“Ah!” said Albertson, affecting indifference.
“Yes. I believe Miss Townsend was once quite a favorite of yours.”
“Does it belong to her?”
“It does. You know her father lost every thing by the failure of the ‘Great Regulator,’ and has since, I am told, been in very reduced circumstances. To-day, this instrument was sent here, and shortly after one of his daughters came in, and requested that it might be sold, either at public or private sale. She asked, as a particular favor, that as liberal an advance as we could afford might be made upon it. I offered her a hundred dollars, but the smallness of the sum seemed to disappoint her. She said it had cost a thousand dollars, and had never been used a great deal. ‘Do you want the money particularly to-day?’ I asked. ‘Yes, I must have it to-day!’ she replied. There was something so anxious and earnest in her voice, that my sympathies were awakened for her, and I told her to call again this afternoon, and I would consult Mr. Trist, and see if we could venture to make a larger advance. I wish I could meet with a purchaser for it, in the mean time, at a fair price, so as to be able to hand her about three hundred dollars instead of one. Now there is a romantic incident for you. Don’t you feel tempted to buy the piano?”
“What price do you set upon it?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“Isn’t that low?”
“Very low. But it is second hand; and three hundred dollars is a high price to get for a second-hand instrument. I am doubtful if even this will bring it.”
“You say it cost a thousand?”
“Yes.”