"You, will find him in that room," he replied, pointing to a chamber in the rear of the store.
Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr. Swartz seated before a desk. The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantly furnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor's wealth.
Mr. Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at the care-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him.
"Vot can I do for you my coot voman," he enquired, without even extending the courtesy of offering her a seat.
Mrs. Wentworth remained for a moment without replying. She was embarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr. Swartz gave her. She did not recollect her altered outward appearance, but thought only of the fact that she was a lady. Her intention to appeal to him for credit, wavered for awhile, but the gaunt skeleton, Want, rose up and held her two children before her, and she determined to subdue pride, and ask the obligation.
"I do not know if you recollect me," she replied at last, and then added, "I am the lady who purchased a lot of furniture from you a few weeks ago."
"I do not remember," Mr. Swartz observed, with a look of surprise. "But vot can I to for you dis morning?"
"I am a soldier's wife," Mrs. Wentworth commenced hesitatingly. "My husband is now a prisoner in the North, and I am here, a refugee from New Orleans, with two small children. Until a short time ago I had succeeded in supporting my little family by working on soldiers' clothing, but the Quartermaster's department having ceased to manufacture clothing, I have been for several days without work." Here she paused. It pained her to continue.
Mr. Swartz looked at her with surprise, and the idea came into his mind that she was an applicant for charity.
"Vell, vot has dat got to do vid your pisness," he observed in a cold tone of voice, determined that she should see no hope in his face.