One thing she was determined to do--maintain her position in a way to
put it beyond the reach of petty spite and gossip. She had always
resented the imputation of boorishness and lack of culture his enemies
had made against the man she loved. She held it her first duty,
therefore, to maintain her place as the First Lady of the Land in a way
that would still those slanderous tongues. For this reason her dresses
had been the most elaborate and expensive the wife of any Chief
Magistrate of the Republic had ever worn. Her big-hearted, careless
husband had no more idea of the cost of such things than a new-born
babe.
Lizzie Garland, the negro dressmaker, to whom she had given her
patronage, practically spent her entire time with the President's wife,
who finally became so contemptuous of unreasonable public criticism in
Washington that she was often seen going to Lizzie Garland's house to be
fitted.
As Lizzie bent over her work basting the new seams in fitting her last
dress, the Mistress of the White House suddenly stopped the nervous
movement of her rocking-chair.
"He demands a thousand dollars to-night, Lizzie?"
"Swears he'll take the whole account to the President to-morrow unless
he gets it, Madam."
"You tried to make him reasonable?"
"Begged him for an hour."
"That's what I get for trading with a little rat in Philadelphia.
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