“If he’ll consent, you will?” she said, as she prepared to leave her uncle.
“You’ll drive him to offer to pay for the thing himself.”
“I dare say he will, and then he’ll drive me to refuse. You may be quite sure of this, uncle, that whatever clothes I do wear, he will never see the bill of them;” and then that conference was ended.
“I’ve made that calculation again,” said Bob at breakfast, and I feel convinced that if an act of parliament could be passed restricting the consumption of food in Christmas week,—the entire week, mind,—to that of ordinary weeks, we should get two millions of money, and that those two millions would tide us over till the Indian cotton comes in. Of course I mean by food, butchers’ meat, groceries, spirits, and wines. Only think, that by one measure, which would not entail any real disappointment on any one, the whole thing would be done.”
“But the act of parliament wouldn’t give us the money,” said his father.
“Of course I don’t really mean an act of parliament; that would be absurd. But the people might give up their Christmas dinners.”
“A great many will, no doubt. Many of those most in earnest are pretty nearly giving up their daily dinners. Those who are indifferent will go on feasting the same as ever. You can’t make a sacrifice obligatory.”
“It would be no sacrifice if you did,” said Nora, still thinking of her wedding clothes.
“I doubt whether sacrifices ever do any real good,” said Frederick F. Frew.
“Oh, Fred!” said Nora.