Extravagant Living CHAPTER 20.
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"Isn't it beautiful?" said Mrs. Pinkerton, as she drew her husband into the parlor to look at the new sofa, which had been sent home during the morning.
"A very elegant piece of furniture indeed," was answered.
"If anything, it is handsomer than Mrs. Arden's. See how exquisitely the carving is done."
Mr. Pinkerton looked at the sofa — admired it — sat upon it — talked about it. But in one thing he was disappointed. It did not improve the appearance of the other articles of furniture in the room, as he had weakly flattered himself would be the case. Perhaps, he would never have imagined such an effect, if Mrs. Pinkerton had not urged it as a reason why the sofa should be purchased. The pier-tables and chairs, looked, in his eyes, sadly out of place. But he said nothing on that head. Flora would make the discovery, he doubted not, in her own good time. And she did make it. Before the thought had passed from him, she said, going up to the pier-table, and laying her hand upon it, "This has rather a dingy look."
Minutely was it now examined. The result proved far from satisfactory. Flora shook her head, and remarked in rather a dissatisfied tone of voice —
"It never was a very creditable piece of work. The fact is, good furniture is not to be procured, except at a good price. Just look at the difference between this — and the sofa."
A careful inspection of the two articles of furniture showed a vast superiority in favor of the sofa.
"I could hardly have believed it," said Pinkerton.
"Nor I," said his wife.
Then there was a pause, followed by a still further observation of the difference that existed between the two articles of furniture. Pinkerton shook his head, and his wife looked grave.
"The table is quite shamed by the sofa; isn't it?" remarked the latter.
"It certainly is," replied the former.
"I never liked the white marble slab. Black is so much richer," said Flora.
"Do you think so?" There was a slight degree of coldness in the manner of Pinkerton. He saw what was coming — and he was not fully prepared for it.
"Oh, a great deal richer!" was replied. "Mrs. Arden's pier and center tables were all of black Italian marble, and polished to a degree that makes their surface like mirrors. Didn't you notice them?"
"I did not."
"I wish you had. They are exquisite. Ours are no comparison to them."
And so the conversation progressed — ending, as Pinkerton saw, from the first, that it must end.
During the day, another visit was made by Mrs. Pinkerton to the furniture store of Hess & Augustine, and the object of her visit was fully accomplished. A pair of pier tables were ordered to take the place of the single one their taste had condemned — these cost one hundred dollars each. Strongly was she tempted to purchase an elegant center-table, the price of which was seventy-five dollars. She deemed it most diplomatic, however, to consult her husband. Chairs at seven, eight and nine dollars each, were examined, and mentally contrasted with the very plain mahogany ones that graced her parlors, much to the discredit of the latter — at least in the estimation of Mrs. Pinkerton.
The introduction of the pier-tables, was like pouring rays of strong light upon every other article of furniture the parlors contained. Not the slightest blemish or defect, but what was now distinctly visible, as well to the eyes of the ambitious husband as his wife.
"Flora," said the former, after having admired the tables for some time, "these chairs will never do." And he took one of them in his hand, examined it for a moment, and then pushed it from him, with a slight expression of contempt.
"I wish you could see a set of chairs that I was looking at yesterday."
"Where?" he inquired.
"At Hess & Austin's."
"Were they handsome?"
"You would think so."
"What do they ask for them?"
"Eight dollars a-piece."
Pinkerton shrugged his shoulders.
"It's a high price, I know. But, indeed, they are beautiful. They would make these rooms look charming."
"Would it require a dozen?"
"Oh no," quickly replied Mrs. Pinkerton. "Eight is a number altogether sufficient."
"Eight. Eight times eight are sixty-four. Not ruinous, certainly," said Mr. Pinkerton, speaking half to himself.
"And just to think of the appearance," suggested his fair lady. "Oh, but wouldn't the effect of everything be just perfect? Sofa, pier-tables and chairs, all in the same style, and handsome enough for a palace! You'll let me order them, won't you, dear?"
"If you think you must have them, I suppose I can only say yes," was the husband's weak reply, made with some rather uncomfortable images before his mind. Experience made him but too distinctly conscious that it did not take a very long time for the period of six months to arrive; and all these indulgences — or, rather, say, extravagances — would have to be paid for at the expiration of that time.
Another visit to the furniture-makers was promptly made. It did not take much urging on the part of these gentlemen to induce Mrs. Pinkerton to order a dozen chairs instead of eight. So the cost was ninety-six dollars, instead of sixty-four.
No one will be surprised to hear that the neat Brussels carpet, which many of the friends of Mrs. Pinkerton had over and over again admired, became suddenly quite changed in appearance. The lady's first impression was, that being a poor article, it must have faded; and she said so to her husband. He examined it, and thought her in error; and yet he admitted, that from some cause, its beauty had diminished. Next the material was closely scanned, which resulted in the discovery that it was coarse. Gradually from this time, the favorite lost its position. Other carpets were looked at — comparisons were made — and finally, it was unanimously voted that the old friend was a very common-place affair, altogether out of style, and not fit company for the newly arrived parlor furniture.
Naturally enough, in the course of events, a new carpet took the place of the old one; all that Pinkerton was required to do in the matter, being simply to sign his name to a note of two hundred dollars, payable six months after date. Very considerately, his wife took all the trouble of purchase, and such matters, upon herself.
Still, the parlor arrangements were not perfect. There was a lack of harmony somewhere. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Pinkerton were satisfied with the effect produced. The mirrorswere not only too small, but plain, when compared with chairs, sofa, pier-tables and carpet. This discovery was in due time made — and it explained the lack of harmony. So another council was called, and the handsome mantel-glasses voted out as unworthy. Their places were supplied by a pair of mirrors, "cheap at two hundred and forty dollars," for which another note was given by Mr. Mark Pinkerton.
Yet for all these changes, made at so heavy a cost — for all this yielding to the demands of taste and love of display — the wife of our young merchant was less satisfied with the style of her home surroundings, than before the purchase of their new sofa. Not yet were the parlors arrayed to her satisfaction. Incongruities still existed, the most prominent of which were the window draperies. These were of red damask moreen, and the cost, for four windows, had been a hundred dollars. The quality was good, and to any eye, not obscured as Mrs. Pinkerton's was now obscured — really handsome. But some of her fashionable friends rejoiced in the possession of satin damask curtains; and they were so much richer and more elegant, in her estimation, than moreen — that all pleasure in her parlor drapery was gone.
Nothing now would do, but satin damask curtains. A little while her husband resisted this new encroachment on his purse — or rather on his credit — then yielded with as good a grace as possible, consoling himself with the reflection that the new firm was doing already a heavy business, and that he could, therefore, well afford to pay three hundred and fifty dollars for a set of satin damask window curtains.
Was this the end? Not by any means. Already the new sofa had cost over thirteen hundred dollars; and there was no telling where the outlay began in its purchase, would stop. At last, the parlors of Mrs. Pinkerton were attired in a style which nearly met her approbation. A few things were lacking, it is true. She coveted some choice paintings, a piece or two of statuary and such like matters, and finally became quite unhappy, because one of her friends received, as a birthday present, a costly French time-piece, to grace one of her pier-tables, while Mr. Pinkerton, to whom she hinted the fact that a like remembrancer would be particularly grateful, replied a little pettishly, and it must be owned, rather roughly — that she was like the horse-leech's daughter, forever crying to him, "give — give!"
Instantly Mrs. Pinkerton was drowned in tears. The cruel man had well near broken her heart. What now was to be done? A wife in tears can overcome any man whose heart is not like iron or stone. Mr. Pinkerton apologized — asked to be forgiven for his hasty words — said he meant nothing — that he was merely jesting, and all that. But it was of no use. He had unsealed the fountain of tears, and vainly tried to check its flow. With rather a heavy heart, he left his dwelling on the morning when this distressing incident occurred, leaving a tear-drowned face behind him. Slowly he moved along on his way to the store, musing, with his eyes upon the pavement. Now he blamed himself for having spoken so unguardedly, and now he was out of patience with his wife for her unreasonable extravagance.
But what was to be done? That was now the difficult question. Cloud and storm were in his dwelling — how were they to be removed? Pinkerton lifted his eyes from the pavement just as this mental inquiry was made, with more than usual earnestness. How opportune! He was just opposite the store of Mr. Gelston, and there, in the window, stood a beautiful French clock. Resistance was useless. Here was the remedy; and if he would cure the disease, it must be applied. The temptation was not to be resisted. So, without waiting for an obtrusive doubt, he entered the store, bought the clock, and had it sent home!
When, a few hours afterwards, he entered the dwelling — it was full of sunshine!
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