The Young Wife CHAPTER 11.
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"I am sure you will agree with me, now, that boarding is, in every way, preferable to housekeeping," Mrs. Lawton said to her husband, one day, after dinner, at the expiration of a month from the beginning of their experiment.
"I can't say but that it is pleasant enough, so far, Julia; but I have no idea that it will last. And even as it is, this is far from feeling like home to me. And I am sure the children are not so cheerful as they were."
"O, there you are mistaken. They enjoy themselves as much as ever they did. I see more of them than you do, and I am sure that there is not a particle of difference."
"Well, perhaps not. It may only be an idea of mine — a reflection of my own feelings."
"But why do you think that it will not last long?" inquired Mrs. Lawton. "I cannot understand what you mean."
"I mean, then, Julia, that Mrs. Baillie will not be able to sustain herself. Poor woman! I pity her, for she is struggling, I see, with difficulties that are, I fear, insurmountable. Her rent alone is one thousand dollars a year, or twenty dollars a week, and all she yet receives from boarders is but fifteen."
"O but, Frank, you know that she will obtain more boarders. She doesn't, of course, expect to get along on what we pay her."
"Of course not. But she hasn't got her other boarders yet."
"Certainly not. But then you must give the woman time. The world was not made in a day."
"All very just and sensible, Julia. And we will suppose that she has six or eight more boarders, which is as many as she can expect for the first six months. Six young men, at four dollars each, will make twenty-four dollars, which, including what she receives from us, will make thirty-nine, say forty dollars a week. Her rent is twenty. And there is but twenty dollars left to buy the marketing and groceries for about sixteen people, including, of course, her own family and servants, to say nothing of fuel, servants' wages, their own clothes, etc. etc. etc."
"Rather a discouraging picture, I must confess," Mrs. Lawton said.
"Indeed it is. And I pity her from my heart. The more I see of both herself and daughters, the more I feel interested in them. To tell you the truth, Julia, since I have considered the matter, I begin to feel as if we had acted wrong in encouraging them to take this house."
"O no, I wouldn't think that. They will get more boarders."
"I hope so, Julia. But, even then, I have my doubts of their success."
As Mrs. Lawton had intimated, they certainly were situated very pleasantly, considering that they were in a boarding-house. Mrs. Baillie and her daughters did everything that their kind hearts and a natural desire to please, prompted them to do, to make them comfortable. But as day after day passed, and there was no accession to their number of boarders, they began to feel discouraged. Their advertisement, which was ordered to be kept in for a month, still continued to appear, and at last attracted the eye of two or three young men who wanted to obtain boarding, and at the end of the third week, there were two additions to the family, which increased their income by eight dollars. These soon induced first one and then two others to come also. And now the widow and her daughters began to feel as if there was some hope of success. But with this increase of family, came increased labor for all. Every night, both the mother and her daughters retired late, overwearied with the toil and care of the day, and every morning rose early, to renew those toils and cares. And what was worse, even with their increased income, it did not long escape the notice of Mrs. Baillie, that but little was left after the weekly bills for marketing and groceries were paid.
"I don't see how we are going to pay our rent, Anna," she said, one day, to her oldest daughter — "We do not seem to make any money on our boarders. Seven weeks of our first quarter have passed, and yet we have not ten dollars laid aside, and the rent will amount to two hundred and fifty."
This remark caused Anna's countenance to fall, and she paused for some moments before she replied. At last, with a long-drawn sigh, she said —
"Indeed, mother, I don't know what we shall do, unless there is some increase in our number of boarders. But even as it is, we are all nearly broken down with work, and how we are to get along with more, I can hardly tell. It won't do to hire even one more servant, for we cannot afford it."
"The prospect seems gloomy enough, Anna. But now that we have gone thus far, there is no looking back. We must try and economize all we can, and hope for the best. Something may yet turn up in our favor."
But what that something was, she had not even a remote idea. Time passed rapidly onwards, and Mrs. Baillie's quarter-day came long before she was prepared for it.
"Your bill, Mam, for the quarter's rent," said the agent of the landlord, who had been admitted by the servant, about ten o'clock on the morning of the day the rent became due.
Poor Mrs. Baillie felt as if she would sink to the floor, at this sudden demand, for she had not twenty dollars in the house.
"I am sorry, sir, that I am not able today — I have been disappointed in getting boarders — but will attend to it very soon," she stammered out in broken sentences, while her tones and expression of countenance, evinced her confusion and distress of mind.
"But your rent is due today, Ma'am," the agent said, in a positive, and somewhat stern voice.
"I know it is, sir. And I tried my best to have the money ready for you. But have not been able."
"And when do you expect to be able, please?" inquired the collector, who seemed to feel himself privileged to wound and insult even a woman, where he found her so far beneath human consideration as to have no money, when called upon to meet a just demand.
"Very soon, I hope, sir," meekly replied the distressed widow, whose previous condition and habits unfitted her as much for contending with the world in this form, as in any other.
"But I would like to know how soon, Ma'am?"
"Indeed, sir, I cannot tell. But it shall be settled at the earliest possible day. It is not a willful omission on my part, sir — but arises, altogether, from inability."
Such a plea she did not, of course, think would have the effect to make her case much worse in the eyes of the agent than before. She knew too little of the world for that.
"Then why did you rent so large a house, if you had no means of paying? It is little better than — "
Here he checked himself, and after a moment added —
"This bill must be settled very soon, Ma'am — we cannot wait;" and so saying, he withdrew.
The moment he closed the door after him, poor Mrs. Baillie burst into tears; and sinking into a chair, covered her face with her hands, and wept and sobbed as if her very heart were breaking. For weeks she had dreaded this interview, but it was none the less painful, and even distressing, for having been expected with a nervous, indefinable sensation of fear.
Anna had listened, in the adjoining room, with a throbbing heart, and feelings of indignation to what had passed between the agent and her mother. She came instantly forward, and taking her mother's hand, said, with affectionate earnestness —
"Do not give way so, dear mother! It was cruel for the man to talk as he did; but try and not mind it."
"I would not mind it so much, Anna," her mother replied, raising her head, while the tears fell fast over her pale, and sorrow-stricken face, "if I could pay him his rent."
"Well, it can be paid, mother. I have thought of a way."
"How, my child?"
"Why, by selling my piano. It will certainly bring enough to pay one quarter's rent."
The tears were almost instantly dried from Mrs. Baillie's eyes, and she looked Anna steadily and earnestly in the face.
"Do you speak from your heart, Anna?" she at length said.
"Of course I do, mother. It is of little use to me now. Certainly, far less use than the money it will bring."
"I will neither say yes nor nay, Anna. The instrument is yours, and you can do with it as you see best."
It was only half an hour after, that Anna Baillie entered an auction store, and made arrangements for its sale on the next day. But the trial was sore to her; for that piano, a beautiful and costly one, had been a birthday present from her father, when she was fifteen years old; and now she valued it ten-fold on that account. But she subdued her feelings with an effort, and steadily proceeded in her arrangements for its disposal. On the same afternoon, it was sent away. Her eyes rested upon it for the last time, and then she retired to her chamber to weep. While in the presence of her mother, she tried to assume an air of indifference — but when alone, she allowed the current of her feelings to have an unrestrained flow.
On the morning of the day after the sale, she went to the auction store to learn the result.
"Did you sell that piano yesterday?" she asked of a clerk, whom she found at a desk in the store.
"What piano, Miss?" he said, eyeing her with a bold stare.
"Why, a very beautiful one, that I had sent here on the day before the sale."
"I am sure I don't know, Miss. The clerk who attends to that business is not in," still staring her in the face with a look that caused her to drop her eyes to the floor.
"When will he be in?" she inquired, in a disappointed tone.
"You will find him in this afternoon; he is now out attending a sale."
"Can't you tell me how much it brought, if sold?" Anna ventured to ask.
"No, Miss, I can't. The clerk has the sale book with him."
And so Anna was forced to go home without even the satisfaction of knowing whether her piano was sold or not.
"Well?" said her mother, in an inquiring tone, as Anna entered, and breathing heavily as she awaited her answer.
"They could not tell me anything about it, mother."
"Why?"
"Because the clerk who attends to the sales, was out."
"When did they say you could see him?"
"This afternoon."
"You must be sure and go then, Anna, for that collector has been here again this morning."
"Well?"
"I told him that he would certainly have his money tomorrow."
"And was he satisfied at that?"
"Not altogether; for he did not seem to believe my promise, but talked of police, if the money were not forthcoming in a day or two."
At three o'clock, Anna again entered, with a timid step, the auction store where her piano had been deposited. There were now several men near the desk, all of whom looked at her steadily as she approached. She felt confused, and half alarmed, while the blood crimsoned her neck and face.
"Well, Miss?" said the clerk, as she came up to the desk.
"Have you sold that piano, sir, that was left here day before yesterday?"
"Was it an old one, Miss?"
"O no, sir. It was a very handsome one."
"Yes, I remember now. It was a very handsome one when new, but had been in use some time. O, yes, that is sold."
"What did it bring?" and Anna's voice was husky, and she felt a choking sensation as she asked the question.
"One hundred and twenty dollars, Miss," the clerk replied, after referring to his account of sales.
"You must be mistaken in the one, sir; mine was very elegant, and cost seven hundred dollars. It had been well kept, and was as good as new."
"O no, I am not mistaken. It was left for sale by Anna Baillie."
"Yes, sir, that was the name."
"That was the piano that brought one hundred and twenty dollars, which was a very good price these times. Why, we sell pianos every day for from fifty to one hundred dollars — and most excellent ones, too. A new one can now be bought for one hundred and fifty, or two hundred dollars."
"Be kind enough to settle the bill for me," Anna said, for she perceived that her real feelings were too visible, and she wished to get away.
"We cannot do it today, Miss. We have nothing out of bank, and it is after bank hours. But if you will come in tomorrow, you shall have your money."
"At what hour?" asked Anna.
"Say at about ten or eleven o'clock."
The poor girl turned slowly and sadly away, and went back to her home.
"Has it been sold?" asked her mother, anxiously, as she entered the door.
"Yes, mother, it has!" and she gave way to a gush of tears.
Mrs. Baillie's heart sunk, and felt like lead in her bosom, at this indication that more disappointments awaited her.
"Be calm, my child," she said, affecting a composure that mocked the agitation within.
"I will try, mother," Anna said, with a strong effort to control her feelings; "though it is very hard. My beautiful instrument was sold for one hundred and twenty dollars. Not half enough to pay our quarter's rent."
"O, my dear child! — what shall we do?" Mrs. Baillie ejaculated, lifting her- eyes upwards, involuntarily, as if human hope had failed in her bosom.
For more than a minute the mother and daughter stood in silent, painful irresolution. Then each moved quietly, and almost stealthily away, to enter again upon the duties that awaited them.
The clock was striking ten, as Anna entered the store of the auctioneer on the next morning.
"Can you pay me that bill this morning?" she inquired, and the tones of her voice were again husky, and the words seemed to choke her in giving them utterance.
"I am really sorry, Miss," the clerk said, bowing and smiling, with a blander air than he had exhibited on the previous day, "Mr. Lyman has gone out, and he has the check book locked up in his desk. But come in almost at any time, and your bill shall be paid."
Anna felt sick and faint at this answer; for she knew that the collector of rent would be in during the morning, and she could not think of going home without the money.
"I will wait a little while," she said, after a few moments of irresolution.
"I am sorry to say, Miss, that Mr. Lyman will not return for an hour or so. But call in at almost any time through the day, and the money shall be ready for you."
Anna was now compelled to go back again without the money. She dreaded to enter the house, for she felt sure that the landlord's agent was there awaiting her return. And, sure enough, his form was the first that met her eye, as she entered the sitting-room.
"Have you got the money?" Mrs. Baillie asked eagerly, advancing to the middle of the floor, as she entered.
"Indeed, mother, I have not! The clerk told me that Mr. Lyman was out, and had the checkbook locked up in his desk."
"And so I am not to get the rent, then, I suppose!" the collector said, abruptly.
"How can we pay you, sir, without money?" was Mrs. Baillie's reply, in an appealing tone.
"A very sensible question, Ma'am. But still that doesn't suit us. When we rent a house — we expect to get the money."
At this moment Mr. Lawton, who was later than usual in going to his store, came into the room, and perceived by the countenances of both Mrs. Baillie and her daughter, that they were in great distress of mind. His sympathies had already been much excited for them, especially since the quiet removal of Anna's beautiful piano, the cause of which he truly guessed.
"What is the matter Mrs. Baillie?" he asked, in a concerned tone, advancing to the center of the room. "Is it anything in which I can be of service to you?"
"Our rent is due, Mr. Lawton," Mrs. Baillie replied. "And to pay it, my daughter has sent her piano to auction. But now that it has been sold at a great sacrifice, she cannot get the money, and this man does not seem disposed to let us have a moment's time, if he can help it."
"I am sure, ma'am," spoke up the collector, "I have been running here for a week; and yesterday you promised, positively, that I would have my money this morning."
"But you see how they have been disappointed," Mr. Lawton said.
"Yes, but I have nothing to do with that. A promise is a promise, and never should be broken."
"It is two hundred and fifty dollars, is it not, Mrs. Baillie?" Mr. Lawton asked, turning towards her.
"Yes, sir; but — "
"Well," turning again towards the collector, "bring your bill to my store, No. 51 Pearl Street, in an hour, and you shall have your money."
"Very well, sir, I will be there to the minute," was the reply, in an under tone, and the collector left the house.
"But, Mr. Lawton, the piano has only sold for one hundred and twenty dollars," Mrs. Baillie said; "and, therefore, the money for that will not be enough to repay you."
"O, never mind, Mrs. Baillie. The balance can be placed to our boarding account."
"O, sir, you are very kind!" the widow said, with a full heart.
"And now, Anna," he added, turning to the daughter, "to whose auction store did you send your piano?"
"To L & R's."
"The worst place in the city. For it is well known that they will cheat whenever a good opportunity offers. But come, I see you have your things on, and I will return there with you. I will get your money for you."
Mr. Lawton went direct to L & R's auction store, in company with Anna. One of the firm was in when they entered.
"I believe you sold a piano for Miss Baillie?" Mr. Lawton said.
"For whom?"
"For this young lady."
"Well, I believe we did. How much did it bring, William?" addressing a clerk.
William referred to the sales-book, and stated the amount for which it sold to be one hundred and twenty dollars.
While the clerk was looking over the book, Mr. Lawton stepped quickly up to him, and before he had time to close it, noted that the sum of one hundred and seventy-five dollars was marked opposite to the entry of the piano.
"You have made a mistake, have you not?" he asked, laying his hand upon the book, and touching the entry with his finger. "It should be one hundred and seventy-five dollars."
The confusion of the clerk, on so sudden and unexpected a movement, betrayed the intended act of swindling. He stammered and apologized for his careless manner of examining the entry, and confessed the larger sum to be the true one.
The commission, amounting to seventeen dollars and fifty cents, was now deducted from the bill, and the net sum of one hundred and fifty-seven dollars fifty cents paid over to Mr. Lawton, who received the money in silence, and, bowing, left the store.
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