Mrs. Smith leaned toward the window, and took in a view of the carriage, with the two men sitting impatiently in the coachman’s seat.
“Do you really mean that, Mrs. Carter?”
“That, and an open carriage, besides a couper for Carter, and two saddle-horses, in case Carter and I might want to take lessons and ride in the Park together.”
“But how, Mrs. Carter, how?” inquired Mrs. Smith, open-mouthed with wonder.
“You know Carter got into the feed-business; that led him to hosses and mules, and sich. Well, the army wanted hosses; Carter went in under contract. Then the hosses wanted feed, he went in under contract again. Then he got into produce, which kept a running up and down, for ever so long; there he made and made, keeping his eye-teeth sharp, you know.”
“Mercy on me! You take away my breath, Mrs. Carter!”
“No wonder; it took mine away more than once. After this, he hooked in with a clothing-house, and that was the best of all. Everything substantial but the clothes. Well, these things rolled up, and this is just what it has come to.”
Here Mrs. Carter spread her two hands, and rustled her garments with a jovial laugh, while her old friend stepped back and surveyed her from head to foot, with glowing admiration.
“And you don’t seem a bit different,” she broke forth at length.
Mrs. Carter flushed red, and drew the lace shawl about her with emphatic protest.