Nothing
but hundred-dollar shawl would suit my ideas. Ada White had been
presented by her father with a hundred-dollar cashmere, and I did
not mean to be put off with anything less.
"Father, I want a hundred dollars," said I to him one morning as he
was leaving the house, after eating his light breakfast. He had
grown dyspeptic, and had to be careful and sparing in his diet.
"A hundred dollars!" He looked surprised; in fact, I noticed that my
request made him start. "What do you want with so much money?"
"I have nothing seasonable to wear," said I, very firmly; "and as I
must have a shawl, I might as well get a good one while I am about
it. I saw one at Stewart's yesterday that is just the thing. Ada
White's father gave her a shawl exactly like it, and you must let me
have the money to buy this one. It will last my lifetime."
"A hundred dollars is a large price for a shawl," said my father, in
his sober way.
Oh, dear, no!" was my emphatic answer; "a hundred dollars is a low
price for a shawl. Jane Wharton's cost five hundred."
"I'll think about it," said my father, turning from me rather
abruptly.
When he came home at dinner-time, I was alone in the parlor,
practicing a. new piece of music which my fashionable teacher had
left me. He was paid three dollars for every lesson. My father
smiled as he laid a hundred-dollar bill on the keys of the piano.
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