I even went so far as to cross the street one day with the
intention of asking Poultney Briggs, who makes a business of letting
people know what they ought to like in the line of interior decoration,
to name his price to complete the job. But my courage failed me at the
last minute, for I had a presentiment that Josephine would be
disappointed if I did. You see I know her pretty well after all these
years.
"I should never have forgiven you, Fred--never!" said my better-half,
emphatically, when I told her how near I had come to the crucial act.
"I should have hated everything. Besides, no one nowadays thinks
anything of Poultney Briggs as a decorator. He is terribly behind the
times."
I accepted this reproof and the accompanying verdict with becoming
meekness. I remember that when we first went to house-keeping Poultney
Briggs was in the van of artistic progress, and that no one was to be
mentioned in the same breath with him; yet now, apparently, he was of
the sere-and-yellow-leaf order, professionally speaking. And I was old
fogy enough not to have been aware of it. Clearly, I was not fit to be
entrusted with the selection of even a door-mat, to say nothing of the
wall-papers and carpets. It was with a thankful heart over my
foresight that I relinquished to Josephine the whole task of
furnishing, with the sole reservation that I should have my say about
the wine-cellar.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38