On the next day, Fletcher left for Cincinnati. He arrived there in the night. On the following morning, he left the hotel at which he had stopped, and, going into Main street, entered the first merchant-tailor’s shop that came in his way.
“Have you any work?” he asked.
“We have room for a journeyman, and are in want of one. Can you do the best work?”
“I can.”
“Did you serve your time in the city?”
“No. I am from the East.”
“Very well. Here is a job all ready. You can go to work at once.”
The young man did not hesitate. He took the bundle of work that was given him, and was shown into the back shop. He wrote home immediately that he had obtained employment, which he hoped would be permanent, and that he would be in Madison, Saturday about midnight, and leave again on Sunday evening. He did not say, however, what kind of employment he had procured. That was a secret he meant, if possible, to conceal. When he met his wife, he evaded her direct questions as to the kind of employment he was engaged in, somewhat to her surprise.
For a month, Fletcher went and returned from Cincinnati, weekly, bringing home about eight dollars each week, after paying all his expenses. By that time, his wife insisted so strongly upon going to Cincinnati with him, and taking boarding, that he could make no reasonable objection to the step. And so they removed, Fletcher feeling many serious misgivings at heart, lest his wife should make a discovery of the truth that she had married only a tailor!
“Where did you say the store was at which you are employed?” she asked, a day or two after they were comfortably settled at a very pleasant boarding-house in Cincinnati.
“On Main street,” replied Fletcher, a little coldly.
“What is the name of the firm? I forget.”
“Carter & Cassard.”
Fletcher could not lie outright to his wife, so he told her the truth, but with great reluctance.
No more was said then on the subject. About a week afterward, Mrs. Fletcher said to her husband, “I was along Main street to-day, and looked at the signs over every dry-goods store that I passed, but I did not see that of Carter & Cassard.”
In spite of all he could do, the blood rushed to the face of the young man, and his eyes fell under the steady look directed toward him by his wife.
“The store is there, nevertheless,” said he. His manner and the tone in which he spoke excited in the mind of his wife a feeling of surprise.
For the next four days, there was a strong conflict in Fletcher’s mind between false pride and duty. It grieves me to say that, in the end, the former conquered. On Saturday night, he came home with a troubled look, and told his wife that he had lost his situation, which he said had only been a temporary one. In this he certainly went beyond the truth, for he had given it up voluntarily.
The poor young creature’s heart sank in her. They had only been in Cincinnati about two weeks; were among entire strangers, and all means of subsistence were again taken from them. It is no wonder that she wept bitterly upon receiving this sudden and distressing intelligence. To see his wife in tears filled the heart of Fletcher with the severest pangs. He more than half repented of what he had done. But the thought of confessing that he was only a tailor made him firm in his resolution to meet any consequence rather than that.
“He was a fool!” exclaimed Kate, no longer able to restrain her indignation against the young man, and thus breaking in upon her aunt’s narrative.
“But remember, Kate, how contemptuously he had heard her speak of his trade, and even vow that she would rather drown herself than marry a tailor.”
“Suppose she did say this, when a thoughtless girl”—
“As you are, Kate.”
“Don’t bring me into the matter, aunt. But suppose she did say so, is that any reason for his starving her? He was bound to use his best efforts for the support of his family, and ought to have been thankful, under the circumstances, that he was a tailor.”
“So I think. And his wife ought to have been thankful too.”
“And I suppose she would have been if he had possessed the manliness to tell her the truth.”
“No doubt in the world of that,” returned Aunt Prudence, and then resumed her narrative:
A week was spent by the young man in another vain effort to find employment as a clerk. Then he avowed his intention to go to Louisville, and see if nothing could be done there.
“Try longer here, Joseph. Don’t go away yet,” earnestly and tearfully pleaded his wife. “You don’t know how hard it is for me to be separated from you. I am lonely through the day, and the nights pass, oh! so heavily. Something may turn up for you here. Try for a while longer.”
“But our money is nearly all gone. If I don’t go now, I shall have no means of getting away from this place. I feel sure that I can find something to do there.”
His wife pleaded with him, but in vain. To Louisville he went, and there got work at the first shop to which he made application. At the end of a week he sent his wife money, and told her that he had procured temporary employment. She wrote back asking if she might not join him immediately. But to this he objected, on the score that, as his situation was not a permanent one, he might, in a few weeks, be obliged to leave Louisville and go somewhere else. This, to his wife, was by no means satisfactory. But she could do no less than submit.
Thus separated, they lived for the next three months, Fletcher visiting his wife and child once every two weeks, and spending Sunday with them. During the time, he made good wages. But both himself and wife were very
