City and town life -- Fiction; Newspapers -- Fiction
He said it with great dramatic force, but the effect on Anthy was not
what an unprejudiced observer might have expected. I thought she looked
a bit alarmed.
The Captain cleared his throat, and said with impressive deliberation:
"I've given up smoking cigars!"
Anthy's laugh was clear and strong.
"You have!" she exclaimed.
"And from now on," said the Captain, still very serious, "I shall smoke
a pipe."
With that he took notice for the first time of the package in his hand.
It contained a case, which he opened slowly.
"Isn't it a beauty?" he said, holding up a new briar pipe.
"Yes," she replied faintly; "but, Uncle, how did you get it?"
He cleared his throat.
"One must make a beginning," he said; "economy is positively necessary.
I bought it."
"Uncle, you _didn't_ spend Frank Toby's subscription for a pipe!"
The Captain looked a little offended.
"Anthy, it was a bargain. It was marked down from two dollars."
Anthy turned partly aside, quite unconscious of either Fergus or me, and
such a look of discouragement and distress swept over her face as I
cannot describe. But it was only for an instant. The Captain was still
holding up the pipe for her admiration. She laid her hand again quickly
on his shoulder.
"It _is_ a beauty," she said.
"I knew you'd like it," exclaimed the Captain benevolently. "When I saw
it in the window I said, 'Anthy'd like that pipe.' I knew it. So I
bought it."
"But, Uncle--how we _did_ need the money this morning of all mornings!
The insides are here, we must have them----"
"So I say," said the Captain with great firmness, "we must economize
sharply. And I've begun. Let's all get down now to work. Fergus, I've
answered the fellow on the Sterling _Democrat_. I've left nothing of him
at all--not a pinfeather."
With that he took a new pouch of tobacco from his pocket, and began to
fill his new pipe. The cat rubbed familiarly against his leg.
Silence in the office, interrupted a moment later by the second
appearance of that villain, Bucky Penrose, who thrust his head in the
door and called out:
"Lend a hand, Fergus. I got the insides."
Fergus looked at Anthy. She had grown pale.
"Go on, Fergus."
It is this way with me, that often I think of the great thing to do
after I get home and into bed. But it came to me suddenly--an
inspiration that made me a little dizzy for a moment--and I stepped into
the story.
"I forgot a part of my errand," I said, "when we were--interrupted. I
want to subscribe to your paper, right away."
Anthy looked at me keenly for a moment, her colour slowly rising.
"Whom shall we send it to?" she asked in the dryest, most businesslike
voice, as though subscriptions were flowing in all the time.
For the life of me I couldn't think of anybody. I never was more at sea
in my life. I don't know yet how it occurred to me, but I said,
suddenly, with great relief:
"Why, send it to Doctor McAlway."
"He is already a subscriber, one of our oldest," she responded crisply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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