket book and handed her that amount.
“I can only get a calico for myself.”
“Well, won’t that answer?”
“Are you willing to go to church with me with a calico dress on?”
“Certainly, my dear. Why not?”
“I thought you had some pride.”
“I have, but no foolish pride.”
“A twenty-five dollar coat is hardly good enough for you to wear to church.”
“But I don’t have one every month.”
“You have two every year.”
Mr. Montague did not think it was prudent to say any more; and putting on his hat, which he had just been brushing with the most scrupulous care, he surveyed his person before the looking glass. His collar needed a little elevating, his cravat had to be re-adjusted, and he discovered a speck of dirt on his black coat, which was carefully removed. His lady looked at him with a smile as he stood before the glass.
“Calico dress, indeed,” thought she. “There is not a prouder man walks Washington Street, than my husband.”
Mr. Montague smoothed down his whiskers, and was leaving the room, when a gentleman wishing to see him was announced.
“Ah, Butler,” said he, as the gentleman entered the room.
“I called at your store yesterday, but did not find you,” said Butler, handing him a little paper.
“Just so,” said he, opening it.
Mrs. Montague was impertinent enough to look over his shoulder as he read the paper. It ran as follows:—
“Mr. Simeon Montague
To Apollo Club Rooms, Dr.
To your Quarterly Assessment, $25,00
“1 Basket Heidsick Champagne, 16,00
“100 Concha Cigars, 4,00
$45,00
Received Payment,
B. Butler, Steward.”
“Just so,” repeated Mr. Montague, throwing the bill on the table, and taking out his pocket book. “Sorry to trouble you; meant to have paid it last night.”
“No trouble at all,” replied Butler.
“Forty-five, is it?” continued Montague, as he counted out the money.
“Forty-five.”
The steward of the “Apollo Club Rooms” put the money in his pocket, and bade his liberal patron good morning.
“It was too bad to make him call twice for that money, wasn’t it, Simeon?” asked Mrs. Montague, when the steward had gone.
“Of course I was sorry to give him any unnecessary trouble,” replied Mr. Montague.
“I thought you had a note to pay to-day?”
“So I have.”
“But can’t you spare me the other five dollars for which I asked you?”
“Can’t, possibly.”
“I think your family ought to receive as much consideration as the Club House, at least.”
“I must go to the store, my dear; I am in a great hurry.”
“Sixteen dollars for champagne,” said the wife, reading from the bill, which she had picked up from the table. “I only asked for fifteen.”
“You would not have me niggardly at the Club Rooms, would you?”
“I would not have you go there at all. I suppose it is nothing to be niggardly in your family?”
“Am I niggardly?” asked Mr. Montague, rather sternly.
The lady was silent.
“One would think that I was made of money, by the way you ask me for it,” continued Mr. Montague.
“One would think you were, to see you paying forty-five dollars a quarter at the Club House,” replied Mrs. Montague, meekly. “A married man too.”
“I wasn’t born to be tied to a woman’s apron-string,” added Mr. Montague, rushing from the house.
The lady looked at the door which had just closed upon him. Her heart was sad, and she burst into tears.