The Bondage of Ballinger | Page 6

sufficient to pay incidental wedding expenses and to allow for a bridal trip not to exceed a fortnight, an evidence of economy and thrift of which he was duly proud, and at which everybody wondered. In the late hours of the morning, after the ceremony at the clergyman's house, and a reasonably sumptuous breakfast at a convenient restaurant, Thomas had sallied forth to procure the railway tickets and to make such other arrangements as were necessary in the absence of a next friend. It was his evil genius, that malevolent spirit which rarely left him, that led him down a street and past a house where a conspicuous sign announced a book auction. Thomas hesitated, and was lost. He ran his hand down in his pocket, and thus communed with the evil spirit:
"Have I not plenty of time before proceeding to the ticket office? Can any harm result from just dropping in to see who is there and what is going on? Am I not a married man, with a married man's responsibilities, and has not my life of two months fully demonstrated that I am thoroughly emancipated from the thralldom of bibliomania? It would be an unpardonable sign of weakness to confess that I am not brave enough to show my hearty contempt for the follies of which I have been so long guilty. I will approach without fear. I will walk through the rooms that those of my acquaintance who happen to be there may see how little these temptations affect me."
Thomas confessed afterward that he had a very hazy idea of what happened and how it came about. He remembered telling the auctioneer to send the books to his boarding-house, giving a due-bill for several dollars in addition to all the money in his wallet, and walking back to his bride, very much bewildered and very much ashamed.
But Hannah took the matter philosophically and bravely. "Thee knows, Thomas," she said, "that the journey was but a foolish one, and that it is much better that we should begin our life with work and not with play. And doubtless thee will need the books in thy business, dear, and they will be pleasant to look at in after years, when we reflect that they saved us from such silly extravagance and useless travel. Surely it was thy good angel, Thomas, and not thy evil genius as thee has said."
Ah, sweet, beguiling, thoughtless little Hannah! How could you know what trouble you were storing up, and what a floodgate of unhappy desire and evil yearning you were opening? How could you guess that the same little imp of acquisition your gentleness forgave would become a mighty monster to follow and plague you through life?
So Thomas went humbly back to his trade and Hannah departed to make the peace with Ephraim Playfair. And when she returned they lived together in happiness and comfort, for Thomas was a clever and a rapid workman, and made great wages for those days. But the restless blood of his father was in his veins, and many times he sighed for the outside world he had encountered only in his books, and had pictured so fondly in his fancy. And one day, when the longing was strong within him, he came back suddenly from the office and said, "Come, Hannah, I must take thee on thy wedding journey." Thomas loved the quaint, solemn speech of the Quakers, and often spoke to his wife in the manner of her father's house. And Hannah, reassured by his smile and cheerfulness, though divining that a great change was coming into their life, smiled back at him, and holding up her fingers playfully to mark the signs of quotation, answered, "Whither thou goest I will go."
To so capable a printer and steady a workman as Thomas it mattered little in what city he found his occupation, and in New York he took up his trade as easily
as he had laid it down in Boston. The fascinations of the larger town appealed to the young wife, and often, when Thomas's work was done, they would roam together up and down the streets, looking into the gay windows and planning how they might have a home and how they should enrich and beautify it. Then the tempter, never far from Thomas's side, would beset him with all the cunning of his devilish art, and the poor printer would weakly steal away by himself, and haunt the old bookshops, and many a dollar solemnly pledged to the coming home found its way into the bookseller's till. Already a feeling of dread had taken possession of the thrifty little wife, and with each fresh purchase of books her heart would leap and words of reproach would come to her lips. And then she