"Oh maw!" interposed Phenie again, going to the window to hide her blushes.
"Columbus is a butcher by trade," went on Mrs. Angel, in a confidential whisper, "an' Phenie, she don't like the idee of it. I tell her she's foolish, but she don't like it. I reckon it's readin' them story-papers, all about counts, an' lords, an' sich, as has set her agin' butcherin'. But Columbus, he jess loves the groun' she walks on, an' he's a-goin' ter hucksterin' as soon as ever he can git a good stan'."
I expressed a deep interest in the success of Columbus, and rescued Phenie from her agony of confusion by some remarks upon other themes of a less personal nature. Soon after, mother and daughter departed.
Eight o'clock Monday morning brought Phenie, looking elated yet nervous. She wore the faded blue dress, but a smart "butterfly-bow" of rose-pink was perched in her shining hair, and another was at her throat. As we entered the Treasury building, I saw that she turned pale and trembled as if with awe, and as we passed on through the lofty, resounding corridors, and up the great flight of steps, she panted like a hunted rabbit.
At the Bureau I presented the appointment-card I had received. The superintendent gave it a glance, scrutinized Phenie closely, beckoned to a minor power, and in a moment the new employé was conducted from my sight. Just as she disappeared behind the door leading into the grimy, noisy world of printing-presses, Phenie gave me a glance over her shoulder. Such a trembling, scared sort of a glance! I felt as if I had just turned a young lamb into a den of ravening wolves.
Curiously enough, from this day the fortunes of the house of Angel began to mend. "He" was reinstated in "the Yard," the oldest boy began a thriving business in the paper-selling line, and Mrs. Angel herself being plentifully supplied with plain sewing, the family were suddenly plunged into a state of affluence which might well have upset a stronger intellect than that of its maternal head. Her lunacy took the mild and customary form of "shopping." Her trips to the Avenue (by which Pennsylvania Avenue is presupposed) and to Seventh Street became of semi-weekly occurrence. She generally dropped in to see me on her way home, in quite a friendly and informal manner (her changed circumstances had not made her proud), and with high glee exhibited to me her purchases. They savored strongly of Hebraic influences, and included almost every superfluous article of dress known to modern times. She also supplied herself with lace curtains of marvellous design, and informed me that she had bought a magnificent "bristles" carpet at auction, for a mere song.
"The bristles is wore off in some places," she acknowledged, "but it's most as good as new."
Her grief for the lamented Mr. Lawson found new expression in "mourning" jewelry of a massive and sombre character, including ear-rings of a size which threatened destruction to the lobes of her small ears. Her fledgelings were liberally provided with new garments of a showy and fragile nature, and even her feelings toward "him" became sufficiently softened to allow the purchase of a purple necktie and an embroidered shirt-bosom for his adornment.
"He ain't not ter say so ugly, of a Sunday, when he gits the smudge washed off," she remarked, in connection with the above.
"It must have been a great satisfaction to you," I suggested (not without a slight tinge of malice), "to be able to pay off the grocer and the dry-goods merchant."