“Not as yet,” was the reply.
“What rent do you ask?”
“Twenty dollars a quarter,” said Mr. Harrison; “that I consider reasonable.”
“It is satisfactory to me,” was the cooper’s reply, “and, if you have no objections to me as a tenant, I will engage it at once.”
“Far from having any objections, Mr. Crump,” was the courteous reply, “I shall be glad to secure so good a tenant. Will you go over and look at the house?”
“Not now, sir; I am somewhat in haste. When can we move in?”
“To-day, if you like.”
His errand satisfactorily accomplished, the cooper returned home. Meanwhile the landlord had called.
He was a little surprised to find that Mrs. Crump, instead of looking depressed, looked cheerful, rather than otherwise.
“I was not aware you had a child so young,” he remarked, looking at the baby.
“It isn’t mine,” said Mrs. Crump, briefly.
“The child of a neighbor, I suppose,” thought Colman.
Meanwhile he scrutinized closely, without appearing to do so, the furniture in the room.
At this point Mr. Crump opened the outer door.
“Good-morning,” said Colman, affably. “A fine morning.”
“Quite so,” answered his tenant, shortly.
“I have called, Mr. Crump, to know if you are ready with your quarter’s rent.”
“I think I told you, last night, how I was situated. Of course I am sorry–”
“So am I,” said the landlord, “for I may be obliged to have recourse to unpleasant measures.”
“You mean that we must leave the house!”
“Of course, you cannot expect to remain in it if you are unable to pay the rent. Of course,” added Colman, making an inventory with his eyes, of the furniture, “you will leave behind a sufficient amount of furniture to cover your bill–”
“Surely, you would not deprive us of our furniture!”
“Is there any hardship in requiring payment of honest debts?”
“There are cases of that description. However, I will not put you to that trouble. I am ready to pay you your dues.”
“You have the money?” said Colman, hastily.
“I have, and something over; as you will see by this document. Can you give me the two hundred and eighty dollars over?”
It would be difficult to picture the amazement of Colman. “Surely, you told me a different story last night,” he said.
“Last night and this morning are different times. Then I could not pay you; now, luckily, I am able. If you cannot change this amount, and will accompany me to the bank, I will place the money in your hands.”
“My dear sir, I am not at all in haste,” said the landlord, with a return of his former affability. “Any time within a week will do. I hope, by the way, you will continue to occupy this house.”
“As I have already engaged Mr. Harrison’s house, at the corner of the street, I shall be unable to remain. Besides, I do not want to interfere with the family who are so desirous of moving in.”
Mr. Colman was silenced. He regretted, too late, the hasty course which had lost him a good tenant. The family referred to had no existence; and, it may be remarked, the house remained vacant for several months, when he was glad to rent it at the old price.
CHAPTER V. A LUCKY RESCUE
THE opportune arrival of the child inaugurated a season of comparative prosperity in the home of Timothy Crump. To persons accustomed to live in their frugal way, three hundred dollars seemed a fortune. Nor, as might have happened in some cases, did this unexpected windfall tempt the cooper or his wife to extravagances.
“Let us save something against a rainy day,” said Mrs. Crump.
“We can, if I get work soon,” answered her husband. “This little one will add but little to our expenses, and there is no reason why we should not save up at least half of it.”
“There’s no knowing when you will get work, Timothy,” said Rachel, in her usual cheerful way; “it isn’t well to crow before you’re out of the woods.”
“Very true, Rachel. It isn’t your failing to look too much at the sunny side of the picture.”
“I’m ready to look at it when I can see it anywhere,” said his sister, in the same enlivening way.
“Don’t you see it in the unexpected good fortune which came with this child?” asked Timothy.
“I’ve no doubt it seems bright enough, now,” said Rachel, gloomily, “but a young child’s a great deal of trouble.”
“Do you speak from experience, Aunt Rachel?” inquired Jack, demurely.
“Yes;” said his aunt, slowly; “if all babies were as cross as you were when you were an infant, three hundred dollars wouldn’t begin to pay for the trouble of having one round.”
Mr. Crump and his wife laughed at this sally at Jack’s expense, but the latter had his wits about him sufficiently to answer, “I’ve always heard, Aunt Rachel, that the crosser a child is the pleasanter he will grow up. What a very pleasant baby you must have been!”
“Jack!” said his mother, reprovingly; but his father, who looked upon it as a good joke, remarked, good-humoredly, “He’s got you there, Rachel.”
The latter, however, took it as a serious matter, and observed that, when she was young, children were not allowed to speak so to their elders. “But, I don’t know as I can blame ‘em much,” she continued, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, “when their own parents encourage ‘em in it.”
Timothy was warned, by experience, that silence was his best (sic) defence. Since anything he might say would only be likely to make matters worse.
Aunt Rachel sank into a fit of deep despondency, and did not say another word till dinner time. She sat down to the table with a profound sigh, as if there was little in life worth living for. Notwithstanding this, it was observed that she had a good appetite. Indeed, Rachel seemed to thrive on her gloomy views of life and human nature. She was, it must be acknowledged, perfectly consistent in all her conduct, as far as this peculiarity was concerned. Whenever she took up a newspaper, she always looked first to the space appropriated to deaths, and next in order to the column of accidents, casualties, etc., and her spirits were visibly exhilarated when she encountered a familiar name in either list.
Mr. Crump continued to look out for work, but it was with a more cheerful spirit. He did not now feel as if the comfort of his family depended absolutely upon his immediate success. Used economically, the money he had by him would last nine months, and during that time it was impossible that he should not find something to do. It was this sense of security—of possessing something upon which he could fall back—that enabled him to keep up good heart. It is too generally the case that people are content to live as if they were sure of constantly retaining their health and never losing their employment. When a reverse does come they are at once plunged into discouragement, and feel that something must be done immediately. There is only one way to fend off such an embarrassment, and that is to resolve, whatever may be the amount of the income, to lay aside some part to serve as a reliance in time of trouble. A little economy—though it involves privation—will be well repaid by the feeling of security thus engendered.
Mr. Crump was not compelled to remain inactive as long as he feared. Not that his line of business revived,—that still remained depressed,—but another path was opened to him for a time.
Returning home late one evening, the cooper saw a man steal out