The Trimmed Lamp, and Other Stories of the Four Million — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Trimmed Lamp, and Other Stories of the Four Million
John Stuart Mill · en
He flicked a two-carat diamond solitaire ring across the table. Miss
Asher flipped it back to him with her fork.
“Don’t get fresh,” she said, severely.
“I’m worth a hundred thousand dollars,” said Platt. “I’ll build you the
finest house in West Texas.”
“You can’t buy me, Mr. Buyer,” said Miss Asher, “if you had a hundred
million. I didn’t think I’d have to call you down. You didn’t look like
the others to me at first, but I see you’re all alike.”
“All who?” asked Platt.
“All you buyers. You think because we girls have to go out to dinner
with you or lose our jobs that you’re privileged to say what you
please. Well, forget it. I thought you were different from the others,
but I see I was mistaken.”
Platt struck his fingers on the table with a gesture of sudden,
illuminating satisfaction.
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, almost hilariously—“the Nicholson place,
over on the north side. There’s a big grove of live oaks and a natural
lake. The old house can be pulled down and the new one set further
back.”
“Put out your pipe,” said Miss Asher. “I’m sorry to wake you up, but
you fellows might as well get wise, once for all, to where you stand.
I’m supposed to go to dinner with you and help jolly you along so
you’ll trade with old Zizzy, but don’t expect to find me in any of the
suits you buy.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” said Platt, “that you go out this way with
customers, and they all—they all talk to you like I have?”
“They all make plays,” said Miss Asher. “But I must say that you’ve got
’em beat in one respect. They generally talk diamonds, while you’ve
actually dug one up.”
“How long have you been working, Helen?”
“Got my name pat, haven’t you? I’ve been supporting myself for eight
years. I was a cash girl and a wrapper and then a shop girl until I was
grown, and then I got to be a suit model. Mr. Texas Man, don’t you
think a little wine would make this dinner a little less dry?”
“You’re not going to drink wine any more, dear. It’s awful to think
how— I’ll come to the store to-morrow and get you. I want you to pick
out an automobile before we leave. That’s all we need to buy here.”
“Oh, cut that out. If you knew how sick I am of hearing such talk.”
After the dinner they walked down Broadway and came upon Diana’s little
wooded park. The trees caught Platt’s eye at once, and he must turn
along under the winding walk beneath them. The lights shone upon two
bright tears in the model’s eyes.
“I don’t like that,” said Platt. “What’s the matter?”
“Don’t you mind,” said Miss Asher. “Well, it’s because—well, I didn’t
think you were that kind when I first saw you. But you are all like.
And now will you take me home, or will I have to call a cop?”
Platt took her to the door of her boarding-house. They stood for a
minute in the vestibule. She looked at him with such scorn in her eyes
that even his heart of oak began to waver. His arm was half way around
her waist, when she struck him a stinging blow on the face with her
open hand.