"Then," continued my dear friend, "I wanted those card and occasional
tables, but couldn't get them; they bought the dinner-service, too, at
six ten, and the china for seven pounds. Then I took a strong fancy to
that wool mattress, but of course I wasn't going to give five guineas
for it. It certainly was a beautifully soft and thick one, but one
could buy it new for the money, or less."
"Did you bid for any of the plate?" I gasped in husky tones.
"Well, 'pon my word, old chap, I'm half ashamed to own it, but I really
was stupid enough to go as far as eleven and sixpence an ounce for it--
which is an absurd price, you know. But there, thank goodness! I've
escaped, for I haven't bought a single lot."
I did not speak for quite five minutes, for the simple reason that I
could not. What was I to do, or what was I to say? I wanted to call
him names, and take him by the collar to shake him till his teeth
chattered. But who could so treat a guest?
"Let's go up and have some tea," I said at last, very hoarsely; and
then, recovering myself, I stopped him, for I felt sure he would begin
talking upstairs, while Mrs Scribe, on the subject being broached,
would ask--what as yet she had not had opportunity for--what I had
secured.
"Stop a minute, Tom," I said. "Don't say a word about the sale
upstairs."
He looked at me strangely, and kept his counsel as well as mine--and not
a single word has since passed our lips; but in after days, when dining
at our house in company with his wife, I have seen his eyes wander from
the Turkey carpet to the dinner-service, and again, in the drawing-room,
from the occasional tables to the china tea-cups and saucers; and then
he has glanced darkly at me, with the look of a found-out conspirator,
and I have looked darkly at him. But, no, not even to the wife of my
bosom have I ever unburdened myself respecting the prices I paid for the
new acquisitions to our furnishing department. While as to that
five-guinea wool mattress, I could almost swear that, whoever stuffed
it, stuffed in the miserable sheep's trotters and bones, for whenever by
chance we have slept in the visitors' room, upon airing principles, I
have always felt lumps right through the feather bed.
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"No, my love, the price has nothing to do with you," I said, while being
cross-questioned. "You have the things, so you ought to be satisfied."
"So I am, and it's very good of you," said Mrs Scribe; "and now you'll
be good, too, and not tease mamma--now, won't you!"
"All right."
"And I say, dear."
"Well!" (from under the counterpane).
"Don't, now--same as you did last time--don't ask poor mamma how long
she means to stay."
"All right," (very muffled in tone).
"No, dear, it isn't all right if you ask her such a thing. It looks as
if you meant that you wanted to get rid of her again."
"So I do," (this time so smothered that it was audible only to self).
"Good-night, dear."
"Goonight."
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"What a nice, comfortable, pleasant-feeling, long-napped carpet, George.
I do like a Turkey carpet above all things; it is so warm and
aristocratic-looking, and then, too, so durable. Now, I'm sure, my
dear, I am right in saying that you picked it up a bargain at a sale."
"Yes, that he did, mamma dear," said Mrs Scribe; "but he won't tell me
what he gave for it. Do tease him till he tells you."
"Now, how much was it, sir?"
"Another slice of turkey, Mrs Cubus?"
"Well, really, my dear, I don't think--er--er--well, it really is a
delicious turkey. Oh! half that, George. And why don't you say mamma?
Yes, just the least bit of stuffing, and--er--a chestnut or two. That's
quite enough gravy, thank you. Now, what did you give for the carpet?"
"Oh," I said, "it's Christmas-time, so I shall make a riddle of it.
Guess."
"Well, let me see," said Mrs S's Mamma. "You gave--what shall I say?
About eighteen feet square, isn't it?"
"Very good--that's it exact."
"Well, then, my dear, as you bought it a bargain, I should say you gave
five pounds for it--or say guineas--but, no, I'll say pounds."
"Capital!" I said, with the most amiable smile I ever had upon my
countenance; "I did give five pounds for it."
"_Plus seventeen_," I whispered into my waistcoat.
"What, dear?"
"Merry Christmas to you," I said, bowing over my glass of sherry.
And that was my last bargain-hunt.