Extravagant Living CHAPTER 1.
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It was an evening in spring, and two young men, named Archibald Lofton and Mark Pinkerton, had just arisen from the tea-table, and were standing at the window of their boarding-house, looking out upon the passing crowd. Just opposite was a new building, yet unfinished. Against this, large advertisements were posted; and on one of them, in letters a foot long, was the imposing name of "Mrs. Wood," as visible by the strong glare of the gas lamp, as if day were abroad. The word "Cinderella," in smaller letters, yet bold and distinct, was displayed a little way beneath.
"Cinderella, tonight!" exclaimed the one named Pinkerton. "I must hear Mrs. Wood again. Come, Archie, won't you go?"
Lofton shook his head, as he replied —
"I believe not, Mark. I've heard her once, and that must suffice. These pleasures are rather expensive for a young man on a salary of four hundred dollars a year."
"What's a half a dollar!" exclaimed Pinkerton, almost contemptuously. "I think a night at the opera, with such a vocalist as Mrs. Wood to bewitch the soul into paradise, one of thecheapest pleasures to be found."
"It may be cheap to those who can afford it," said Lofton. "But, with me, half-dollars have never been over plenty."
"Ah, Archie, Archie!" replied Pinkerton, speaking with mock gravity, "I'm afraid you're growing in love with filthy lucre. I know that you've got two hundred dollars in the Savings Fund now. Half-dollars not over plenty! Ah, Archie, Archie!"
Lofton smiled at this sally, and replied, good-naturedly —
"How long do you think it has taken me to save two hundred dollars out of my small income?"
"Ten years."
"No, but jesting aside?"
"Five years?"
"Just two years."
"What! you haven't lived on three hundred dollars a year for two years?"
"I have."
"Impossible! why, I get six hundred, as you know, and have never yet been able to come out even!"
"I don't much wonder at that," said Lofton.
"Nor do I, either," replied Pinkerton, with a shrug. "The salary is too small."
"It is two hundred dollars more than I receive," was the other's answer; "and yet, I have something over at the end of each quarter."
"I don't see how you manage, I'm sure."
"I pay as much for boarding as you do."
"I know."
"Our clothes are made by the same tailor."
"What is your bill a year?" asked Pinkerton, abruptly.
"It was seventy dollars last year," answered Lofton.
"Seventy dollars! Why, mine was a hundred and seventy!"
"The difference of one hundred dollars — just the sum I was able to place in the Savings Fund."
"A hundred dollars' difference," said Pinkerton, in a musing, perplexed tone of voice. "I can't understand it. You never look shabby. You're always well dressed — though not in tiptop style — if anything, a little behind the fashion of the day."
"Whoever attempts to keep even with the latest fashions, must have a pretty deep purse," replied Lofton. "So I never permit myself to think about the fashions, beyond what is needful in order to avoid singularity."
"How many new coats did you have last year ?" asked Pinkerton.
"One."
"Only one? I had three; and two of them cost thirty dollars a piece. So there is a difference of sixty dollars in two items."
"Three coats. What in the world did you need with three coats?"
"As an Irishman would say, that one of them was a cloak."
"The expensive Spanish mantle you wore last winter?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you get a well-made coat at the same time I got mine?" asked Lofton.
"I did; and it's almost as good as new, yet. They wear forever. But, these kind of coats are going out of fashion."
"I saw hundreds of them last winter."
"So did I. But I can't bear the look of them since the graceful Spanish cloak is worn — they look so stiff and Methodist-like, with their tight bodies, and rows of capes."
Lofton shook his head as he replied —
"I don't wonder that you find six hundred dollars inadequate to your wants, if you permit a weak and truant imagination to trifle with your judgment at this rate. Your coat was scarcely soiled, and would have worn you, in credit, as I expect mine to do, for four or five winters to come."
"Four or five winters! "Why, Archie! You don't expect to go about in that old drab coat of yours, for the next four or five winters?"
"And why not, Mark — if it is in good condition?"
"Oh, you'll make yourself ridiculous. You'll mar your prospects in life. A young man, to gain credit with the world, must show that he is up with the times — some ambition to be like other people. This plodding, saving, pinching mode of getting along, is far out of date — it's had its day. The world is going faster than it went when our fathers were as young as we — and if we would keep pace with the general movement, we must quicken our steps. You think my thirty dollar cloak a costly expense, no doubt?"
"A very costly expense, in my opinion," said Lofton. "It has deprived you of just so much money; and, depend upon it, money in hand — is a young man's best friend."
"Why, Lofton! What a sordid idea! I really believe this miser spirit is going to bring the dollar so near to your eyes, that you will soon be able to see nothing else."
"I hope not. I trust ever to keep my heart above the love of money for its own sake. But to a young man, who seeks advancement in the world, money is a staff and a helper — a friend that will stand by him when other friendships fail. Yes, Pinkerton, I think your Spanish mantle, however fancy it may be, and graceful to the eye — cost you too dearly."
"I will demonstrate the contrary," said the young man. "Know, then, that I got so out of heart, last winter, with my old drab coat, that I was actually ashamed to go to church. Two Sundays I absented myself. Then I grew desperate, and ordered a new Spanish mantle to be made in the highest style. It came home on Saturday night, and, on Sunday, as proudas a king — and, excuse my vanity, looking like one — I reappeared at church. I felt that I was making a sensation, as I passed down the aisle, and was by no means astonished, after getting fairly composed in the pew where I sit, to find more than one pair of bright eyes fixed upon me. And there was one pair, brighter and more heavenly than the rest. Ah! Archie, how often had I striven to win a glance of interest from those beautiful orbs; yet they ever looked on me, if they looked at all, with frigid indifference. It was not so, now. The impression I desired was at last made. The expensive cloak had done the work!"
"And so the lady thought more of the cloak than the man," said Lofton.
"Not at all, my friend. One of the shortsighted and too direct inferences which men of your peculiar character of mind, are apt to make. The cloak was the exponent of the man."
"Ah! I see."
"Do you, Archie? Well, I'm glad to have brightened your ideas a little. The cloak, I repeat, was the exponent of the man. It showed what was in him. Exhibited him as a man of the times — a progressive man."
"Go on," said Lofton, with affected gravity.
"That pair of bright eyes, Archie! The glances I received from them on that morning, were worth the price of a dozen cloaks!"
"Always provided you have the money to purchase them," replied Lofton.
"Faugh. You haven't a grain of sentiment, Archie! I never saw a man who seemed to take such a malicious pleasure in throwing cold water on another's enthusiasm!"
"But who is the owner of those heavenly eyes which so enchanted you?"
"The daughter of old man Raynor."
"The wine merchant!"
"Yes. Angela Raynor. Isn't she a splendid creature; and worth a plum fortune into the bargain?"
"She may be worth a dozen plums, Mark; but their falling into your basket is another matter, altogether."
"You think so?"
"I do."
"Very well. You'll see. But let me finish my story. On the next Sunday, I was at church, again. Miss Raynor was there, and quite as much interested in your humble servant as before. For some four or five Sundays, our ogling acquaintance was kept up, when, as good fortune would have it, I met her at a party, was introduced, and spent, in her charming company, the most delightful evening of my life. So much for my Spanish mantle!"
"What does all that signify?" asked Lofton.
"To me it is significant of a rich wife. Am I sufficiently explicit?"
"Quite so."
"I think even you will call my cloak a bargain, if all comes out according to present indications."
"And you are really serious, Mark, in this matter?"
"Never was more so in my life, I can assure you. I haven't called upon Miss Raynor yet, but expect to do so very soon. We speak on the street, and in the aisle, when passing from church on Sundays; and the way her countenance brightens when our glances meet, tells plainly enough the state of her feelings. Next Sunday, if all things favor, I'm going to walk home with her."
"Setting aside all the probabilities of success in this wife speculation of yours," said Lofton, seriously, "let me inquire as to what you know of the mental and moral qualities of Miss Raynor."
"I ask no better index to character, than the face."
"Far, very far, from a reliable index," answered Lofton.
"Reliable enough, in the present instance," said Pinkerton. "But time passes. Lend me half a dollar, if you please; I haven't a penny in my pocket — spent my last dollar today, for a fancy cane that struck my fancy. Unfortunately, I let it fall on the pavement and broke the pearl top before reaching home. Wasn't it unlucky?"
"Then you're going to hear Mrs. Wood, tonight?" said Lofton, as he gave his companion the coin he had asked for.
"I am, and for two reasons. I wish to hear her again, and moreover expect to see Miss Raynor there. She was present at the last opera. Come along with me."
"No, I can't afford it."
"Nonsense! If I, who have to borrow the price of admission, can afford to go — then surely you, who are able to lend, and whose purse is heavy with coins, may afford the same enjoyment."
"You and I may differ, perhaps, as to what constitutes ability," said Lofton.
"I shouldn't wonder," remarked Pinkerton, hurriedly. "But good evening, if you won't accompany me. Time passes, and the boxes will be closed before I arrive."
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