“Not much, I presume,” answered her husband.

“Don’t you think we’d better have it done?”

“Yes,” was the compliant answer.

“Will you stop at the blind-maker’s, as you go to the store, and tell him to send up for them to-day?  It must be attended to at once, you know, for cousin Sally will be here on next Wednesday.”

Mr. Cartwright called at the blind-maker’s, as requested, and the blind-maker promised to send for the blinds.  From there he continued onto the store in which he was employed.  There he found a note on his desk from the friend to whom he was indebted for the one hundred dollars.

“Dear Cartwright” (so the note ran), “if it is possible for you to let me have the one hundred dollars I loaned you, its return to-morrow will be a particular favor, as I have a large payment to make, and have been disappointed in the receipt of a sum of money confidently expected.”

A very sudden change of feeling did Mr. Cartwright experience.  He had, in a degree, partaken of his wife’s pleasure in observing the improved appearances of their little parlor but this pleasure was now succeeded by a sense of painful regret and mortification.  It was nearly two hours before Mr. Cartwright returned an answer to his friend’s note.  Most of that time had been spent in the vain effort to discover some way out of the difficulty in which he found himself placed.  He would have asked an advance of one hundred dollars on his salary, but he did not deem that a prudent step, and for two reasons.  One was, the known character of his employers; and the other was involved in the question of how he was to support his family for the time he was working out this advance?  At last, in sadness and humiliation, he wrote a brief reply, regretting his inability to replace the loan now, but promising to do it in a very short time.  Not very long after this answer was sent, there came another note from his friend, written in evident haste, and under the influence of angry feelings.  It was in these words:—­

“I enclose your due bill, which I, yesterday, thought good for its face.  But, as it is worthless, I send it back.  The man who buys new carpets and new furniture, instead of paying his honest debts, can be no friend of mine.  I am sorry to have been mistaken in Henry Cartwright.”

Twice did the unhappy man read this cutting letter; then, folding it up slowly, be concealed it in one of his pockets.  Nothing was said about it to his wife, whose wordy admiration of the new carpet, and morning, noon, and night, for the next two or three days, was a continual reproof of his weakness for having yielded to her wishes in a matter where calm judgement and a principle of right should have prevailed.  But she could not help noticing that he was less cheerful; and once or twice he spoke to her in a way that she thought positively ill-natured.  Something was wrong with him; but what that something was, she did not for an instant imagine.