H, John,” said pretty little Mrs. Hampton, as she sat at the breakfast table, “it’s the cook’s birthday to-day, and I haven’t any present ready for her. Whatever shall I do?”
“Huh?" responded Mr. Hampton, entirely unconscious of her remark, as he was immersed in the stock reports.
“John, please do lay down that paper a minute, and listen to me, your own and only wife? It’s a crisis! It’s a domestic tragedy! It’s a condition, not a theory! I tell you it’s the cook’s birthday, and if we don’t give her a present, she’ll leave!”
“Yes, my dear, yes; yes, give her a present by all means. Here’s the money—how much do you want?”
“Oh, it isn’t that, John; I mean that isn’t the point of the trouble. But you see I have a dressmaker coming to-day, and I can’t go down-town to buy anything, so I want you to stop and get something and have it sent up right away. Do, Johnsie, won’t you?”
The smile of Mrs. Hampton would have persuaded her John to a more difficult task than this, and, under the influence of the said smile, he responded heartily: “Why, yes; of course I’ll do that for you. For you, understand, and not for the cook. She has no business to have a birthday in a well-regulated family; but if you want a cook’s present, that’s what you’ll get. What shall I buy?”
“Oh, that’s just it. I can’t think of a thing; I’ve tried and tried. Can’t you think of something?”
“Of course! Why, it’s too easy! There never was but one present for a cook since Eve kept house. It would be false to all tradition to offer her anything else.”
"What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Hampton, looking puzzled.
“Why, a dress pattern, to be sure. Mother never used to think of giving the servants anything but a dress pattern, all folded up, don’t you know, in a box.”
"Oh yes; with narrow slimpsy blue ribbons crossing it like an 'X.’ I remember mother used to give those to our maids. That will be lovely, John; just drop in to Mason's and pick one out, and tell them to send it right up. It won’t be a bit of trouble, will it?”
“Oh no; not a bit! I'm glad of a chance to get into a department store! I love their cheerful atmosphere and waves of warm air!”
“I know you hate it, but you’re a dear duck of a man to go so good-naturedly. Run along now, and don’t dawdle.”
“Hold on, milady; what color do you want this robe to be?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter: something pretty. just pick out something pretty. Remember she‘s short and fat and blond, so blue ought to be becoming. In fact, John, she’s just about your size and coloring. You can remember by that.”
“Yes, so I can! You’re a genius for detecting likenesses!”
On reaching the department store, Mr. Hampton walked boldly in. His very soul was imbued with the masculine determination of doing up his errand in short order.
“Dress patterns,” he said, sternly, to the young woman at the first counter he encountered.
“Third floor,” she responded, with a haughty waggle of her pompadoured head.
Seeing a staircase in the distance, Mr. Hampton made for it, and laboriously climbed three flights of stairs. As his wife had implied, he did resemble the cook in the matter of , and the three flights were by no means flights of fancy.
“Dress patterns,” he said again, but his lack of available lung-power made his tone supplicatory rather than dignified.
“Floor below,” remarked the person addressed.
“She told me the third floor,” declared Mr. Hampton, irately.
“Quite right; but this is the fourth floor. You came up three flights, didn’t you?”
It was hard after climbing an unnecessary flight to have the fact thus rubbed in, but Mr. Hampton said nothing, as he had no breath to waste in futile speech, and, turning, he started down-stairs again.
“Why don't you use the elevator, sir?" he heard murmured respectfully over his shoulder. But a further realization of his own stupidity roused his ire and his mendacity.
“I prefer this,” he flung back, and tramped on down the long flight.
Now he was really on the third floor: and, though he could see only counters piled with blankets and comfortables, he inquired of a dapper young man behind one of the counters where he might find dress patterns.
“I don’t know, really, was the answer; you should ask the floor-walker."
Now Mr. Hampton had known this well enough: what he didn’t know was, why he hadn't acted upon his own knowledge.