MORE SACRIFICES.
“I met your old sweetheart to-day,” said a young friend to Rufus
Albertson.
“Ah! who was she?”
“Miss Townsend.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; she looked badly; poor thing! Her proud old father would not say
much to the contrary if you were to renew your acquaintance in that
quarter. I think you were lucky.”
“Do you?”
“Yes; I don’t believe he is worth a copper.”
“You are mistaken; he is rich.”
“Rich!”
“The richest man I know.”
“Didn’t he lose every thing he had by the failure of the United States
Bank?”
“Not by any means.”
“Oh, but I am sure he did. He’s been doing a small commission business,
and, to my certain knowledge, has lost several valuable consignments,
because he was unable to make advances. They came to our house.”
“That may be, and yet Mr. Townsend not be so very poor. I happen to
know that he possesses a treasure of priceless value.”
“Not transmutable into gold, I presume. No doubt there are a good many
others rich in the same way. You mean in his children--in this daughter
of whom we were speaking, perhaps.”
“Yes, that is what I mean. No man who has a child like Eunice Townsend
should be called poor.”
“Really! I was not aware that your inclinations lay in that direction.
I presume you will find no difficulty in obtaining the hand of Eunice,
if such be your desire.”
“Where did you see Miss Townsend?” asked Albertson.
“I saw her coming out of Trist & Lee’s auction store. A strange place
for a young lady to be seen; don’t you think so?”
“I suppose a young lady may go into an auction store as well as any
other store. Mr. Townsend moved into a much smaller house than he
had been living in, some time ago, and it is possible that surplus
furniture has been sent to auction.”
“Possible. But wouldn’t her father attend to that.”
“Ordinarily, no doubt such would be the case; but in the misfortunes
that have befallen Mr. Townsend, he has been sustained by Eunice in
a remarkable manner. She seems to have forgotten every thing but how
she may hold up her father’s drooping hands, and inspire him with hope
and confidence. She would not hesitate to attend to this or any other
business for him, not incompatible with her sex.”
On parting with this friend, to whom he had not expressed all that was
in his mind, Albertson said to himself, while his countenance became
thoughtful,
“What could she have been doing there?”
No satisfactory answer was suggested to his mind, for the same question
recurred again and again. He was walking along, still thinking of the
fact that had been stated, when just before him he saw Eunice come out
of a jewelry store, turn up the street, and walk briskly away without
observing him. The very manner in which her steps were taken, showed
that there was a purpose in her mind.
Albertson went back to his place of business, in a thoughtful mood.
About an hour afterward he entered the auction room of Trist & Lee.
After looking about there for some time, he was joined by Mr. Lee, to
whom he was very well known.
“Can’t I do something for you to-day, Mr. Albertson?” said Lee,
familiarly, and yet with an eye to business.
“I don’t know; perhaps you can.”
“Don’t you want a first-rate piano? We’ve just got in a splendid
instrument, that cost a thousand dollars, and may be had at a bargain.
But, I believe you’re not married yet, and therefore have no wife to
whom you can make such a present. By-the-way, too, Albertson, it is
not a little curious that this piano should belong to an old flame of
yours.”
“Ah!” said Albertson, affecting indifference.
“Yes. I believe Miss Townsend was once quite a favorite of yours.”
“Does it belong to her?”
“It does. You know her father lost every thing by the failure of the
‘Great Regulator,’ and has since, I am told, been in very reduced
circumstances. To-day, this instrument was sent here, and shortly after
one of his daughters came in, and requested that it might be sold,
either at public or private sale. She asked, as a particular favor,
that as liberal an advance as we could afford might be made upon it.
I offered her a hundred dollars, but the smallness of the sum seemed
to disappoint her. She said it had cost a thousand dollars, and had
never been used a great deal. ‘Do you want the money particularly
to-day?’ I asked. ‘Yes, I must have it to-day!’ she replied. There was
something so anxious and earnest in her voice, that my sympathies were
awakened for her, and I told her to call again this afternoon, and I
would consult Mr. Trist, and see if we could venture to make a larger
advance. I wish I could meet with a purchaser for it, in the mean time,
at a fair price, so as to be able to hand her about three hundred
dollars instead of one. Now there is a romantic incident for you. Don’t
you feel tempted to buy the piano?”
“What price do you set upon it?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“Isn’t that low?”
“Very low. But it is second hand; and three hundred dollars is a high
price to get for a second-hand instrument. I am doubtful if even this
will bring it.”
“You say it cost a thousand?”
“Yes.”
“Too great a sacrifice, that, indeed.”
“Well, suppose you take it at five hundred dollars?” said the
auctioneer, smiling. “You’ll get a bargain, then. No doubt the family
want the money bad enough, and will have their hearts gladdened by the
unexpected receipt of so large a sum.”
“Isn’t it really worth more? Has the use of it reduced its value one
half?”
“No, not one fourth. But, it is second hand, you know, and that always
takes fifty per cent. from the estimated value of almost anything.”
Albertson reflected a few moments, and then said, “If you will promise
me, and faithfully keep the promise, not to mention my name in the
transaction to any one, I will buy this piano, and pay you seven
hundred dollars for it. The money shall be here in an hour.”
“Agreed. No one shall be the wiser of your agency in the matter. Seven
hundred dollars! It will set the girl wild.”
“No danger of that, I presume. Her mind, I hope, is more firmly
balanced.”
After another pause for reflection, Albertson said, in a tone of
confidence, “Of course, Lee, I need hardly tell you, that something
besides mere impulse has prompted me to buy this piano, and pay four
hundred dollars more for it than you asked. I say this, because your
mind would naturally infer it, and also because I wish a little
service, and don’t want too many into my secrets. You are acquainted
with Jones, of the firm of Milford & Jones, jewelers, I believe.”
“Oh, yes, very well.”
“I saw Miss Townsend come out of their store to-day, and it’s my
impression that her errand there was similar to her errand to
you--that is, to sell some article or articles that, in their reduced
circumstances, could very well be dispensed with. Are you willing to
see Jones for me, and find out if my impressions are correct?”
“Certainly.”
“Will you go at once?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I will call here in half an hour to hear the result.”
In half an hour, according to agreement, Albertson called upon the
auctioneer.
“Did you ascertain what I wished to know?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, what have you learned?”
“That Miss Townsend brought to the store a large diamond breast-pin,
two ladies’ gold watches, and several other articles of jewelry, all
costly, and wanted to sell them. Jones told her that he would take
them, and dispose of them for her; but that he was not prepared to
purchase. She then asked if he could not advance something upon them.
This he declined, and she took them away with her, remarking, that
perhaps Milford, just above, would let her have what she wanted. I am
not acquainted with Milford, or I would have made inquiries there.”
“Thank you for the trouble you took. I happen to know Milford, and will
see him myself. I’ll send you the money for the piano in the course of
an hour.”
Albertson left the store of the auctioneers, and called upon the
jewelers.
“Was there a young lady here to-day, with a diamond breast-pin, two
gold watches, and some other articles, that she wished to sell?” he
asked, after passing a few words with Milford.
“There was. Why? Do you know any thing about them?”
“Nothing in particular. Did you buy them?”
“No. I’m not in the habit of doing such things. But I told her I would
sell them for her. Here they are;” and the jeweler pointed to a part
of his show-case where he had deposited them. “That diamond breast-pin
is worth every cent of five hundred dollars. I wonder if she came by
them fairly.”
“You may set your heart at rest on that subject. I’ll be surety in the
case.”
“You know her, then?”
“I think I do.”
“Who is she?”
“At present I don’t know that her name need be mentioned.”
“Oh, as to her name, that she has left. It is Townsend. I gave her a
receipt for the goods. I wonder if she is not one of the daughters of
Townsend the shipping merchant, who was knocked all to pieces by the
failure of the United States Bank?”
“Did she also give you her place of residence?”
“Yes; No. 60 ---- street.”
“You didn’t pay her any thing on the goods?”
“No; although she was very anxious to get an advance.”
“What are they all worth?”
“They are worth seven or eight hundred dollars; but will not bring
that.”
“How much do you expect to get for them?”
“Not more than four or five hundred at the outside; and it may be six
months before they are all sold. We are bound to get off our own goods
first, you know.”
“You will let me have the lot at eight hundred, I suppose?” said
Albertson.
“Yes, or at five hundred, either.”
“I don’t want them for less than they are worth. I’ll give you eight
hundred dollars.”
“Oh, very well! I’ll take a thousand, if you prefer it.”
“Will you send word to the young lady that you have made the sale, and
request her to call at four o’clock and get the money?”
“Certainly.”
“And will you, besides, carefully conceal from her that I purchased the
goods?”
“Yes.”
“And, further, will you relinquish all commissions on the sale?”
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
“Just as you like, Milford.”
“Why should I do so?”
“There is no reason, perhaps, why you should do it; so we’ll say no
more about that.”
“I’ll think of it, any how,” said the jeweler.
“Very well; I’ll call and pay you for them before three o’clock.”
And Albertson left the store and returned to his place of business.
“He must have plenty of money to throw away,” said Milford to himself,
as the young man retired.