It was some days after this that old Mr. Bowdoin came down town, one
morning, in a particularly good humor. To begin with, he had effected
with unusual success a practical joke on his auguster spouse. Then, he
had gone home the night before with a bad cold; but (having given a
family dinner in celebration of his wife's birthday and the return to
Boston of his grandson Harley, and confined himself religiously to dry
champagne) he had arisen quite cured. But at the counting-room he was
met by son James with a face as long as the parting glass of whiskey
and water he had sent him home with at eleven the previous evening.
"James Bowdoin, at your time of life you should not take Scotch
whiskey after madeira," said he.
"You seem fresh as a May morning," said Mr. James. "Did the old lady
find out about the bronze Venus?"
Son and father chuckled. The old gentleman had purchased in his wife's
name a nearly life-size Venus of Milo in bronze, and ordered it sent
to the house, with the bill unreceipted, just before the dinner; so
the entire family had used their efforts to the persuading old Mrs.
Bowdoin that she had acquired the article herself, while shopping, and
then forgotten all about it.
"'Mrs. J. Bowdoin, Dr. To one Bronze Venus. One Thousand Dollars.
Rec'd Paym't'--blank!" roared Mr. Bowdoin. "I told her she must pay it
out of her separate estate,--I couldn't afford such luxuries."
"'Why, James!'" mimicked the younger.
"'I never went near the store,'" mimicked the older.
"And when we told her it was all a sell, she was madder than ever."
"Your mother never could see a joke," sighed Mr. Bowdoin. "She says
the statue's improper, and she's trying to get it exchanged for
chandeliers. She wouldn't speak to me when I went to bed; and I told
her I'd a bad cold on my lungs, and she'd repent it when I was gone.
But to-day she's madder yet."
Mr. James Bowdoin looked at his father inquiringly.