FURTHER RETRENCHMENT.
The loss of ten thousand dollars--sweeping from his hands, at a single
stroke, all he was worth, and all his means of doing any thing like a
profitable business--left Mr. Townsend really in a very helpless state,
and filled him with discouragement the moment he turned his thoughts
upon the straitened condition of his affairs. But, after such a lesson
as he had received from Eunice--after such an opening of his eyes to
the true light--he could not utterly despond. He had lifted himself
from the earth, stood up erect, and taken the first step. It would not
do to pause now, sink again, and abandon all. He must do to the utmost
of his ability, let what would come.
The greatest difficulty that presented itself to Mr. Townsend, was
the universally-prevailing spirit of cupidity existing among men
of business, which led almost every one to seek his own good in a
heartless disregard of others. Were he to make a full exposition of
his affairs, and ask for consideration and aid from those for whom he
did business, instantly their confidence would cease, consignments
be withheld, and the destruction of business he was seeking to avoid
become inevitable. There would be no generous consideration, no
sympathy for his losses, extended toward him, but censure for his want
of sagacity in not perceiving the signs of weakness in the house that
had failed. No longer able to advance upon consignments, or guaranty
sales, those who wished advances would not send him their goods, and
those who were willing to waive the guaranty, would be afraid to trust
their sales to a man who had committed the mistake of selling to a
house just on the eve of its failure.
That this would be the result of an exposure of his affairs, Mr.
Townsend felt well assured. It was just as he had acted in his days
of prosperity. He never regarded the interests of any man, and never
extended the slightest sympathy toward the unfortunate. His system had
been, to get out of every one who owed him and became embarrassed, all
he would yield by the severest pressure, and then throw his bloodless
carcass out of sight--to the dogs, for all he cared. And little more
consideration than he had given, did he expect. Judging all men by
his own standard, he did not believe in the existence of a particle
of unselfishness in business circles; and he, therefore, expected to
receive no generous consideration in his misfortunes. That this selfish
disregard of others was wrong, he could now see, because it affected
himself. If no other good result came from his reverses, the clear
conviction and acknowledgment of this was something, and worth all he
had lost and suffered to acquire.
A long and anxious debate on the question of what it was best for him
to do, was at length terminated by his coming to the conclusion, that
his best course was to conceal from every one the desperate condition
of his affairs, and make a vigorous effort to sustain himself. In this,
he believed, lay his only hope. To trust any man with the fact that his
losses had seriously crippled him, would be, he felt well convinced, to
ruin all.
In a few days, two or three letters were received from eastern
manufacturers, containing invoices and bills of lading of goods
consigned to him on sale, upon which the usual advances they had been
in the habit of receiving were asked. Immediate replies were made, that
he was already so much in advance to various parties, that he could
not extend such accommodations, but that he would endeavor to make
immediate sales, and transmit the proceeds. Before the goods arrived,
Mr. Townsend received advices that their destination had been changed,
and that they were to go into another commission house, from which the
desired advances could be had.
“Well, let them go!” he said, in the effort to feel indifferent about
the matter, at the same time that a feeling of discouragement oppressed
him, and brought a cloud over his mind.
By the next mail came notice of a valuable consignment upon which
neither an advance nor guaranty was asked, and it came from new
parties, who promised still heavier shipments of goods.
“There is hope yet,” was the silent, thankful expression of Mr.
Townsend’s heart, as he read this letter. “If I can only manage to
meet, at maturity, the five or six thousand dollars for which I am
liable under guaranty of sales, I may yet be able to hold up my head
in business, though how I shall manage to support my family on the
diminished proceeds, is beyond my power to tell.”
One day, about a week after the occurrence of the interview between
himself and daughter, Eunice drew her father aside, and said to him,
“I saw a neat, pretty house this morning, in a very pleasant
neighborhood, the rent of which is only a hundred and eighty-five
dollars. There is a snug little parlor below, beautifully papered, and
having in it a pure white marble mantle; and quite a large chamber
over that, and another of the same size in the third story. Back
of these is a kitchen, dining-room, and good-sized chamber, with
bath-house and dressing-room. Take it all in all, it is exactly what we
want--perfectly new, neat, genteel, and comfortable; and very cheap.
Won’t you go with me and look at it after dinner?”
“I’m afraid it’s too small, Eunice,” remarked her father. “We shall not
be able to breathe in it.”
“Oh, no! it is not too small. The chambers are large and airy. And as
to breathing, it will be done as freely again there, for the pressure
upon our bosoms will be removed.”
“Are there no garrets to the house?”
“None.”
“Then where will a servant sleep?”
“There’ll be no difficulty about that--none in the world.”
“But where, Eunice?”
“There’s the room over the dining-room.”
“Which will shut us off from the bath. It won’t do, my child.”
“Will you go with me to look at it?”
“Oh, yes. But I am sure it will not answer.”
“And I am sure it will; and you will agree with me after you have seen
it.”
Mr. Townsend went to look at the house, and thought it really quite
neat, genteel, and comfortable. But his main objection lay in full
force against it. There was no place for the servant to sleep, and
he urged it as an insuperable objection, to which Eunice at length
replied--
“We don’t intend to have any servants; Eveline and I have settled all
that.”
At this, Mr. Townsend shook his head in a most emphatic way, and said,
“That’s out of the question, child; utterly so. I will not hear to it a
moment.”
“Why not? Don’t you have to attend to business all day, and are we
better than you?”
“I don’t have to go into the kitchen and cook. I don’t have to go
through menial household drudgery.”
“Don’t call any useful employment menial, father. Would it at all
degrade me to bake you a sweet loaf of bread, or prepare you a
comfortable meal when you are hungry? I think not.”
“But the hard drudgery of the thing, Eunice. You don’t know what you
propose to yourselves to do.”
“Love will make the labor light,” replied Eunice, with a tone and smile
that found a quick passage to the heart of her father. “Let it be as we
desire.”
But Mr. Townsend would not yield the point. At least, he would not
consent that a house should be taken without a room in it where a
servant could sleep. So Eunice had to make another search. In a few
days one was procured with the room, additional, required, at a rent of
two hundred dollars per annum; and Mr. Townsend gave his consent that
it should be taken, provided the mother, who had been kept ignorant of
the desperate state of her husband’s business, could be brought to give
a free consent to the change. The procurement of this consent was left
to Eveline and Eunice. The latter, after the first doubt and fear she
had experienced at her sister’s suggestion of another change in their
father’s circumstances, was ready to support Eunice in every thing.
“Mother,” said Eunice, on the day after the taking of a house at a
lower rent had been determined upon, “I think we might manage to live
at a smaller cost than we do. Indeed, I am sure we could. Father’s
business cannot be very profitable, and even the meeting of our present
family expenses must be a serious matter to him.”
“To live any plainer than we do, is impossible,” replied Mrs. Townsend;
“we keep but a single servant, and I am sure that no family could
practice more economy.”
“But we might live in a much smaller house.”
“Smaller house!”
“Yes, mother. We don’t occupy much over half of this, and what is
the use of paying one or two hundred dollars for what we don’t want,
especially when father has need in his business of every cent he can
procure. I saw, when I was out yesterday, a beautiful little house,
with rooms very nearly as large as they are in this one, only there
were not so many. It was finished as well as this one is, throughout,
and had quite as respectable an appearance; and the rent was only two
hundred dollars.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Townsend, struck with the difference.
“That is all. I think we had better take it. Two hundred dollars is a
good deal of money to save off of rent.”
“I don’t believe your father will hear to such a thing.”
“If he consents to move, will you make no objection?”
“I don’t know. But I am sure he will not listen a moment to such a
proposition. The way in which we now live is very different to what it
was. I never could have believed it possible to become reconciled to
it.”
“You say yes, then, if father is willing?”
“I think I may safely say yes.”
“Very well,” replied both the girls, smiling; “we will hold you to this
promise.”
In the evening, after tea, when all were together, Eunice said, in a
very pleasant way,
“Father, mother says if you are willing to move into the house I told
you about, that she will make no objection. What do you say?”
“Of course, your father wouldn’t think of such a thing,” spoke up Mrs.
Townsend.
“That isn’t fair, mother,” said Eveline, good-humoredly. “We object
to any attempt on your part to use influence. Father must decide this
matter for himself in freedom. We’ve got your promise, and now we must
get his.”
“I’m sure that is using influence, and with a double power. First, you
get me to make a conditional promise, and then set to work to influence
the conditions. No, no; I object also. Let father, as you say, decide
this matter in freedom.”
“Very well; father shall speak for himself,” said Eunice. “Let me put
the question. Are you willing to give up this house, and take the one
alluded to, which only rents for two hundred dollars?”
“If all of you agree to it; if all are willing, I promise not to
object.”
“There, do you hear that, mother?” exclaimed Eveline.
Mrs Townsend looked surprised and serious.
“But, is there any necessity for this?” she asked, turning her eyes
upon her husband’s face.
“Perhaps it would be a prudent step for us to take, provided we could
be comfortable and happy under the change,” he replied.
“I hardly think we can be,” said Mrs. Townsend, looking troubled.
“Then we will not move,” was promptly answered.
“But what is to hinder us?” urged Eunice. “The house is large enough,
and the rooms of a good size. The situation is pleasant, and the
appearance of the house very nearly equal to the one we now live in.
With all this in its favor, and added thereto, the fact that the change
made a saving of two hundred dollars in our expenses, perhaps more, and
I hardly think we would be less comfortable or happy. Father has said
that this reduction of our expenses would be a prudent step to take.
Should we hesitate a moment after this?”
“He should know what is best, certainly,” said Mrs. Townsend, struck
with the force of application that Eunice gave to her father’s words.
“And if he thinks it prudent, we ought by all means to move. But,
before it is done, the necessity for it should be understood by all of
us, and then we can all enter into and promote it with a more cheerful
spirit.”
“Very true, indeed,” answered Mr. Townsend; “and I will therefore
state, that my business does not promise so well as it did a short time
ago; that I have met with a serious loss by the failure of a house to
which I sold a large amount of goods, and that, therefore, it will be a
measure of prudence to do as the girls propose. For their willingness
to make sacrifices, and to prompt to further reductions of expense, we
certainly ought to feel deeply grateful. To find them as they are, is
to find light in a dark place--to meet streams in a desert. With such
loving hearts to sustain us, we ought never to despond.”