The carpet people went to work immediately, and in a week all the rooms were ready for the furniture. Buckleton was so obliging as to go to the house himself and arrange the chairs, tables, bedsteads and other articles. The kitchen furniture was all put in the closets, hung up on the walls, or otherwise disposed of, so that the place looked like an occupied home. I had sheets, pillow-cases, towels, and other articles made up, and in three weeks the English basement-house looked as cosey as the heart of a bank officer could desire.
But fearful inroads had been made upon my exchequer. The carpet people made up a total bill of three hundred and thirty dollars; and when I hinted that I might possibly find it necessary to avail myself of their offer to give me credit, they had a note to pay and wanted the cash. I was too magnificent to haggle. I settled their bill—and cursed them in my heart. When I had paid everything except the six hundred I owed Buckleton, I had only ninety dollars in my pocket.
I was alarmed. A cold sweat stood on my forehead as I added up the items and found that I was twelve hundred dollars in debt. The situation worried me for a few days, but I soon became accustomed to it. I consoled myself with the hope that the bank would raise my salary, though I could pay off the debts with my present income in three years. It would all come out right in the end, and it was useless to worry about the matter.
I didn’t worry long. The English basement house, all furnished, new and elegant, with a Biddy in the kitchen, was a joy which could not be ignored. If it had cost me nearly fifteen hundred dollars to furnish the house, I had that amount of property on hand, and my debts were really no more than before. The house was ready for my wife, and I proposed to her, one afternoon, when all was ready, to take a walk with me.
CHAPTER V.
LILIAN ASTONISHED—SO AM I.
IN spite of the doubts and fears which had disturbed me, I was delighted with the English basement house and already in anticipation I enjoyed the surprise of Lilian, when I should tell her that the beautiful home was her own. I asked her to walk with me, but she was a little fretful that day; somehow she seemed more like “dear ma” than I had ever seen her before.
“I don’t want to walk to-day, Paley. I’m tired,” she replied, with a languid air.