The Poor Rich Man, and the Rich Poor Man/Chapter VIII
CHAPTER VIII.
A PEEP INTO THE POOR RICH MAN'S HOUSE.
As our readers may have anticipated, Susan at once entered into Harry's views; and, in a short time, she and her family were transferred to a part of a small house in Broome-street, in New-York. One room served as kitchen, parlour, and bedroom. It was furnished only with articles of the first necessity. There was a snug little bedroom for Uncle Phil, which he said suited him exactly; and a comfortable, good-sized one for Charlotte, with a neat, rag carpet on it, "because Lottie suffered with cold feet;" and a fireplace in it, "for Lottie must have a fire when she had sick turns;" and two windows, "for all Lottie's living was fresh air;" and the only bureau and the only rocking-chair were in Charlotte's room, because, as she said, "Susy had always some good reason at hand for giving her the best of every thing."
Our friends were undeniably what the world calls poor. But they had affection, intelligence, temperance, contentment, and godliness. Were they poor? We shall see. In the meantime, let us see if there is not some misuse of terms in this world. Morris Finley had "got in on the world." He had so far secured his main chance, that he was engaged in profitable business. He lived in a good house, fashionably furnished; and his wife, like the wives of other flourishing young merchants, dressed in expensive materials, made in the latest fashion. Neither Morris nor his wife was vicious. They were only selfish and ostentatious, with unfurnished minds, and hearts as empty as their purses were full.
"Husband," said Mrs. Finley to her partner, who had just come home from Wall-street to dinner, his mind engrossed with some unaccountable rise in the stocks, "Husband, mother has been here."
"Well, what of that?"
"She has given up her house."
"What of that?"
"Why, you know what of that as well as I do; she does not know what she is to do next."
We must premise that Finley's father-in-law had made some unfortunate, as well as fortunate speculations; had died, and left his wife and an unmarried daughter penniless.
"I am sure I cannot say what she is to do next," replied Finley; "she is lucky to have one daughter well provided for. What does she propose?"
"She did not propose any thing. She sat and cried the whole morning."
"Of course she cannot expect to have a home here."
"Of course not. I told her, said I, 'Mother, if I were to ask husband to invite you here, we could not accommodate you, for we have not a room to spare: you know we must eat in the basement, to keep the parlours in order for company; and in the second story there is only the nursery and our bed-chamber; and one of the third-story rooms we must keep for a spare room; and, when Sabina Jane gets to be a little older, she must have the back upper chamber; and so,' said I, 'mother, you see, if husband were perfectly willing, It is impossible.'"
"She could not have expected it."
"Oh, no, she did not; but, then, a mother is a mother, you know, and I did not wish to hurt her feelings."
"I presume, my dear, Helen Maria can get a place as governess or teacher in a school; I heard her say she had attended to music and painting, and French, and so on, at Mrs. ——'s school, for the last six years."
"So she has, I husband; but, bless you! you know how girls learn things at school, and she never expected to have to teach."
"Expect or not expect, I'd get my money's worth out of these schools. I saw, on your father's books, three hundred dollars a year paid for Helen Maria's schooling for the last six years, and this is what it has come to. Can't she teach geography, or arithmetic, or some of them useful branches?"
"No, she never was fond of the useful branches; she had quite a pretty taste for music and painting, but then people are required to understand them so well to teach them. No, I don't see as Helen Maria can earn any thing but by embroidering muslin; she does that beautifully; and if there was only a place where work might be sold without it being known where it came from, she might earn considerable, and no one be the wiser for it."
"Nonsense, wife! We have not yet got above our relations' working for their living, though you may not be obliged to. Why can't your mother take a boarding-house, and then Helen Maria might assist her?"
"Oh! Helen Maria can't do any kind of housework; besides, she is delicate, you know. Now mother was brought up to it; and when I proposed a boarding-house, she said if she had any security to offer for her rent—"
"Ah! there's the rub! I hope she don't expect me to offer; for you know, my dear, I make it an invariable rule never to endorse, but in the way of business, for those who endorse for me."
"What is to be done, husband, if she can't get into any way of supporting herself? She must live, you know."
"And I must support her, hey?"
"No, I did not say that; but we can't let her suffer. What would people say?—there are always enough to talk, you know."
"Yes, yes: well, I suppose I must advance the first quarter's rent, or something towards it. Oh! a thought strikes me; I know a house that will just suit, belonging to some old maid or widow, or somebody that lives up the country. The man that has the care of it ain't particular about security. I'll make the bargain for her—save her at least a hundred dollars. That's just as good to her as if I took the money out of my purse and put it into hers. I am glad to do your mother a good turn now and then in this way. I ain't one that holds to shirking poor relations."
"Nor I, I am sure, and I told mother so; but I told her not to look to you; for, says I, mother, you know we have a very expensive family, and there are certain things we must have, and husband says he will always keep on the safe side."
"Yes, trust Morris Finley for that. Folks that mean to go ahead in the world must avoid unnecessary expenses. Has the man been here about the curtains?"
"Yes; and I find the fawn, with blue borders, cost, for each window, twenty dollars more than the others."
"Bless my soul! how is that?"
"The fixtures are very showy and expensive—I don't make a point of those—but the blue and fawn is such a lovely contrast, and such a match for my carpet. If there's any thing I do care about, it's a match."
"But the price, wife, is enormous."
"But it is not more than Mrs. Johnson Smith gave for hers."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Positive; Miss Saltus told me so, and Miss Saltus made them up. I should not depend on what Mrs. Johnson Smith said, for she always makes it out that her things cost more than anybody else's; but I can rely on Miss Saltus."
"Well, if that's the case, take the blue and fawn. I hope I can afford what Johnson Smith can; but mind and make your bargain with that Saltus woman beforehand; work is slack just now, and she can't afford to lie by with that old blind mother on her hands. Get your work done as well and as cheap as you can; for, remember, we must avoid all unnecessary expenses. But what keeps the dinner, my dear?"
"I am sure I don't know, my dear; I have been out making visits all the morning. Servants are good for nothing now-a-days—always trifling away their time."
"What ails Sabina Jane? seems to me she does nothing but bawl."
Mrs. Finley opened the door to inquire, and in rushed a pale little girl, with a bit of plum-cake in her hand.
"Take care, Judy," said the mother, picking up the crumbs the child profusely scattered; "you should not let Sabina Jane come into the parlour—it's no place for children."
"She would come, ma'am."
"Oh, Sabina Jane, my darling, go back to the nursery, that's a good child."
"I won't, I won't."
Mrs. Finley, in a low voice to the nurse—"Coax her, Judy—tell her you'll take her out to walk."
"I can't take her out, ma'am—my foot is lame."
"Oh, only just take her so, to pacify her. Stop, Sabina Jane, and listen to mother; Sabina Jane shall go out walking in Broadway, and have on her pretty velvet cap, and her cloak, all trimmed with pink—there, that's a good girl! now she'll go with Judy. Get out her things, Judy—make her look like a little beauty!"
The little dupe returned to the nursery, and in two minutes was bawling louder than ever, having been quieted just that time by her mover's precious lesson in lying and vanity.