University of Virginia Library

A PRUDENT SUFFERER.

MR. PHIPPS, of the firm of Phipps & Hodge, the Danbury undertakers, was sitting in his shop Saturday afternoon, ruminating gloomily upon the dull times, when the door opened, and in came a stranger. The visitor was a slim-faced man, dressed in a dun-colored suit of rather tight-fitting clothes. He looked clear around the room, carefully avoiding a glance at the undertaker until the circuit was completed.

Then he looked curiously at him, and said,—

"Is the boss in?"

"Yes, sir: I'm one of them. Is there any thing I can do for you, sir?"

"Well, that'll depend on how we kin deal, I reckon," replied the stranger in a tone of subdued shrewdness. "I have just had to shoulder a pretty heavy affliction. My old woman went under yesterday." He paused, and looked interrogatively over the array of coffins and caskets.

"Your wife is dead?" inquired Mr. Phipps with professional anxiety.

"You've hit it square, boss," replied the stranger with an approving nod.

"What time yesterday did the sad event occur?"

"About five P.M., as near as we kin reckon."

"Pass away peacefully?"

"Lit out without a groan," explained the bereaved. "She'd been sick, off an' on, for about two years an' better. Not right down sick all that time; but then I don't think she done a square day's work in two years. It's been a great expense all through; but I don't complain, howsumever. I came in to-day to see about fixin' her up."

"Ah, yes! You wish to secure a burial-case. We have, as you see, various kinds. You will want something rather nice, I fancy?" said Mr. Phipps.

"Well, yes: I want something that will show considerable grief an' sorrer, but nothin' that's going to upset folks, you know. We are plain people, boss, an', at a time like this,—with a great affliction shouldered on us—we don't feel like riling up the neighbors. If it was a huskin'-bee, now, or a barn-raisin' even, I'd calculate to make their eyes prance right around in their heads. But," and he sighed heavily, "this is a hoss of another color."

"How would this do?" suggested Mr. Phipps, indicating a plain rosewood.

"What's the price of that? You see, boss, we live over in Baxter Plain. It's a small place, an' there ain't much style. We don't want to go in too heavy, you know."

"Certainly not; but this is a very neat-looking article."

"Yes," coincided the widower: "it does seem as if one needn't feel uneasy with that coffin in the front-room, an' the room full of people."

"I can let you have that for forty-five-dollars."

"Jee—oh, I couldn't think of paying that! Forty-five dollars! why, you kin get a wagon in two colors for that money. You see, boss, this is a plain country funeral, an' not a torchlight procession," feelingly explained the widower.

"How will this do, then?" next inquired the undertaker, hastily pointing to another article, of common wood, brightly stained.

"How much is that?"

"Only eighteen dollars."

"Eighteen dollars, hey? Well, that's much more like it. Still, don't it strike you that eighteen dollars is pretty steep for these times?"

"Not for an article like that, sir. I can assure you that such a coffin could not have been bought for a cent less than twenty-two dollars one year ago."

"It may be cheap, as you say," ruminated the bereaved; "yet eighteen dollars is a good big pile of money. I want something nice, of course; but I don't want to jump in so mighty heavy as to make people think I never had a funeral before. You get what I mean?"

"Oh, yes! perfectly. You want an article that will look respectable, and in keeping with your circumstances; but yet you do not wish to be too demonstrative in your sorrow."

"By jinks! I guess you've got it square on the head," said the pleased sufferer.

"Now, this is an article that just answers the purpose, in my judgment; and I have had years of experience."

"Yes, yes: you must 'av' tucked in a heap of em," said the stranger in a tone of unqualified respect. "This is a sound one, I suppose," he continued, tapping the sides.

"Perfectly so: we use the very best kinds of wood," explained Mr. Phipps.

"Just see here a minute," exclaimed the stranger, suddenly and impressively drawing the undertaker to one side. "You say that coffin is sound as a nut, an' you want eighteen dollars for it. Now, I want you to understand there ain't any thing small about me, an' that I've got just as much respect for the dead as any other man living, I don't care where you snake him from.

[Description: A Prudent Sufferer — 42.]

But winter is coming on, you know, an' we owe a little to the living as well. That's a sound coffin, an' a sound coffin does well enough in the right place, you know; but I want to ask you, as a man of experience in these things, an' understanding what grief is, if you ain't got a box of that pattern that's got some sort of a defect in the wood, which you could knock off a little on."

"I haven't, sir."

"Just think a minit, please," he anxiously resumed. "Nothing a little rotted?"

The undertaker shook his head.

"With a worm-hole or so in,—I don't mind a dozen," suggested the sorrowing one.

"No."

"Or a little sappy? Don't answer too quick: take time. Just a little sappy where it wouldn't be seen by the public, you know?"

"I haven't such a piece of wood in the establishment. We use none that is imperfect."

"Eighteen dollars it is, then?" sighed the afflicted.

"Yes, sir."

"I must take it, I suppose," he observed; "but, when the neighbors see that coffin, they'll swear that old J— has struck a gold mine. Now, mark my words." And he passed gloomily out.