THE BARGAIN.
“What have you there, husband?” said Mrs Courtland to her thrifty and careful spouse, as the latter paused in the open door to give some directions to a couple of porters who had just set something upon the pavement in front of the house.
“Just wait a moment, and I’ll tell you. Here, Henry! John! bring it in here,” and the two porters entered with a beautiful sofa, nearly new.
“Why, that is a beauty, husband! How kind you are!”
“It’s second-hand, you perceive; but it’s hardly soiled—no one would know the difference.”
“It’s just as good as new. What did you give for it?”
“That’s the best part of it. It is a splendid bargain. It didn’t cost a cent less than a hundred dollars. Now, what do you think I got it for?” “Sixty dollars?”
“Guess again.” “Fifty?”
“Guess again.” “Forty-five?”
“No. Try again.”
“But what did you give for it, dear?” “Why, only twenty dollars!”
“Well, now, that is a bargain.”
“Ain’t it, though? It takes me to get things cheap,” continued the prudent Mr Courtland, chuckling with delight.
“Why, how in the world did it go off so low?” “I managed that. It ain’t every one that understands how to do these things.”
“But how did you manage it, dear? I should like to know.”
“Why, you see, there were a great many other things there, and among the rest some dirty carpets. Before the sale I pulled over these carpets and threw them upon the sofa; a good deal of dust fell from them, and made the sofa look fifty per cent. worse than it really was. When the sale commenced, there happened to be but few persons there, and I asked the auctioneer to sell the sofa first, as I wanted to go, and would bid for it if it were sold then. Few persons bid freely at the opening of a sale.
‘What’s bid for this splendid sofa?’ he began.
‘I’ll give you fifteen dollars for it,’ said I; ‘it’s not worth more than that, for it’s dreadfully abused.’
‘Fifteen dollars! fifteen dollars! only fifteen dollars for this beautiful sofa!’ he went on; and a man next to me bid seventeen dollars. I let the auctioneer cry the last bid for a few minutes, until I saw he was likely to knock it down.
‘Twenty dollars!’ said I, ‘and that’s as much as I’ll go for it.’
The other bidder was deceived by this as to the real value of the sofa, for it did look dreadfully disfigured by the dust and dirt, and consequently the sofa was knocked off to me.”
“That was admirably done, indeed!” said Mrs Courtland, with a bland smile of satisfaction at having obtained the elegant piece of furniture at so cheap a rate. “And it’s so near a match, too, for the sofa in our front parlour.”
This scene occurred at the residence of a merchant in this city, who was beginning to count his fifty thousands. Let us look at the other side of the picture.
On the day previous to this sale, a widow lady with one daughter, a beautiful and interesting girl about seventeen, were seated on a sofa in a neatly furnished parlour in Hudson-street. The mother held in her hand a small piece of paper, on which her eyes were intently fixed; but it could readily be perceived that she saw not the characters that were written upon it.
“What is to be done, ma?” at length asked the daughter.
“Indeed, my child, I cannot tell. The bill is fifty dollars, and has been due, you know, for several days. I haven’t got five dollars, and your bill for teaching the Miss Leonards cannot be presented for two weeks, and then it will not amount to this sum.”
“Can’t we sell something more, ma?” suggested the daughter.
“We have sold all our plate and jewellery, and now I’m sure I don’t know what we can dispose of, unless it be something that we really want.”
“What do you say to selling the sofa, ma?”
“Well, I don’t know, Florence. It don’t seem right to part with it. But perhaps we can do without it.”
“It will readily bring fifty dollars, I suppose.”
“Certainly. It is of the best wood and workmanship, and cost one hundred and forty dollars. Your father bought it a short time before he died, and that is less than two years past you know.”
“I should think it would bring nearly a hundred dollars,” said Florence, who knew nothing of auction sacrifices; “and that would give us enough, besides paying the quarter’s rent, to keep us comfortably until some of my bills come due.”
That afternoon the sofa was sent, and on the next afternoon Florence went to the auctioneer’s to receive the money for it.
“Have you sold that sofa yet, sir?” asked the timid girl, in a low, hesitating voice.
“What sofa, miss?” asked the clerk, looking steadily in her face with a bold stare.
“The sofa sent by Mrs ——, sir.”
“When was it to have been sold?”
“Yesterday, sir.”
“Oh, we haven’t got the bill made out yet. You can call the day after to-morrow, and we’ll settle it for you.”
“Can’t you settle it to-day, sir? We want the money particularly.”
Without replying to the timid girl’s request, the clerk commenced throwing over the leaves of a large account-book, and in a few minutes had taken off the bill of the sofa.
“Here it is—eighteen dollars and sixty cents. See if it’s right, and then sign this receipt.”
“Ain’t you mistaken, sir? It was a beautiful sofa, and cost one hundred and forty dollars.”
“That’s all it brought, miss, I assure you. Furniture sells very badly now.”
Florence rolled up the bills that were given her, and returned home with a heavy heart.
“It only brought eighteen dollars and sixty cents, ma,” she said, throwing the notes into her mother’s lap, and bursting into tears.
“Heaven only knows, then, what we shall do,” said the widow, clasping her hands together, and looking upwards.
There are always two parties in the case of bargains—the gainer and the loser; and while the one is delighted with the advantage he has obtained, he thinks nothing of the necessities which have forced the other party to accept the highest offer. But few buyers of bargains think or care about taking this view of the subject.—From the New York Mirror.