"Hav'nt you the change?" enquired Mr. Smith, at the same time drawing forth his purse, through the meshes of which the gold and silver coin glittered in the gas light.
"No dear," I replied, feeling instant relief.
"Help yourself;" said he, as he tossed the purse to my side of the table. I was not long in accepting the invitation you may be sure.
"Don't think," said I, after Bridget had retired, "that I am one of those who grudge the toiling poor the meagre wages they earn. I presume I looked, as I spoke, a little annoyed. The fact is, to tell the honest truth, I have not a dollar in my porte-monnaie; this with the not very pleasant consciousness of having spent several dollars to-day rather foolishly, fretted me when the just demand of the washerwoman came."
"I will exonerate my wife from any suspicion of grinding the faces of the poor." Mr. Smith spoke promptly and with some earnestness of manner. After a slight pause, he continued,
"Some people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waited on for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, 'Call to-morrow,' even though their pockets are far from being empty.
"I once fell into this bad habit myself; but, a little incident, which I will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained my majority, a poor widow named Blake did my washing and ironing. She was the mother of two or three little children, whose sole dependance for food and raiment was on the labor of her hands.
"Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with my clothes, 'white as the driven snow;' but, not always, as punctually, did I pay the pittance she had earned by hard labor.
"'Mrs. Blake is down stairs,' said a servant tapping at my room door, one morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself.
"'Oh, very well,' I replied. 'Tell her to leave my clothes. I will get them when I come down.'