Yield an inch and they took a mile! It began one night when
Deborah said,
"Now, dearie, I think you had better make up your mind to give Laura just
the kind of wedding she likes."
And Roger weakly agreed to this, but as time wore on he discovered that the
kind of wedding Laura liked was a thing that made his blood run cold. There
seemed to be no end whatever to the young bride's blithe demands. The
trousseau part of it he didn't mind. To the gowns and hats and gloves and
shoes and trunks and jaunty travelling bags which came pouring into the
house, he made no objection. All that, he considered, was fair play. But
what got on Roger's nerves was this frantic fuss and change! The faded hall
carpet had to come up, his favorite lounge was whisked away, the piano was
re-tuned while he was trying to take a nap, rugs were beaten, crates and
barrels filled the halls, and one whole bedroom stripped and bare was
transformed into a shop where the wedding presents were displayed. In the
shuffle his box of cigars disappeared. In short, there was the devil to
pay!
And Deborah, was as bad as the bride. At times it appeared to Roger as
though her fingers fairly itched to jab and tug at his poor old house,
which wore an air of mute reproach. She revealed a part of her nature that
he viewed with dark amazement. Every hour she could spare from school, she
was changing something or other at home--with an eager glitter in her eyes.
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