“Well,” he replied, “can’t you have another for common wear?”
Tom had got some money, that was clear. The very atmosphere of the house seemed changed since yesterday. The sunshine was to be taken advantage of however, and Lucy went up to him and said something to him in a low voice, to which he answered,
“I can’t this morning. Tell her to send it up.”
Emily had heard this often enough to understand what it meant. The hat was to be charged, that was evident. However, as it was to be bought, that was all she cared about. The rest only concerned Tom and Madame Dudevant.
These fits of liberality and good humor, however, were becoming rare. Coolidge was certainly growing cross. His naturally fine, generous temper was becoming clouded by his embarrassments. When a man is harassed he is apt to forget himself even toward those he loves best. And he did love his little wife dearly, notwithstanding that he frequently spoke almost harshly to her. And this again acted upon her poor thing. She was becoming nervous and timid, and sorry are we to add—fretful.
“Do keep quiet, Harry,” she would say to her eldest child, a fine spirited boy, in the tone of a person who had the toothache, “You are enough to set one distracted with your noise. Now put your blocks away and sit down and read.”
But Harry, being in the midst of a high game of fun with his little sister, did not want to throw down the castle he was building, would say,
“Oh, mamma, pray let me finish. I don’t want to read. I wont do any harm.”
“How troublesome you are, Harry. Do as I bid you. And, Fanny, do you go up into the nursery. You make too much noise here, both of you. Go, nurse wants you up stairs.”
And so the poor children’s pleasures were often cut short, because mamma had a bill preying upon her mind, that made the sound of mirth absolutely painful to her.