other things he did afford, had he not been able to add to his purse by writing occasional bits of fiction and jokes for the lighter magazines. Some months this additional money amounted to quite a sum, and when it more than paid his expenses, he would make Laura a little present, but it was understood that this money was his, and that it was something quite outside the regular income of the family, and not to be counted on for household expenses. The result was that sometimes Mr. Fenelby had quite a sum in his pockets, and sometimes he had hard work to make his car-fare money last through the week.
But one thing he never neglected was to bring home to his wife a box of bon-bons every Saturday evening, and one of the things that Mrs. Fenelby flaunted before her female friends was the fact that although she had been married for five years Tom never missed the box of candy. This was the visible sign that his love had not declined, and that he still had a lover’s thoughtfulness.
On the Friday after the Fenelby Tariff had been adopted, Mr. Fenelby came home with a box of cigars under his arm. It was his usual box of twenty-five, and the usual brand, for which he paid ten cents each, and after he had kissed Laura he gaily deposited twenty-five cents in Bobberts’ bank. This was the first money he had put in the bank under the new tariff laws, and he took an especial pleasure in depositing it. Mrs. Fenelby had put many pennies and nickels in the bank during the week, because she had had to buy a number of things from the vegetable man, and others.
“How much did you put in, dear?” asked Mrs. Fenelby, as she heard the coin rattle down among its fellows.
“A quarter,” said Mr. Fenelby, gaily. “I tell you, Laura, that boy will soon have a lot of money if it keeps coming in at that rate. A quarter here, and a quarter there! It is amazing how it mounts up.”
“Yes,” she answered. “But shouldn’t you put in seventy-five cents, Tom? Cigars are a luxury, aren’t they? And you know you said luxuries were thirty per cent.”
Mr. Fenelby turned quickly.
“Nonsense!” he said. “Any man will tell you that cigars are an absolute necessity. Just as much so as food or drink or clothing. Every one knows that, Laura.”
“Why, Tom,” said Mrs. Fenelby, “you told me, only last night, when I merely hinted that you were smoking too much, that you could quit any minute you chose, and that it had no hold on you whatever. You said you only smoked a little for the pleasure it gave you, and that there was no danger at all of its ever becoming a necessity to you. Of course, I don’t care, for myself, what you put in the bank, but I should not think you would want to rob poor little Bobberts of what he really should have, just because you can twist out of it by claiming – ”
There were signs of tears, and Mr. Fenelby cheerfully stepped up and dropped fifty cents more into the bank. It was one of his periods of plenty, and he would have been willing to put dollars into the bank, instead of quarters, rather than have Laura think he was trying to defraud Bobberts. He explained to Laura that all he wanted to know was what he really ought to pay, and then he would pay it cheerfully. Probably all men are like that. They only want to have their taxes assessed fairly, and they will pay them joyfully. One of the prettiest sights imaginable is to see the tax-payers gleefully crowding to pay their taxes. I say imaginable, because it is one of the sights that has to be imagined.
The next evening was warm, and Bobberts was sleeping nicely, so Mrs. Fenelby walked part of the way to the station to meet Tom when he came home, and her eyes brightened when she saw the square parcel that she knew to be the box of candy, in his hand. He kissed her, right there on the street, as suburban husbands are not ashamed to do, and put the box of candy in her hand.
“And what do you think my news is?” he asked, after he had asked about Bobberts. “Brother Bill is coming to make us that visit that he has been promising for ever so long – ”
“Tom!” cried Laura. “And what do you think my news is? Kitty is coming to spend two weeks with us! Isn’t that the jolliest thing you ever heard of? Both coming at the same time! I wonder if they – ”
“Well,” said Tom, who generally had a pretty clear idea of what Laura meant to say next, “if they did fall in love with each other, it would not be such a bad match. Your cousin Kitty is as nice as any girl I know, and I rather think Billy isn’t such a bad sort. Anyway, they will make it pleasant for each other.”
“It will brighten us up all around to have them here,” said Mrs. Fenelby. “I wonder whether we ought to make them pay tariff on things. That was the first thing I thought of, when I read that Kitty meant to visit us. It does seem a little like inhospitality, to make them pay tariff.”
“Not a bit!” said Tom. “They will like it. It will be a lot of fun for them, and you know it will, Laura. Would we like to be left out of anything of that kind if we were visiting any one? Of course not. I don’t know Kitty as well as you do, but speaking for Billy I can say that he would be mighty hurt if we did not treat him just as we treat the rest of the family. He will think it is a jolly game.”
“I am not afraid of how Kitty will take it, when I tell her it is all for the benefit of Bobberts. She will be wild about the tariff. The only thing I am afraid of is that she will go and buy things she doesn’t need or want, just in order that she can put money in Bobberts’ bank,” said Mrs. Fenelby. “I told Bridget about the tariff to-day, and she was so interested! Every one I tell about it thinks it is a splendid idea, and wonders how you could think of it.”
“I do think of some things that other people do not think of,” said Mr. Fenelby, rather proudly; “but that is because I accustom myself to use my brains.”
“But it is surprising how a little thing like this tariff counts up!” said Mrs. Fenelby. “My bills this week were fourteen dollars, and I had to put a dollar and forty cents into Bobberts’ bank, and then I had to pay Bridget’s month’s wages to-day, but I didn’t have to pay any tariff on that, and I had to pay the gas bill, too; but I didn’t have to pay any tariff on that, thank goodness – ”
“Of course you have to pay tariff on the gas bill!” exclaimed Mr. Fenelby. “The gas came into the house, didn’t it?”
“But you said I didn’t have to pay tariff on the rent bill,” argued Laura; “and the rent bill is just as much a bill as the gas bill is. You know very well, Tom, that we always figure on those three things as if they were just alike – the rent, and the gas, and Bridget, – and I don’t see why, if there is a tariff on gas why there should not be one on rent.”
“Rent isn’t a thing that comes into the house,” explained Mr. Fenelby. “You can’t see rent.”
“You can’t see gas,” said Mrs. Fenelby.
“You can see it if it is lighted,” said Mr. Fenelby, “and you can smell it any time you want to. Gas is a real object, or thing, and we buy it, and it pays a duty.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Fenelby. “Then I ought to pay duty on Bridget, too. She is a real thing, and we pay money for her, just as much as we do for gas, and she is a thing that comes into the house. If I don’t pay on Bridget, I don’t see why I should pay on the gas. The next thing you will be saying that Bridget is a luxury, and that I ought to pay thirty per cent. on her! Probably I ought to pay a duty on Bobberts! I don’t think it is fair that I should pay on everything. I will not pay ten per cent. on the gas bill. Everything seems to come the same day.”
“Laura!” exclaimed Mr. Fenelby, with sudden joy, “you don’t have to pay on the gas bill this month! I wonder I hadn’t thought of it. That gas bill is for gas used before the tariff was adopted! And now that you know about it, you will expect to pay next month.”
“I shall warn Bridget again about using so much in the range,” said Laura. “We shall have to economize very carefully, Tom. I can see that. The tariff is going to make our living very expensive.”
They had reached the house, and had lingered a minute on the porch, and now they went inside, for they heard the dinner-bell tinkle.
“You had better drop eight cents in the bank before you forget it,” said Mrs. Fenelby.
“Eight cents?”