“And, Paley, you furnished the house beautifully, but there is just one thing for the parlor that you forgot,” continued Lilian, bestowing upon me her most winning smile.
“What is that?”
“An étagère. It would set off the parlor more than all the rest of the furniture.”
“But it would cost about a hundred dollars.”
“I would rather do without many other things than not have an étagère,” replied Lilian, beginning to look very sad.
“Will you go down town and look at some of them?” said I, looking as amiable as though I had not borrowed fifteen hundred dollars of the bank.
“Dear me! I can’t go this afternoon. I have everything to do. But your taste is so good, Paley, that you can buy one just as well without me.”
I left the house for the purpose of obtaining a piano and an étagère. Buckleton had showed me the latter article, and insisted that my house would not be furnished without it. I had positively refused to buy it, for two reasons. First, because I could not afford it; and, second, because no one could pronounce the name of the thing. I confess that it seemed to be a greater sin to place such a piece of furniture where plain Yankees would be tempted to utter its name, than it was to indulge in criminal extravagance. Lilian’s French had been neglected, and she made a bad botch of the word, but I decided to instruct her in the difficult task of pronouncing the word.
I went to a pianoforte house. The book-keeper made his deposits and drew his checks over our counter. I knew him. He showed me a five hundred dollar instrument. It suited me—the piano, not the price. A lower-priced one did not meet my views. I proposed an arrangement with the concern, that I would hire the instrument with the intention of purchasing if it suited me. One of the firm was consulted. Perhaps he knew that persons who once indulged in a luxury would not willingly give it up. He consented to let it for three months, with the privilege of purchasing at the end of that time. It was ordered to my house. The piano was provided for at an expense of twenty-five dollars, if not bought, for three months.
The étagère was a more difficult matter. I could not hire one, and I did not like to pay a hundred dollars for such a useless piece of furniture; but there was no alternative. Lilian had said she must have one. I had nearly three hundred dollars in my pocket, but with this sum I intended to pay Smith, and get rid of my “floating debt,” so that I should owe no one but Aunt Rachel. But Smith’s bill could not be over a hundred dollars, at the most extravagant figure, and I thought I could spare enough for the étagère.