Alberta Scrubb was too well brought up to give away a wedding present, even if it was from a plumber (at least, that's what she thought Harold had said, but how on earth would he be on gifting terms with a plumber?).
"Put it in the spare room," she directed her new husband, "somewhere it can't be seen from the hall" (because after all, it wouldn't do for any of their guests to think the Scrubbs the sort of fanciful people who adorned their walls with glistening seas and Viking ships – Harold wasn't some useless Oxford don, for goodness' sake, he was in Business. Then she flitted off to unpack the china, which was too good to use except with company; a few desultory hammer strokes echoed her footsteps down the uncarpeted hallway.
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Harold straightened the painting absently, because it bothered him when things were crooked; of course, the whole thing bothered him – the archaic style, the whimsical subject matter, and the unfathomable woman who had given him the painting in the first place.
"I'm no artist," Miss Plummer had said (Harold was too well brought up to agree with her aloud), "but I think you and your young wife could use a breath of sea air – start your married life together with a little wind in your sails!"
Harold had only been a lodger in her exceedingly odd boarding house for a few short weeks before the wedding, but he had learned it was no use arguing; besides, it was just a silly picture, and could do no harm tucked away in the spare bedroom.
Many happy returns
"Put it in the spare room," she directed her new husband, "somewhere it can't be seen from the hall" (because after all, it wouldn't do for any of their guests to think the Scrubbs the sort of fanciful people who adorned their walls with glistening seas and Viking ships – Harold wasn't some useless Oxford don, for goodness' sake, he was in Business. Then she flitted off to unpack the china, which was too good to use except with company; a few desultory hammer strokes echoed her footsteps down the uncarpeted hallway.
---
Harold straightened the painting absently, because it bothered him when things were crooked; of course, the whole thing bothered him – the archaic style, the whimsical subject matter, and the unfathomable woman who had given him the painting in the first place.
"I'm no artist," Miss Plummer had said (Harold was too well brought up to agree with her aloud), "but I think you and your young wife could use a breath of sea air – start your married life together with a little wind in your sails!"
Harold had only been a lodger in her exceedingly odd boarding house for a few short weeks before the wedding, but he had learned it was no use arguing; besides, it was just a silly picture, and could do no harm tucked away in the spare bedroom.