“In payment,” I went on, “of the article How to be a Successful Wife, from the editor of Baby’s Own a weekly Magazine specially devoted to the Nursery.”
“Yes, yes. I send heem zere. I sink it’s so chic, that magazine.”
“Well, I congratulate you on your first success as a literary agent. You deserve your ten per cent. commission. It isn’t the Eldorado of our dreams, but it will enable us to carry out some needed sartorial reforms. For example, I may now get my boots persuaded to a new lease of life, while you can buy some stuff for a blouse. How much can we do on twenty-six francs?”
Between Necessary Expenditure and Cash in Hand the difference was appalling, but after elaborate debate the money was duly appropriated. From this time on Anastasia became more energetic than ever in her consumption of postage. It was about this time, too, I noticed she ate very sparingly. On my taxing her, she declared she was dieting. She was afraid, she said, of getting fat. On which I decided I also was getting fat: I, too, must diet. Every one, we agreed, ate too much. I for one (I vowed) could do better work on a mess of pottage than on all the fleshpots of Egypt. So the expenses of our ménage began to take a very low figure indeed.
At the same time “Soup of the Onion” began to make its appearance with a monotonous frequency. It is made by frying the fragments of one of these vegetables till it is nearly black. You then add hot water, boil a little, strain. The result is a warm, yellowish liquor of onionish suggestion, which an ardent imagination may transform into a delicate and nourishing soup—and which costs about one sou.
A sudden reversion, however, to a more generous cuisine aroused my suspicion, and, on visiting the little embroidery shop, again I saw some of her work. I made a rapid calculation. Of my personal possessions there only remained to me my gold signet ring, and the seal that had hung at the end of my chain. For the first I got fifty francs, for the second, twenty. So for thirty francs I bought her work, and locked it away with the cushion cover.
I am really beginning to despair, to think I shall have to give in. Oh, the bitterness of surrender! All that is mulish in me revolts at the thought. For myself rather would I starve than be beaten, but there is the girl, she must not be allowed to suffer.
May 31st.
This has been a happy day, such a happy day as never before have I known. This morning Lorrimer burst into my apartment flourishing a cheque for The Scourge of the Sierras. Shortcake & Hammer expressed themselves as well pleased, and sent—not ten pounds but twelve.
“I tell you what!” cried the artist excitedly, “we’ve got to celebrate your success as a popular author. We’ll spend the extra two pounds on a dinner. We’ll ask Rougette and Helstern, and we’ll have it to-night in the Café d’Harcourt.”