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by Anthony Trollope
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Title: The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson
By One of the Firm
Author: Anthony Trollope
Release Date: December 14, 2008 [eBook #27533]
Language: English
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THE STRUGGLES OF BROWN, JONES, AND ROBINSON:
by
ONE OF THE FIRM
Edited by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Author of "Framley Parsonage," "The Last Chronicle of Barset,"
&c. &c.
[Illustration: Jones is vanquished by Mrs. Morony (Chapter XIV).
(frontispiece)]
[Illustration: Title page.]
Reprinted from the "Cornhill Magazine."
With Four Illustrations.
London:
Smith, Elder & Co., 15, Waterloo Place.
1870.
CONTENTS
I. PREFACE. BY ONE OF THE FIRM.
II. THE EARLY HISTORY OF OUR MR. BROWN,
WITH SOME FEW WORDS OF MR. JONES.
III. THE EARLY HISTORY OF MR. ROBINSON.
IV. NINE TIMES NINE IS EIGHTY-ONE. SHOWING HOW BROWN, JONES,
AND ROBINSON SELECTED THEIR HOUSE OF BUSINESS.
V. THE DIVISION OF LABOUR.
VI. IT IS OUR OPENING DAY.
VII. MISS BROWN PLEADS HER OWN CASE, AND MR. ROBINSON WALKS
ON BLACKFRIARS BRIDGE.
VIII. MR. BRISKET THINKS HE SEES HIS WAY, AND MR. ROBINSON
AGAIN WALKS ON BLACKFRIARS BRIDGE.
IX. SHOWING HOW MR. ROBINSON WAS EMPLOYED ON THE OPENING DAY.
X. SHOWING HOW THE FIRM INVENTED A NEW SHIRT.
XI. JOHNSON OF MANCHESTER.
XII. SAMSON AND DELILAH.
XIII. THE WISDOM OF POPPINS.
XIV. MISTRESS MORONY.
XV. MISS BROWN NAMES THE DAY.
XVI. SHOWING HOW ROBINSON WALKED UPON ROSES.
XVII. A TEA-PARTY IN BISHOPSGATE STREET.
XVIII. AN EVENING AT THE "GOOSE AND GRIDIRON."
XIX. GEORGE ROBINSON'S MARRIAGE.
XX. SHOWING HOW MR. BRISKET DIDN'T SEE HIS WAY.
XXI. MR. BROWN IS TAKEN ILL.
XXII. WASTEFUL AND IMPETUOUS SALE.
XXIII. FAREWELL.
XXIV. GEORGE ROBINSON'S DREAM.
CHAPTER I.
PREFACE.
BY ONE OF THE FIRM.
It will be observed by the literary and commercial world that, in
this transaction, the name of the really responsible party does not
show on the title-page. I--George Robinson--am that party. When our
Mr. Jones objected to the publication of these memoirs unless they
appeared as coming from the firm itself, I at once gave way. I had
no wish to offend the firm, and, perhaps, encounter a lawsuit for
the empty honour of seeing my name advertised as that of an author.
We had talked the matter over with our Mr. Brown, who, however,
was at that time in affliction, and not able to offer much that
was available. One thing he did say; "As we are partners," said Mr.
Brown, "let's be partners to the end." "Well," said I, "if you say
so, Mr. Brown, so it shall be." I never supposed that Mr. Brown would
set the Thames on fire, and soon learnt that he was not the man to
amass a fortune by British commerce. He was not made for the guild
of Merchant Princes. But he was the senior member of our firm, and I
always respected the old-fashioned doctrine of capital in the person
of our Mr. Brown.
When Mr. Brown said, "Let's be partners to the end; it won't be for
long, Mr. Robinson," I never said another word. "No," said I, "Mr.
Brown; you're not what you was--and you're down a peg; I'm not the
man to take advantage and go against your last wishes. Whether for
long or whether for short, we'll pull through in the same boat to the
end. It shall be put on the title-page--'By One of the Firm.'" "God
bless you, Mr. Robinson," said he; "God bless you."
And then Mr. Jones started another objection. The reader will soon
realize that anything I do is sure to be wrong with Mr. Jones. It
wouldn't be him else. He next declares that I can't write English,
and that the book must be corrected, and put out by an editor? Now,
when I inform the discerning British Public that every advertisement
that has been posted by Brown, Jones, and Robinson, during the last
three years has come from my own unaided pen, I think few will doubt
my capacity to write the "Memoirs of Brown, Jones, and Robinson,"
without any editor whatsoever.
On this head I was determined to be firm. What! after preparing, and
correcting, and publishing such thousands of advertisements in prose
and verse and in every form of which the language is susceptible,
to be told that I couldn't write English! It was Jones all over.
If there is a party envious of the genius of another party in this
sublunary world that party is our Mr. Jones.
But I was again softened by a touching appeal from our senior
partner. Mr. Brown, though prosaic enough in his general ideas, was
still sometimes given to the Muses; and now, with a melancholy and
tender cadence, he quoted the following lines;--
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For 'tis their nature to.
But 'tis a shameful sight to see, when partners of one firm
like we,
Fall out, and chide, and fight!"
So I gave in again.
It was then arranged that one of Smith and Elder's young men should
look through the manuscript, and make any few alterations which the
taste of the public might require. It might be that the sonorous,
and, if I may so express myself, magniloquent phraseology in which
I was accustomed to invite the attention of the nobility and gentry
to our last importations was not suited for the purposes of light
literature, such as this. "In fiction, Mr. Robinson, your own unaided
talents would doubtless make you great," said to me the editor of
this Magazine; "but if I may be allowed an opinion, I do think that
in the delicate task of composing memoirs a little assistance may
perhaps be not inexpedient."
This was prettily worded; so what with this, and what with our Mr.
Brown's poetry, I gave way; but I reserved to myself the right of an
epistolary preface in my own name. So here it is.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,--I am not a bit ashamed of my part in the
following transaction. I have done what little in me lay to further
British commerce. British commerce is not now what it was. It is
becoming open and free like everything else that is British;--open
to the poor man as well as to the rich. That bugbear Capital is a
crumbling old tower, and is pretty nigh brought to its last ruin.
Credit is the polished shaft of the temple on which the new world
of trade will be content to lean. That, I take it, is the one great
doctrine of modern commerce. Credit,--credit,--credit. Get credit,
and capital will follow. Doesn't the word speak for itself? Must not
credit be respectable? And is not the word "respectable" the highest
term of praise which can be applied to the British tradesman?
Credit is the polished shaft of the temple. But with what are you to
polish it? The stone does not come from the quarry with its gloss on.
Man's labour is necessary to give it that beauteous exterior. Then
wherewith shall we polish credit? I answer the question at once. With
the pumice-stone and sand-paper of advertisement.
Different great men have promulgated the different means by which they
have sought to subjugate the world. "Audacity--audacity--audacity,"
was the lesson which one hero taught. "Agitate--agitate--agitate,"
was the counsel of a second. "Register--register--register," of a
third. But I say--Advertise, advertise, advertise! And I say it again
and again--Advertise, advertise, advertise! It is, or should be,
the Shibboleth of British commerce. That it certainly will be so I,
George Robinson, hereby venture to prophesy, feeling that on this
subject something but little short of inspiration has touched my
eager pen.
There are those,--men of the old school, who cannot rouse themselves
to see and read the signs of the time, men who would have been in
the last ranks, let them have lived when they would,--who object to
it that it is untrue,--who say that advertisements do not keep the
promises which they make. But what says the poet,--he whom we teach
our children to read? What says the stern moralist to his wicked
mother in the play? "Assume a virtue if you have it not?" and so say
I. "Assume a virtue if you have it not." It would be a great trade
virtue in a haberdasher to have forty thousand pairs of best hose
lying ready for sale in his warehouse. Let him assume that virtue if
he have it not. Is not this the way in which we all live, and the
only way in which it is possible to live comfortably. A gentleman
gives a dinner party. His lady, who has to work all day like a
dray-horse and scold the servants besides, to get things into order,
loses her temper. We all pretty well know what that means. Well; up
to the moment when she has to show, she is as bitter a piece of goods
as may be. But, nevertheless, she comes down all smiles, although she
knows that at that moment the drunken cook is spoiling the fish. She
assumes a virtue, though she has it not; and who will say she is not
right?
Well; I say again and again to all young tradesmen;--Advertise,
advertise, advertise;--and don't stop to think too much about
capital. It is a bugbear. Capital is a bugbear; and it is talked
about by those who have it,--and by some that have not so much of it
neither,--for the sake of putting down competition, and keeping the
market to themselves.
There's the same game going on all the world over; and it's the
natural game for mankind to play at. They who's up a bit is all for
keeping down them who is down; and they who is down is so very soft
through being down, that they've not spirit to force themselves up.
Now I saw that very early in life. There is always going on a battle
between aristocracy and democracy. Aristocracy likes to keep itself
to itself; and democracy is just of the same opinion, only wishes to
become aristocracy first.
We of the people are not very fond of dukes; but we'd all like to be
dukes well enough ourselves. Now there are dukes in trade as well
as in society. Capitalists are our dukes; and as they don't like to
have their heels trod upon any more than the other ones, why they
are always preaching up capital. It is their star and garter, their
coronet, their ermine, their robe of state, their cap of maintenance,
their wand of office, their noli me tangere. But stars and garters,
caps and wands, and all other noli me tangeres, are gammon to those
who can see through them. And capital is gammon. Capital is a very
nice thing if you can get it. It is the desirable result of trade. A
tradesman looks to end with a capital. But it's gammon to say that
he can't begin without it. You might as well say a man can't marry
unless he has first got a family. Why, he marries that he may have a
family. It's putting the cart before the horse.
It's my opinion that any man can be a duke if so be it's born to him.
It requires neither wit nor industry, nor any pushing nor go-ahead
whatsoever. A man may sit still in his arm-chair, half asleep half
his time, and only half awake the other, and be as good a duke as
need be. Well; it's just the same in trade. If a man is born to a
dukedom there, if he begins with a large capital, why, I for one
would not thank him to be successful. Any fool could do as much as
that. He has only to keep on polishing his own star and garter, and
there are lots of people to swear that there is no one like him.
But give me the man who can be a duke without being born to it. Give
me the man who can go ahead in trade without capital; who can begin
the world with a quick pair of hands, a quick brain to govern them,
and can end with a capital.
Well, there you are; a young tradesman beginning the world without
capital. Capital, though it's a bugbear, nevertheless it's a virtue.
Therefore, as you haven't got it, you must assume it. That's credit.
Credit I take to be the belief of other people in a thing that
doesn't really exist. When you go into your friend Smith's house,
and find Mrs. S. all smiles, you give her credit for the sweetest of
tempers. Your friend S. knows better; but then you see she's had wit
enough to obtain credit. When I draw a bill at three months, and get
it done, I do the same thing. That's credit. Give me credit enough,
and I don't care a brass button for capital. If I could have but one
wish, I would never ask a fairy for a second or a third. Let me have
but unreserved credit, and I'll beat any duke of either aristocracy.
To obtain credit the only certain method is to advertise. Advertise,
advertise, advertise. That is, assume, assume, assume. Go on assuming
your virtue. The more you haven't got it, the more you must assume
it. The bitterer your own heart is about that drunken cook and that
idle husband who will do nothing to assist you, the sweeter you
must smile. Smile sweet enough, and all the world will believe you.
Advertise long enough, and credit will come.
But there must be some nous in your advertisements; there must be a
system, and there must be some wit in your system. It won't suffice
now-a-days to stick up on a blank wall a simple placard to say that
you have forty thousand best hose just new arrived. Any wooden-headed
fellow can do as much as that. That might have served in the olden
times that we hear of, twenty years since; but the game to be
successful in these days must be played in another sort of fashion.
There must be some finish about your advertisements, something new in
your style, something that will startle in your manner. If a man can
make himself a real master of this art, we may say that he has learnt
his trade, whatever that trade may be. Let him know how to advertise,
and the rest will follow.
It may be that I shouldn't boast; but yet I do boast that I have made
some little progress in this business. If I haven't yet practised
the art in all its perfections, nevertheless I flatter myself I have
learned how to practise it. Regarding myself as something of a master
of this art, and being actuated by purely philanthropic motives in my
wish to make known my experience, I now put these memoirs before the
public.
It will, of course, be urged against me that I have not been
successful in what I have already attempted, and that our house
has failed. This is true. I have not been successful. Our house
has failed. But with whom has the fault been? Certainly not in my
department.
The fact is, and in this my preface I will not keep the truth
back from a discerning public, that no firm on earth,--or indeed
elsewhere,--could be successful in which our Mr. Jones is one of the
partners. There is an overweening vanity about that man which is
quite upsetting. I confess I have been unable to stand it. Vanity is
always allied to folly, and the relationship is very close in the
person of our Mr. Jones. Of Mr. Brown I will never bring myself to
say one disrespectful word. He is not now what he was once. From the
bottom of my heart I pity his misfortunes. Think what it must be
to be papa to a Goneril and a Regan,--without the Cordelia. I have
always looked on Mrs. Jones as a regular Goneril; and as for the
Regan, why it seems to me that Miss Brown is likely to be Miss Regan
to the end of the chapter.
No; of Mr. Brown I will say nothing disrespectful; but he never was
the man to be first partner in an advertising firm. That was our
mistake. He had old-fashioned views about capital which were very
burdensome. My mistake was this,--that in joining myself with Mr.
Brown, I compromised my principles, and held out, as it were, a left
hand to capital. He had not much, as will be seen; but he thought a
deal of what he had got, and talked a deal of it too. This impeded my
wings. This prevented me from soaring. One cannot touch pitch and not
be defiled. I have been untrue to myself in having had any dealings
on the basis of capital; and hence has it arisen that hitherto I have
failed.
I make these confessions hoping that they may be serviceable to trade
in general. A man cannot learn a great secret, and the full use of a
great secret, all at once. My eyes are now open. I shall not again
make so fatal a mistake. I am still young. I have now learned my
lesson more thoroughly, and I yet anticipate success with some
confidence.
Had Mr. Brown at once taken my advice, had his few thousand pounds
been liberally expended in commencing a true system of advertising,
we should have been,--I can hardly surmise where we should have been.
He was for sticking altogether to the old system. Mr. Jones was for
mixing the old and the new, for laying in stock and advertising as
well, with a capital of 4,000_l_! What my opinion is of Mr. Jones I
will not now say, but of Mr. Brown I will never utter one word of
disparagement.
I have now expressed what few words I wish to say on my own bottom.
As to what has been done in the following pages by the young man who
has been employed to look over these memoirs and put them into shape,
it is not for me to speak. It may be that I think they might have
read more natural-like had no other cook had a finger in the pie. The
facts, however, are facts still. These have not been cooked.
Ladies and gentlemen, you who have so long distinguished our firm by
a liberal patronage, to you I now respectfully appeal, and in showing
to you a new article I beg to assure you with perfect confidence that
there is nothing equal to it at the price at present in the market.
The supply on hand is immense, but as a sale of unprecedented
rapidity is anticipated, may I respectfully solicit your early
orders? If not approved of the article shall be changed.
Ladies and gentlemen,
We have the honour to subscribe ourselves,
With every respect,
Your most obedient humble servants,
BROWN, JONES, AND ROBINSON,
PER GEORGE ROBINSON.
CHAPTER II.
THE EARLY HISTORY OF OUR MR. BROWN, WITH SOME FEW WORDS OF MR. JONES.
O Commerce, how wonderful are thy ways, how vast thy power, how
invisible thy dominion! Who can restrain thee and forbid thy further
progress? Kings are but as infants in thy hands, and emperors,
despotic in all else, are bound to obey thee! Thou civilizest, hast
civilized, and wilt civilize. Civilization is thy mission, and man's
welfare thine appointed charge. The nation that most warmly fosters
thee shall ever be the greatest in the earth; and without thee no
nation shall endure for a day. Thou art our Alpha and our Omega, our
beginning and our end; the marrow of our bones, the salt of our life,
the sap of our branches, the corner-stone of our temple, the rock of
our foundation. We are built on thee, and for thee, and with thee. To
worship thee should be man's chiefest care, to know thy hidden ways
his chosen study.
One maxim hast thou, O Commerce, great and true and profitable above
all others;--one law which thy votaries should never transgress. "Buy
in the cheapest market and sell in the dearest." May those divine
words be ever found engraved on the hearts of Brown, Jones, and
Robinson!
Of Mr. Brown, the senior member of our firm, it is expedient that
some short memoir should be given. At the time at which we signed
our articles in 185--, Mr. Brown had just retired from the butter
business. It does not appear that in his early youth he ever had the
advantage of an apprenticeship, and he seems to have been employed
in various branches of trade in the position, if one may say so,
of an out-door messenger. In this capacity he entered the service
of Mr. McCockerell, a retail butter dealer in Smithfield. When Mr.
McCockerell died our Mr. Brown married his widow, and thus found
himself elevated at once to the full-blown dignity of a tradesman. He
and his wife lived together for thirty years, and it is believed that
in the temper of his lady he found some alloy to the prosperity which
he had achieved. The widow McCockerell, in bestowing her person upon
Mr. Brown, had not intended to endow him also with entire dominion
over her shop and chattels. She loved to be supreme over her butter
tubs, and she loved also to be supreme over her till. Brown's views
on the rights of women were more in accordance with the law of the
land as laid down in the statutes. He opined that a _femme couverte_
could own no property, not even a butter tub;--and hence quarrels
arose.
After thirty years of contests such as these Mr. Brown found himself
victorious, made so not by the power of arguments, nor by that of
his own right arm, but by the demise of Mrs. Brown. That amiable
lady died, leaving two daughters to lament their loss, and a series
of family quarrels, by which she did whatever lay in her power to
embarrass her husband, but by which she could not prevent him from
becoming absolute owner of the butter business, and of the stock in
trade.
The two young ladies had not been brought up to the ways of the
counter; and as Mr. Brown was not himself especially expert at that
particular business in which his money was embarked, he prudently
thought it expedient to dispose of the shop and goodwill. This he
did to advantage; and thus at the age of fifty-five he found himself
again on the world with 4,000_l_. in his pocket.
At this period one of his daughters was no longer under his own
charge. Sarah Jane, the eldest of the two, was already Mrs. Jones.
She had been captivated by the black hair and silk waistcoat of Mr.
Jones, and had gone off with him in opposition to the wishes of both
parents. This, she was aware, was not matter of much moment, for
the opposition of one was sure to bring about a reconciliation with
the other. And such was soon the case. Mrs. Brown would not see her
daughter, or allow Jones to put his foot inside the butter-shop. Mr.
Brown consequently took lodgings for them in the neighbourhood, and
hence a close alliance sprung up between the future partners.
At this crisis Maryanne devoted herself to her mother. It was
admitted by all who knew her that Maryanne Brown had charms. At that
time she was about twenty-four years of age, and was certainly a fine
young woman. She was, like her mother, a little too much inclined to
corpulence, and there may be those who would not allow that her hair
was auburn. Mr. Robinson, however, who was then devotedly attached to
her, was of that opinion, and was ready to maintain his views against
any man who would dare to say that it was red.
There was a dash about Maryanne Brown at that period which endeared
her greatly to Mr. Robinson. She was quite above anything mean, and
when her papa was left a widower in possession of four thousand
pounds, she was one of those who were most anxious to induce him
to go to work with spirit in a new business. She was all for
advertising; that must be confessed of her, though her subsequent
conduct was not all that it should have been. Maryanne Brown, when
tried in the furnace, did not come out pure gold; but this, at any
rate, shall be confessed in her behalf, that she had a dash about
her, and understood more of the tricks of trade than any other of her
family.
Mrs. McCockerell died about six months after her eldest daughter's
marriage. She was generally called Mrs. McCockerell in the
neighbourhood of Smithfield, though so many years had passed since
she had lost her right to that name. Indeed, she generally preferred
being so styled, as Mr. Brown was peculiarly averse to it. The name
was wormwood to him, and this was quite sufficient to give it melody
in her ears.
The good lady died about six months after her daughter's marriage.
She was struck with apoplexy, and at that time had not been
reconciled to her married daughter. Sarah Jane, nevertheless, when
she heard what had occurred, came over to Smithfield. Her husband was
then in employment as shopman at the large haberdashery house on Snow
Hill, and lived with his wife in lodgings in Cowcross Street. They
were supported nearly entirely by Mr. Brown, and therefore owed to
him at this crisis not only obedience, but dutiful affection.
When, however, Sarah Jane first heard of her mother's illness, she
seemed to think that she couldn't quarrel with her father fast
enough. Jones had an idea that the old lady's money must go to her
daughters, that she had the power of putting it altogether out of the
hands of her husband, and that having the power she would certainly
exercise it. On this speculation he had married; and as he and his
wife fully concurred in their financial views, it was considered
expedient by them to lose no time in asserting their right. This they
did as soon as the breath was out of the old lady's body.
Jones had married Sarah Jane solely with this view; and, indeed,
it was highly improbable that he should have done so on any other
consideration. Sarah Jane was certainly not a handsome girl. Her neck
was scraggy, her arms lean, and her lips thin; and she resembled
neither her father nor her mother. Her light brown, sandy hair, which
always looked as though it were too thin and too short to adapt
itself to any feminine usage, was also not of her family; but her
disposition was a compound of the paternal and maternal qualities.
She had all her father's painful hesitating timidity, and with it all
her mother's grasping spirit. If there ever was an eye that looked
sharp after the pence, that could weigh the ounces of a servant's
meal at a glance, and foresee and prevent the expenditure of a
farthing, it was the eye of Sarah Jane Brown. They say that it is
as easy to save a fortune as to make one; and in this way, if in no
other, Jones may be said to have got a fortune with his wife.
As soon as the breath was out of Mrs. McCockerell's body, Sarah Jane
was there, taking inventory of the stock. At that moment poor Mr.
Brown was very much to be pitied. He was a man of feeling, and even
if his heart was not touched by his late loss, he knew what was due
to decency. It behoved him now as a widower to forget the deceased
lady's faults, and to put her under the ground with solemnity. This
was done with the strictest propriety; and although he must, of
course, have been thinking a good deal at that time as to whether he
was to be a beggar or a rich man, nevertheless he conducted himself
till after the funeral as though he hadn't a care on his mind, except
the loss of Mrs. B.
Maryanne was as much on the alert as her sister. She had been for the
last six months her mother's pet, as Sarah Jane had been her father's
darling. There was some excuse, therefore, for Maryanne when she
endeavoured to get what she could in the scramble. Sarah Jane played
the part of Goneril to the life, and would have denied her father the
barest necessaries of existence, had it not ultimately turned out
that the property was his own.
Maryanne was not well pleased to see her sister returning to the
house at such a moment. She, at least, had been dutiful to her
mother, or, if undutiful, not openly so. If Mrs. McCockerell had the
power of leaving her property to whom she pleased, it would be only
natural that she should leave it to the daughter who had obeyed her,
and not to the daughter who had added to personal disobedience the
worse fault of having been on friendly terms with her father.
This, one would have thought, would have been clear at any rate to
Jones, if not to Sarah Jane; but they both seemed at this time to
have imagined that the eldest child had some right to the inheritance
as being the eldest. It will be observed by this and by many other
traits in his character that Mr. Jones had never enjoyed the
advantages of an education.
Mrs. McCockerell never spoke after the fit first struck her. She
never moved an eye, or stirred a limb, or uttered a word. It was a
wretched household at that time. The good lady died on a Wednesday,
and was gathered to her fathers at Kensal Green Cemetery on the
Tuesday following. During the intervening days Mr. Jones and Sarah
Jane took on themselves as though they were owners of everything.
Maryanne did try to prevent the inventory, not wishing it to appear
that Mrs. Jones had any right to meddle; but the task was too
congenial to Sarah Jane's spirit to allow of her giving it over. She
revelled in the work. It was a delight to her to search out hidden
stores of useless wealth,--to bring forth to the light forgotten
hoards of cups and saucers, and to catalogue every rag on the
premises.
The house at this time was not a pleasant one. Mr. Brown, finding
that Jones, in whom he had trusted, had turned against him, put
himself very much into the hands of a young friend of his, named
George Robinson. Who and what George Robinson was will be told in the
next chapter.
"There are three questions," said Robinson, "to be asked and
answered.--Had Mrs. B. the power to make a will? If so, did she make
a will? And if so, what was the will she made?"
Mr. Brown couldn't remember whether or no there had been any signing
of papers at his marriage. A good deal of rum and water, he said, had
been drunk; and there might have been signing too,--but he didn't
remember it.
Then there was the search for the will. This was supposed to be in
the hands of one Brisket, a butcher, for whom it was known Mrs.
McCockerell had destined the hand of her younger daughter. Mr.
Brisket had been a great favourite with the old lady, and she had
often been heard to declare that he should have the wife and money,
or the money without the wife. This she said to coerce Maryanne into
the match.
But Brisket, when questioned, declared that he had no will in his
possession. At this time he kept aloof from the house and showed no
disposition to meddle with the affairs of the family. Indeed, all
through these trying days he behaved honestly, if not with high
feeling. In recounting the doings of Brown, Jones, and Robinson, it
will sometimes be necessary to refer to Mr. Brisket. He shall always
be spoken of as an honest man. He did all that in him lay to mar the
bright hopes of one who was perhaps not the most insignificant of
that firm. He destroyed the matrimonial hopes of Mr. Robinson, and
left him to wither like a blighted trunk on a lone waste. But he was,
nevertheless, an honest man, and so much shall be said of him. Let us
never forget that "An honest man is the noblest work of God."
Brisket, when asked, said that he had no will, and that he knew of
none. In fact there was no will forthcoming, and there is no doubt
that the old woman was cut off before she had made one. It may also
be premised that had she made one it would have been invalid, seeing
that Mr. Brown, as husband, was, in fact, the owner of the whole
affair.
Sarah Jane and Maryanne, when they found that no document was
forthcoming, immediately gave out that they intended to take on
themselves the duties of joint heiresses, and an alliance, offensive
and defensive, was sworn between them. At this time Mr. Brown
employed a lawyer, and the heiresses, together with Jones, employed
another. There could be no possible doubt as to Mr. Brown being the
owner of the property, however infatuated on such a subject Jones and
his wife may have been. No lawyer in London could have thought that
the young women had a leg to stand upon. Nevertheless, the case was
undertaken, and Brown found himself in the middle of a lawsuit. Sarah
Jane and Maryanne both remained in the house in Smithfield to guard
the property on their own behalf. Mr. Brown also remained to guard it
on his behalf. The business for a time was closed. This was done in
opposition both to Mr. Brown and Maryanne; but Mrs. Jones could not
bring herself to permit the purchase of a firkin of butter, unless
the transaction could be made absolutely under her own eyes; and,
even then, she would insist on superintending the retail herself and
selling every pound, short weight. It was the custom of the trade,
she said; and to depart from it would ruin them.
Things were in this condition, going from bad to worse, when Jones
came over one evening, and begged an interview with Mr. Brown. That
interview was the commencement of the partnership. From such small
matters do great events arise.
At that interview Mr. Robinson was present. Mr. Brown indeed declared
that he would have no conversation with Jones on business affairs,
unless in the presence of a third party. Jones represented that if
they went on as they were now doing, the property would soon be
swallowed up by the lawyers. To this Mr. Brown, whose forte was not
eloquence, tacitly assented with a deep groan.
"Then," said Jones, "let us divide it into three portions. You shall
have one; Sarah Jane a second; and I will manage the third on behalf
of my sister-in-law, Maryanne. If we arrange it well, the lawyers
will never get a shilling."
The idea of a compromise appeared to Mr. Brown to be not
uncommendable; but a compromise on such terms as those could not of
course be listened to. Robinson strongly counselled him to nail his
colours to the mast, and kick Mr. Jones downstairs. But Mr. Brown had
not spirit for this.
"One's children is one's children," said he to Robinson, when they
went apart into the shop to talk the matter over. "The fruit of one's
loins, and the prop of one's age."
Robinson could not help thinking that Sarah Jane was about as bad a
prop as any that ever a man leant on; but he was too generous to say
so. The matter was ended at last by a compromise. "Go on with the
business together," said Robinson; "Mr. Brown keeping, of course, a
preponderating share in his own hands."
"I don't like butter," said Jones. "Nothing great can be done in
butter."
"It is a very safe line," said Mr. Brown, "if the connection is
good."
"The connection must have been a good deal damaged," said Robinson,
"seeing that the shop has been closed for a fortnight. Besides, it's
a woman's business;--and you have no woman to manage it," added he,
fearing that Mrs. Jones might be brought in, to the detriment of all
concerned.
Jones suggested haberdashery; Robinson, guided by a strong idea
that there is a more absolute opening for the advertising line in
haberdashery than in any other business, assented.
"Then let it be haberdashery," said Mr. Brown, with a sigh. And so
that was settled.
CHAPTER III.
THE EARLY HISTORY OF MR. ROBINSON.
And haberdashery it was. But here it may be as well to say a few
words as to Mr. Robinson, and to explain how he became a member of
the firm. He had been in his boyhood,--a bill-sticker; and he defies
the commercial world to show that he ever denied it. In his earlier
days he carried the paste and pole, and earned a livelihood by
putting up notices of theatrical announcements on the hoardings of
the metropolis. There was, however, that within him which Nature
did not intend to throw away on the sticking of bills, as was found
out quickly enough by those who employed him. The lad, while he was
running the streets with his pole in his hand, and his pot round his
neck, learned first to read, and then to write what others might
read. From studying the bills which he carried, he soon took to
original composition; and it may be said of him, that in fluency of
language and richness of imagery few surpassed him. In person Mr.
Robinson was a genteel young man, though it cannot be said of him
that he possessed manly beauty. He was slight and active, intelligent
in his physiognomy, and polite in his demeanour. Perhaps it may be
unnecessary to say anything further on this head.
Mr. Robinson had already established himself as an author in his
own line, and was supporting himself decently by his own unaided
abilities, when he first met Maryanne Brown in the Regent's Park.
She was then walking with her sister, and resolutely persisted in
disregarding all those tokens of admiration which he found himself
unable to restrain.
There certainly was a dash about Maryanne Brown that at certain
moments was invincible. Hooped petticoats on the back of her sister
looked like hoops, and awkward hoops. They were angular, lopsided,
and lumpy. But Maryanne wore her hoops as a duchess wears her
crinoline. Her well-starched muslin dress would swell off from her
waist in a manner that was irresistible to George Robinson. "Such
grouping!" as he said to his friend Walker. "Such a flow of drapery!
such tournure! Ah, my dear fellow, the artist's eye sees these things
at a glance." And then, walking at a safe distance, he kept his eyes
on them.
"I'm sure that fellow's following us," said Sarah Jane, looking back
at him with all her scorn.
"There's no law against that, I suppose," said Maryanne, tartly. So
much as that Mr. Robinson did succeed in hearing.
The girls entered their mother's house; but as they did so, Maryanne
lingered for a moment in the doorway. Was it accident, or was it not?
Did the fair girl choose to give her admirer one chance, or was it
that she was careful not to crush her starch by too rapid an entry?
"I shall be in Regent's Park on Sunday afternoon," whispered
Robinson, as he passed by the house, with his hand to his mouth. It
need hardly be said that the lady vouchsafed him no reply.
On the following Sunday George Robinson was again in the park,
and after wandering among its rural shades for half a day, he was
rewarded by seeing the goddess of his idolatry. Miss Brown was there
with a companion, but not with Sarah Jane. He had already, as though
by instinct, conceived in his heart as powerful an aversion for one
sister as affection for the other, and his delight was therefore
unbounded when he saw that she he loved was there, while she he hated
was away.
'Twere long to tell, at the commencement of this narrative, how a
courtship was commenced and carried on; how Robinson sighed, at first
in vain and then not in vain; how good-natured was Miss Twizzle, the
bosom friend of Maryanne; and how Robinson for a time walked and
slept and fed on roses.
There was at that time a music class held at a certain elegant room
near Osnaburgh Church in the New Road, at which Maryanne and her
friend Miss Twizzle were accustomed to attend. Those lessons were
sometimes prosecuted in the evening, and those evening studies
sometimes resulted in a little dance. We may say that after a while
that was their habitual tendency, and that the lady pupils were
permitted to introduce their male friends on condition that the
gentlemen paid a shilling each for the privilege. It was in that room
that George Robinson passed the happiest hours of his chequered
existence. He was soon expert in all the figures of the mazy dance,
and was excelled by no one in the agility of his step or the
endurance of his performances. It was by degrees rumoured about
that he was something higher than he seemed to be, and those best
accustomed to the place used to call him the Poet. It must be
remembered that at this time Mrs. McCockerell was still alive, and
that as Sarah Jane had then become Mrs. Jones, Maryanne was her
mother's favourite, and destined to receive all her mother's gifts.
Of the name and person of William Brisket, George Robinson was then
in happy ignorance, and the first introduction between them took
place in the Hall of Harmony.
'Twas about eleven o'clock in the evening, when the light feet of
the happy dancers had already been active for some hour or so in the
worship of their favourite muse, that Robinson was standing up with
his arm round his fair one's waist, immediately opposite to the door
of entrance. His right arm still embraced her slight girdle, whilst
with his left hand he wiped the perspiration from his brow. She
leaned against him palpitating, for the motion of the music had been
quick, and there had been some amicable contest among the couples.
It is needless to say that George Robinson and Maryanne Brown had
suffered no defeat. At that moment a refreshing breeze of the night
air was wafted into the room from the opened door, and Robinson,
looking up, saw before him a sturdy, thickset man, with mottled beefy
face, and by his side there stood a spectre. "It's your sister,"
whispered he to Maryanne, in a tone of horror.
"Oh, laws! there's Bill," said she, and then she fainted. The
gentleman with the mottled face was indeed no other than Mr. Brisket,
the purveyor of meat, for whose arms Mrs. McCockerell had destined
the charms of her younger daughter. Conduct baser than that of Mrs.
Jones on this occasion is not perhaps recorded in history. She was no
friend of Brisket's. She had it not at heart to forward her mother's
views. At this period of their lives she and her mother never met.
But she had learned her sister's secret, and having it in her
power to crush her sister's happiness, had availed herself of the
opportunity.
"There he is," said she, quite aloud, so that the whole room should
hear. "He's a bill-sticker!" and she pointed the finger of scorn at
her sister's lover.
"I'm one who have always earned my own living," said Robinson, "and
never had occasion to hang on to any one." This he said knowing that
Jones's lodgings were paid for by Mr. Brown.
Hereupon Mr. Brisket walked across the room, and as he walked there
was a cloud of anger on his brow. "Perhaps, young man," he said,--and
as he spoke he touched Robinson on the shoulder,--"perhaps, young
man, you wouldn't mind having a few words with me outside the door."
"Sir," said the other with some solemnity, "I am not aware that I
have the honour of your acquaintance."
"I'm William Brisket, butcher," said he; "and if you don't come out
when I asks you, by jingo, I'll carry you."
The lady had fainted. The crowd of dancers was standing round, with
inquiring faces. That female spectre repeated the odious words, still
pointing at him with her finger, "He's a bill-sticker!" Brisket was
full fourteen stone, whereas Robinson might perhaps be ten. What was
Robinson to do? "Are you going to walk out, or am I going to carry
you?" said the Hercules of the slaughter-house.
"I will do anything," said Robinson, "to relieve a lady's
embarrassment."
They walked out on to the landing-place, whither not a few of the
gentlemen and some of the ladies followed them.
"I say, young man," said Brisket, "do you know who that young woman
is?"
"I certainly have the honour of her acquaintance," said Robinson.
"But perhaps you haven't the honour of knowing that she's my
wife,--as is to be. Now you know it." And then the coarse monster
eyed him from head to foot. "Now you may go home to your mother,"
said he. "But don't tell her anything of it, because it's a secret."
He was fifteen stone at least, and Robinson was hardly ten. Oh, how
vile is the mastery which matter still has over mind in many of the
concerns of life! How can a man withstand the assault of a bull? What
was Robinson to do? He walked downstairs into the street, leaving
Maryanne behind with the butcher.
Some days after this he contrived a meeting with his love, and he
then learned the history of that engagement. "She hated Brisket,"
she said. "He was odious to her. He was always greasy and smelt of
meat;--but he had a respectable business."
"And is my Maryanne mercenary?" asked Robinson.
"Now, George," said she, "it's no use you scolding me, and I won't be
scolded. Ma says that I must be civil to him, and I'm not going to
quarrel with ma. At any rate not yet."
"But surely, Maryanne--"
"It's no good you surelying me, George, for I won't be surelyed. If
you don't like me you can leave me."
"Maryanne, I adore you."
"That's all very well, and I hope you do; but why did you make a row
with that man the other night?"
"But, dearest love, he made the row with me."
"And when you did make it," continued Maryanne, "why didn't you see
it out?" Robinson did not find it easy to answer this accusation.
That matter has still dominion over mind, though the days are coming
when mind shall have dominion over matter, was a lesson which, in
after days, it would be sweet to teach her. But at the present moment
the time did not serve for such teaching. "A man must look after his
own, George, or else he'll go to the wall," she said, with a sneer.
And then he parted from her in anger.
But his love did not on that account wax cool, and so in his misery
he had recourse to their mutual friend, Miss Twizzle. "The truth is
this," said Miss Twizzle, "I believe she'd take him, because he's
respectable and got a business."
"He's horribly vulgar," said Robinson.
"Oh, bother!" said Miss Twizzle. "I know nothing about that. He's got
a business, and whoever marries Brisket won't have to look for a bed
to sleep on. But there's a hitch about the money."
Then Mr. Robinson learned the facts. Mrs. McCockerell, as she was
still called, had promised to give her daughter five hundred pounds
as her marriage portion, but Mr. Brisket would not go to the altar
till he got the money. "He wanted to extend himself," he said, "and
would not marry till he saw his way." Hence had arisen that delay
which Maryanne had solaced by her attendance at the music-hall.
"But if you're in earnest," said Miss Twizzle, "don't you be down on
your luck. Go to old Brown, and make friends with him. He'll stand up
for you, because he knows his wife favours Brisket."
George Robinson did go to Mr. Brown, and on the father the young
man's eloquence was not thrown away. "She shall be yours, Mr.
Robinson," he said, after the first fortnight. "But we must be very
careful with Mrs. B."
After the second fortnight Mrs. B. was no more! And in this way it
came to pass that George Robinson was present as Mr. Brown's adviser
when that scheme respecting the haberdashery was first set on foot.
CHAPTER IV.
NINE TIMES NINE IS EIGHTY-ONE. SHOWING HOW BROWN, JONES, AND ROBINSON
SELECTED THEIR HOUSE OF BUSINESS.
And haberdashery it was. But there was much yet to be done before any
terms for a partnership could be settled. Mr. Jones at first insisted
that he and his father-in-law should begin business on equal terms.
He considered that any questions as to the actual right in the
property would be mean after their mutual agreement to start in the
world as friends. But to this Mr. Brown, not unnaturally, objected.
"Then I shall go back to my lawyer," said Jones. Whereupon he did
leave the room, taking his hat with him; but he remained below in the
old shop.
"If I am to go into partnership with that man alone," said Mr. Brown,
turning to his young friend almost in despair, "I may prepare for the
Gazette at once.--And for my grave!" he added, solemnly.
"I'll join you," said Robinson. "I haven't got any money. You know
that. But then neither has he."
"I wish you had a little," said Mr. Brown. "Capital is capital, you
know."
"But I've got that which is better than capital," said Robinson,
touching his forehead with his forefinger. "And if you'll trust me,
Mr. Brown, I won't see you put upon." The promise which Mr. Robinson
then gave he kept ever afterwards with a marked fidelity.
"I will trust you," said Mr. Brown. "It shall be Brown, Jones, and
Robinson."
"And Brown, Jones, and Robinson shall carry their heads high among
the greatest commercial firms of this wealthy metropolis," said
Robinson, with an enthusiasm which was surely pardonable at such a
moment.
Mr. Jones soon returned with another compromise; but it was of a low,
peddling nature. It had reference to sevenths and eighths, and went
into the payments of the household bills. "I, as one of the partners,
must object to any such arrangements," said Robinson.
"You!--you one of the partners!" said Jones.
"If you have no objection--certainly!" said Robinson. "And if you
should have any objection,--equally so."
"You!--a bill-sticker!" said Jones.
In the presence of William Brisket, George Robinson had been forced
to acknowledge that matter must still occasionally prevail over mind;
but he felt no such necessity in the presence of Jones. "I'll tell
you what it is," said Robinson; "I've never denied my former calling.
Among friends I often talk about it. But mind you, Mr. Jones, I won't
bear it from you! I'm not very big myself, but I think I could stand
up before you!"
But in this quarrel they were stopped by Mr. Brown. "Let dogs
delight," he said or sung, "to bark and bite;--" and then he raised
his two fat hands feebly, as though deprecating any further wrath.
As usual on such occasions Mr. Robinson yielded, and then explained
in very concise language the terms on which it was proposed that the
partnership should be opened. Mr. Brown should put his "capital" into
the business, and be entitled to half the profits. Mr. Jones and Mr.
Robinson should give the firm the advantage of their youth, energies,
and genius, and should each be held as the possessor of a quarter.
That Mr. Jones made long and fierce objections to this, need hardly
be stated. It is believed that he did, more than once, go back to his
lawyer. But Mr. Brown, who, for the time, put himself into the hands
of his youngest partner, remained firm, and at last the preliminaries
were settled.
The name of the house, the nature of the business, and the shares of
the partners were now settled, and the site of the future labours of
the firm became the next question. Mr. Brown was in favour of a small
tenement in Little Britain, near to the entrance into Smithfield.
"There would not be scope there," said Robinson.
"And no fashion," said Jones.
"It's safe and respectable," pleaded Mr. Brown. "There have been
shops in Little Britain these sixty years in the same families."
But Robinson was of opinion that the fortunes of the firm might
not improbably be made in six, if only they would commence with
sufficient distinction. He had ascertained that large and commanding
premises might be had in St. Paul's Churchyard, in the frontage
of which the square feet of plate glass could be counted by the
hundred. It was true that the shop was nearly all window; but then,
as Mr. Robinson said, an extended front of glass was the one thing
necessary. And it was true also that the future tenants must pay down
a thousand pounds before they entered;--but then, as he explained,
how could they better expend the trifle of money which they
possessed?
"Trifle of money!" said Mr. Brown, thinking of the mountains of
butter and years of economy which had been required to put together
those four thousand pounds;--thinking also, perhaps, of the absolute
impecuniosity of his young partner who thus spoke.
Jones was for the West End and Regent Street. There was a shop only
two doors off Regent Street, which could be made to look as if it
was almost in Regent Street. The extension of a side piece of plate
glass would show quite into Regent Street. He even prepared a card,
describing the house as "2 doors from Regent Street," printing the
figure and the words "Regent Street" very large, and the intermediate
description very small. It was ever by such stale, inefficient
artifices as these that he sought success.
"Who'll care for your card?" said Robinson. "When a man's card comes
to be of use to him, the thing's done. He's living in his villa by
that time, and has his five thousand a-year out of the profits."
"I hope you'll both have your willas before long," said Brown, trying
to keep his partners in good humour. "But a cottage _horney_ will be
enough for me. I'd like to be able to give my children their bit of
dinner on Sunday hot and comfortable. I want no more than that."
That was a hard battle, and it resulted in no victory. The dingy shop
in Little Britain was, of course, out of the question; and Mr. Brown
assisted Robinson in preventing that insane attempt at aping the
unprofitable glories of Regent Street. The matter ended in another
compromise, and a house was taken in Bishopsgate Street, of which
the frontage was extensive and commanding, but as to which it must
certainly be confessed that the back part of the premises was
inconveniently confined.
"It isn't exactly all I could wish," said Robinson, standing on
the pavement as he surveyed it. "But it will do. With a little
originality and some dash, we'll make it do. We must give it a name."
"A name?" said Mr. Brown; "it's 81, Bishopsgate Street; ain't it?
They don't call houses names in London."
"That's just why we'll have a name for ours, Mr. Brown."
"The 'Albert Emporium,'" suggested Jones; "or 'Victoria Mart.'"
Mr. Jones, as will be seen, was given to tuft-hunting to the
backbone. His great ambition was to have a lion and unicorn, and to
call himself haberdasher to a royal prince. He had never realized the
fact that profit, like power, comes from the people, and not from
the court. "I wouldn't put up the Queen's arms if the Queen came and
asked me," Robinson once said in answer to him. "That game has been
played out, and it isn't worth the cost of the two wooden figures."
"'The Temple of Fashion' would do very well," said Jones.
"The Temple of Fiddlestick!" said Robinson.
"Of course you say so," said Jones.
"Let dogs delight--" began Mr. Brown, standing as we were in the
middle of the street.
"I'll tell you what," said Robinson; "there's nothing like colour.
We'll call it Magenta House, and we'll paint it magenta from the roof
to the window tops."
This beautiful tint had only then been invented, and it was necessary
to explain the word to Mr. Brown. He merely remarked that the oil and
paint would come to a deal of money, and then gave way. Jones was
struck dumb by the brilliancy of the idea, and for once forgot to
object.
"And, I'll tell you what," said Robinson--"nine times nine is
eighty-one."
"Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Brown, who delighted to agree
with his younger partner when circumstances admitted it. "You are
right there, certainly." Jones was observed to go through the
multiplication table mentally, but he could detect no error.
"Nine times nine is eighty-one," repeated Robinson with confidence,
"and we'll put that fact up over the first-floor windows."
And so they did. The house was painted magenta colour from top to
bottom. And on the front in very large figures and letters, was
stated the undoubted fact that nine times nine is 81. "If they
will only call us 'The nine times nine,' the thing is done," said
Robinson. Nevertheless, the house was christened Magenta House. "And
now about glass," said Robinson, when the three had retired to the
little back room within.
Mr. Robinson, however, admitted afterwards that he was wrong about
the colour and the number. Such methods of obtaining attention
were, he said, too easy of imitation, and devoid of any inherent
attraction of their own. People would not care for nine times nine in
Bishopsgate Street, if there were nine times nines in other streets
as well. "No," said he; "I was but beginning, and made errors as
beginners do. Outside there should be glass, gas, gold, and glare.
Inside there should be the same, with plenty of brass, and if
possible a little wit. If those won't do it, nothing will." All
the same the magenta colour and the nine times nine did have their
effect. "Nine times nine is eighty-one," was printed on the top of
all the flying advertisements issued by the firm, and the printing
was all done in magenta.
Mr. Brown groaned sorely over the expenditure that was necessary in
preparation of the premises. His wish was that this should be paid
for in ready money; and indeed it was necessary that this should
be done to a certain extent. But the great object should have been
to retain every available shilling for advertisements. In the way
of absolute capital,--money to be paid for stock,--4,000_l._ was
nothing. But 4,000_l._ scattered broadcast through the metropolis on
walls, omnibuses, railway stations, little books, pavement chalkings,
illuminated notices, porters' backs, gilded cars, and men in armour,
would have driven nine times nine into the memory of half the
inhabitants of London. The men in armour were tried. Four suits were
obtained in Poland Street, and four strong men were hired who rode
about town all day on four brewers' horses. They carried poles with
large banners, and on the banners were inscribed the words which
formed the shibboleth of the firm;--
_MAGENTA HOUSE_,
9 TIMES 9 IS 81,
BISHOPSGATE STREET.
And four times a day these four men in armour met each other in front
of the windows of the house, and stood there on horseback for fifteen
minutes, with their backs to the curbstone. The forage, however, of
the horses became so terribly large an item of expenditure that Mr.
Brown's heart failed him. His heart failed him, and he himself went
off late one evening to the livery stable-keeper who supplied the
horses, and in Mr. Robinson's absence, the armour was sent back to
Poland Street.
"We should have had the police down upon us, George," said Mr. Brown,
deprecating the anger of his younger partner.
"And what better advertisement could you have wished?" said Robinson.
"It would have been in all the papers, and have cost nothing."
"But you don't know, George, what them beastesses was eating! It
was frightful to hear of! Four-and-twenty pounds of corn a day
each of 'em, because the armour was so uncommon heavy." The men in
armour were then given up, but they certainly were beginning to
be effective. At 6 P.M., when the men were there, it had become
impossible to pass the shop without going into the middle of the
street, and on one or two occasions the policemen had spoken to
Mr. Brown. Then there was a slight accident with a child, and the
newspapers had interfered.
But we are anticipating the story, for the men in armour did not
begin their operations till the shop had been opened.
"And now about glass," said Robinson, as soon as the three partners
had retired from the outside flags into the interior of the house.
"It must be plate, of course," said Jones. Plate! He might as well
have said when wanting a house, that it must have walls.
"I rather think so," said Robinson; "and a good deal of it."
"I don't mind a good-sized common window," said Brown.
"A deal better have them uncommon," said Robinson, interrupting him.
"And remember, sir, there's nothing like glass in these days. It has
superseded leather altogether in that respect."
"Leather!" said Mr. Brown, who was hardly quick enough for his junior
partner.
"Of all our materials now in general use," said Robinson, "glass
is the most brilliant, and yet the cheapest; the most graceful and
yet the strongest. Though transparent it is impervious to wet. The
eye travels through it, but not the hailstorm. To the power of
gas it affords no obstacle, but is as efficient a barrier against
the casualties of the street as an iron shutter. To that which is
ordinary it lends a grace; and to that which is graceful it gives a
double lustre. Like a good advertisement, it multiplies your stock
tenfold, and like a good servant, it is always eloquent in praise of
its owner. I look upon plate glass, sir, as the most glorious product
of the age; and I regard the tradesman who can surround himself with
the greatest quantity of it, as the most in advance of the tradesmen
of his day. Oh, sir, whatever we do, let us have glass."
"It's beautiful to hear him talk," said Mr. Brown; "but it's the bill
I'm a thinking of."
"If you will only go enough ahead, Mr. Brown, you'll find that nobody
will trouble you with such bills."
"But they must be paid some day, George."
"Of course they must; but it will never do to think of that now.
In twelve months or so, when we have set the house well going, the
payment of such bills as that will be a mere nothing,--a thing that
will be passed as an item not worth notice. Faint heart never won
fair lady, you know, Mr. Brown." And then a cloud came across George
Robinson's brow as he thought of the words he had spoken; for his
heart had once been faint, and his fair lady was by no means won.
"That's quite true," said Jones; "it never does. Ha! ha! ha!"
Then the cloud went away from George Robinson's brow, and a stern
frown of settled resolution took its place. At that moment he made up
his mind, that when he might again meet that giant butcher he would
forget the difference in their size, and accost him as though they
two were equal. What though some fell blow, levelled as at an ox,
should lay him low for ever. Better that, than endure from day to day
the unanswered taunts of such a one as Jones!
Mr. Brown, though he was not quick-witted, was not deficient when the
feelings of man and man were concerned. He understood it all, and
taking advantage of a moment when Jones had stepped up the shop, he
pressed Robinson's hand and said,--"You shall have her, George. If
a father's word is worth anything, you shall have her." But in this
case,--as in so many others,--a father's word was not worth anything.
"But to business!" said Robinson, shaking off from him all thoughts
of love.
After that Mr. Brown had not the heart to oppose him respecting the
glass, and in that matter he had everything nearly his own way. The
premises stood advantageously at the comer of a little alley, so that
the window was made to jut out sideways in that direction, and a
full foot and a half was gained. On the other side the house did not
stand flush with its neighbour,--as is not unfrequently the case in
Bishopsgate Street,--and here also a few inches were made available.
The next neighbour, a quiet old man who sold sticks, threatened a
lawsuit; but that, had it been instituted, would have got into the
newspapers and been an advertisement. There was considerable trouble
about the entrance. A wide, commanding centre doorway was essential;
but this, if made in the desirable proportions, would have terribly
crippled the side windows. To obviate this difficulty, the exterior
space allotted for the entrance between the frontage of the two
windows was broad and noble, but the glass splayed inwards towards
the shop, so that the absolute door was decidedly narrow.
"When we come to have a crowd, they won't get in and out," said
Jones.
"If we could only crush a few to death in the doorway our fortune
would be made," said Robinson.
"God forbid!" said Mr. Brown; "God forbid! Let us have no bloodshed,
whatever we do."
In about a month the house was completed, and much to the regret of
both the junior partners, a considerable sum of ready money was paid
to the tradesmen who performed the work. Mr. Jones was of opinion
that by sufficient cunning such payments might be altogether evaded.
No such thought rested for a moment in the bosom of Mr. Robinson. All
tradesmen should be paid, and paid well. But the great firm of Brown,
Jones, and Robinson would be much less likely to scrutinize the price
at which plate glass was charged to them per square foot, when they
were taking their hundreds a day over the counter, than they would be
now when every shilling was of importance to them.
"For their own sake you shouldn't do it," said he to Mr. Brown. "You
may be quite sure they don't like it."
"I always liked it myself," said Mr. Brown. And thus he would make
little dribbling payments, by which an unfortunate idea was generated
in the neighbourhood that money was not plentiful with the firm.
CHAPTER V.
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR.
There were two other chief matters to which it was now necessary that
the Firm should attend; the first and primary being the stock of
advertisements which should be issued; and the other, or secondary,
being the stock of goods which should be obtained to answer the
expectations raised by those advertisements.
"But, George, we must have something to sell," said Mr. Brown, almost
in despair. He did not then understand, and never since has learned
the secrets of that commercial science which his younger partner was
at so much pains to teach. There are things which no elderly man can
learn; and there are lessons which are full of light for the new
recruit, but dark as death to the old veteran.
"It will be so doubtless with me also," said Robinson, soliloquizing
on the subject in his melancholy mood. "The day will come when I too
must be pushed from my stool by the workings of younger genius, and
shall sink, as poor Mr. Brown is now sinking, into the foggy depths
of fogeydom. But a man who is a man--" and then that melancholy mood
left him, "can surely make his fortune before that day comes. When
a merchant is known to be worth half a million, his fogeydom is
respected."
That necessity of having something to sell almost overcame Mr. Brown
in those days. "What's the good of putting down 5,000 Kolinski
and Minx Boas in the bill, if we don't possess one in the shop?"
he asked; "we must have some if they're asked for." He could not
understand that for a first start effect is everything. If customers
should want Kolinski Boas, Kolinski Boas would of course be
forthcoming,--to any number required; either Kolinski Boas, or quasi
Kolinski, which in trade is admitted to be the same thing. When a man
advertises that he has 40,000 new paletots, he does not mean that he
has got that number packed up in a box. If required to do so, he will
supply them to that extent,--or to any further extent. A long row
of figures in trade is but an elegant use of the superlative. If a
tradesman can induce a lady to buy a diagonal Osnabruck cashmere
shawl by telling her that he has 1,200 of them, who is injured? And
if the shawl is not exactly a real diagonal Osnabruck cashmere, what
harm is done as long as the lady gets the value for her money? And if
she don't get the value for her money, whose fault is that? Isn't it
a fair stand-up fight? And when she tries to buy for 4_l._, a shawl
which she thinks is worth about 8_l._, isn't she dealing on the same
principles herself? If she be lucky enough to possess credit, the
shawl is sent home without payment, and three years afterwards fifty
per cent. is perhaps offered for settlement of the bill. It is a fair
fight, and the ladies are very well able to take care of themselves.
And Jones also thought they must have something to sell. "Money is
money," said he, "and goods is goods. What's the use of windows if we
haven't anything to dress them? And what's the use of capital unless
we buy a stock?"
With Mr. Jones, George Robinson never cared to argue. The absolute
impossibility of pouring the slightest ray of commercial light into
the dim chaos of that murky mind had long since come home to him. He
merely shook his head, and went on with the composition on which he
was engaged. It need hardly be explained here that he had no idea
of encountering the public throng on their opening day, without an
adequate assortment of goods. Of course there must be shawls and
cloaks; of course there must be muffs and boas; of course there must
be hose and handkerchiefs. That dressing of the windows was to be the
special care of Mr. Jones, and Robinson would take care that there
should be the wherewithal. The dressing of the windows, and the
parading of the shop, was to be the work of Jones. His ambition had
never soared above that, and while serving in the house on Snow
Hill, his utmost envy had been excited by the youthful aspirant who
there walked the boards, and with an oily courtesy handed chairs to
the ladies. For one short week he had been allowed to enter this
Paradise. "And though I looked so sweet on them," said he, "I always
had my eye on them. It's a grand thing to be down on a well-dressed
woman as she's hiding a roll of ribbon under her cloak." That was his
idea of grandeur!
A stock of goods was of course necessary, but if the firm could
only get their name sufficiently established, that matter would be
arranged simply by written orders to two or three wholesale houses.
Competition, that beautiful science of the present day, by which
every plodding cart-horse is converted into a racer, makes this easy
enough. When it should once become known that a firm was opening
itself on a great scale in a good thoroughfare, and advertising on
real, intelligible principles, there would be no lack of goods.
"You can have any amount of hose you want, out of Cannon Street,"
said Mr. Robinson, "in forty-five minutes. They can be brought in at
the back while you are selling them over the counter."
"Can they?" said Mr. Brown: "perhaps they can. But nevertheless,
George, I think I'll buy a few. It'll be an ease to my mind."
He did so; but it was a suicidal act on his part. One thing was quite
clear, even to Mr. Jones. If the firm commenced business to the
extent which they contemplated, it was out of the question that
they should do everything on the ready-money principle. That such a
principle is antiquated, absurd, and uncommercial; that it is opposed
to the whole system of trade as now adopted in this metropolis,
has been clearly shown in the preface to these memoirs. But in
this instance, in the case of Brown, Jones, and Robinson, the
doing so was as impracticable as it would have been foolish, if
practicable. Credit and credit only was required. But of all modes of
extinguishing credit, of crushing, as it were, the young baby in its
cradle, there is none equal to that of spending a little ready money,
and then halting. In trade as in love, to doubt,--or rather, to seem
to doubt,--is to be lost. When you order goods, do so as though the
bank were at your back. Look your victim full in the face, and write
down your long numbers without a falter in your pen. And should there
seem a hesitation on his part, do not affect to understand it. When
the articles are secured, you give your bill at six months' date;
then your credit at your bankers,--your discount system,--commences.
That is another affair. When once your bank begins that with
you,--and the banks must do so, or they may put up their
shutters,--when once your bank has commenced, it must carry on the
game. You are floated then, placed well in the centre of the full
stream of commerce, and it must be your own fault if you do not
either retire with half a million, or become bankrupt with an éclat,
which is worth more than any capital in refitting you for a further
attempt. In the meantime it need hardly be said that you yourself are
living on the very fat of the land.
But birds of a feather should flock together, and Mr. Brown and Mr.
Robinson were not exactly of the same plumage.
It was finally arranged that Mr. Robinson should have carte blanche
at his own particular line of business, to the extent of fifteen
hundred pounds, and that Mr. Brown should go into the warehouse and
lay out a similar sum in goods. Both Jones and Mrs. Jones accompanied
the old man, and a sore time he had of it. It may here be remarked
that Mrs. Jones struggled very hard to get a footing in the shop, but
on this point it should be acknowledged that her husband did his duty
for a while.
"It must be you or I, Sarah Jane," said he; "but not both."
"I have no objection in life," said she; "you can stay at home, if
you please."
"By no means," he replied. "If you come here, and your father permits
it, I shall go to America. Of course the firm will allow me for my
share." She tried it on very often after that, and gave the firm much
trouble, but I don't think she got her hand into the cash drawer
above once or twice during the first twelve months.
The division of labour was finally arranged as follows. Mr. Brown
was to order the goods; to hire the young men and women, look after
their morality, and pay them their wages; to listen to any special
applications when a desire might be expressed to see the firm; and
to do the heavy respectable parental business. There was a little
back room with a sky-light, in which he was to sit; and when he was
properly got up, his manner of shaking his head at the young people
who misbehaved themselves, was not ineffective. There is always
danger when young men and women are employed together in the same
shop, and if possible this should be avoided. It is not in human
nature that they should not fall in love, or at any rate amuse
themselves with ordinary flirtations. Now the rule is that not a word
shall be spoken that does not refer to business. "Miss O'Brien, where
is the salmon-coloured sarsenet? or, Mr. Green, I'll trouble you for
the ladies' sevens." Nothing is ever spoken beyond that. "Morals,
morals, above everything!" Mr. Brown was once heard to shout from his
little room, when a whisper had been going round the shop as to a
concerted visit to the Crystal Palace. Why a visit to the Crystal
Palace should be immoral, when talked of over the counter, Mr. Brown
did not explain on that occasion.
"A very nice set of young women," the compiler of these memoirs once
remarked to a commercial gentleman in a large way, who was showing
him over his business, "and for the most part very good-looking."
"Yes, sir, yes; we attend to their morals especially. They generally
marry from us, and become the happy mothers of families."
"Ah," said I, really delighted in my innocence. "They've excellent
opportunities for that, because there are so many decent young men
about."
He turned on me as though I had calumniated his establishment with a
libel of the vilest description. "If a whisper of such a thing ever
reaches us, sir," said he, quite alive with virtuous indignation;
"if such a suspicion is ever engendered, we send them packing at
once! The morals of our young women, sir--" And then he finished his
sentence simply by a shake of his head. I tried to bring him into an
argument, and endeavoured to make him understand that no young woman
can become a happy wife unless she first be allowed to have a lover.
He merely shook his head, and at last stamped his foot. "Morals,
sir!" he repeated. "Morals above everything. In such an establishment
as this, if we are not moral, we are nothing." I supposed he was
right, but it seemed to me to be very hard on the young men and
women. I could only hope that they walked home together in the
evening.
In the new firm in Bishopsgate Street, Mr. Brown, of course, took
upon himself that branch of business, and some little trouble he
had, because his own son-in-law and partner would make eyes to the
customers.
"Mr. Jones," he once said before them all; "you'll bring down my gray
hairs with sorrow to the grave; you will, indeed." And then he put up
his fat hand, and gently stroked the white expanse of his bald pate.
But that was a very memorable occasion.
Such was Mr. Brown's business. To Mr. Jones was allocated the
duty of seeing that the shop was duly dressed, of looking after
the customers, including that special duty of guarding against
shop-lifting, and of attending generally to the retail business. It
cannot be denied that for this sort of work he had some specialties.
His eye was sharp, and his ear was keen, and his feelings were blunt.
In a certain way, he was good-looking, and he knew how to hand
a chair with a bow and smile, which went far with the wives and
daughters of the East End little tradesmen,--and he was active enough
at his work. He was usually to be seen standing in the front of the
shop, about six yards within the door, rubbing his hands together, or
arranging his locks, or twiddling with his brass watch-chain. Nothing
disconcerted him, unless his wife walked into the place; and then,
to the great delight of the young men and women, he was unable to
conceal his misery. By them he was hated,--as was perhaps necessary
in his position. He was a tyrant, who liked to feel at every moment
the relish of his power. To the poor girls he was cruel, treating
them as though they were dirt beneath his feet. For Mr. Jones, though
he affected the reputation of an admirer of the fair sex, never
forgot himself by being even civil to a female who was his paid
servant. Woman's smile had a charm for him, but no charm equal to the
servility of dependence.
But on the shoulders of Mr. Robinson fell the great burden of the
business. There was a question as to the accounts; these, however, he
undertook to keep in his leisure moments, thinking but little of the
task. But the work of his life was to be the advertising department.
He was to draw up the posters; he was to write those little books
which, printed on magenta-coloured paper, were to be thrown with
reckless prodigality into every vehicle in the town; he was to
arrange new methods of alluring the public into that emporium of
fashion. It was for him to make a credulous multitude believe that
at that shop, number Nine Times Nine in Bishopsgate Street, goods of
all sorts were to be purchased at prices considerably less than the
original cost of their manufacture. This he undertook to do; this for
a time he did do; this for years to come he would have done, had he
not experienced an interference in his own department, by which the
whole firm was ultimately ruined and sent adrift.
"The great thing is to get our bills into the hands of the public,"
said Robinson.
"You can get men for one and nine a day to stand still and hand 'em
out to the passers-by," said Mr. Brown.
"That's stale, sir, quite stale; novelty in advertising is what we
require;--something new and startling."
"Put a chimney-pot on the man's head," said Mr. Brown, "and make it
two and three."
"That's been tried," said Robinson.
"Then put two chimney-pots," said Mr. Brown. Beyond that his
imagination did not carry him.
Chimney-pots and lanterns on men's heads avail nothing. To startle
men and women to any purpose, and drive them into Bishopsgate Street,
you must startle them a great deal. It does not suffice to create a
momentary wonder. Mr. Robinson, therefore, began with eight footmen
in full livery, with powdered hair and gold tags to their shoulders.
They had magenta-coloured plush knee-breeches, and magenta-coloured
silk stockings. It was in May, and the weather was fine, and these
eight excellently got-up London footmen were stationed at different
points in the city, each with a silken bag suspended round his
shoulder by a silken cord. From these bags they drew forth the
advertising cards of the house, and presented them to such of the
passers-by as appeared from their dress and physiognomy to be
available for the purpose. The fact has now been ascertained that
men and women who have money to spend will not put out their hands
to accept common bills from street advertisers. In an ordinary way
the money so spent is thrown away. But from these men, arrayed in
gorgeous livery, a duchess would have stayed her steps to accept a
card. And duchesses did stay their steps, and cards from the young
firm of Brown, Jones, and Robinson were, as the firm was credibly
informed, placed beneath the eyes of a very illustrious personage
indeed.
The nature of the card was this. It was folded into three, and when
so folded, was of the size of an ordinary playing card. On the
outside, which bore a satin glaze with a magenta tint, there was a
blank space as though for an address, and the compliments of the firm
in the corner; when opened there was a separate note inside, in which
the public were informed in very few words, that "Messrs. Brown,
Jones, and Robinson were prepared to open their house on the 15th
of May, intending to carry on their trade on principles of commerce
perfectly new, and hitherto untried. The present rate of money in the
city was five per cent., and it would be the practice of the firm to
charge five and a half per cent. on every article sold by them. The
very quick return which this would give them, would enable B. J. and
R. to realize princely fortunes, and at the same time to place within
the reach of the public goods of the very best description at prices
much below any that had ever yet been quoted." This also was printed
on magenta-coloured paper, and "nine times nine is eighty-one" was
inserted both at the top and the bottom.
On the inside of the card, on the three folds, were printed lists of
the goods offered to the public. The three headings were "cloaks and
shawls," "furs and velvets," "silks and satins;" and in a small note
at the bottom it was stated that the stock of hosiery, handkerchiefs,
ribbons, and gloves, was sufficient to meet any demand which the
metropolis could make upon the firm.
When that list was first read out in conclave to the partners,
Mr. Brown begged almost with tears in his eyes, that it might be
modified. "George," said he, "we shall be exposed."
"I hope we shall," said Robinson. "Exposition is all that we desire."
"Eight thousand African monkey muffs! Oh, George, you must leave out
the monkey muffs."
"By no means, Mr. Brown."
"Or bring them down to a few hundreds. Two hundred African monkey
muffs would really be a great many."
"Mr. Brown," said Robinson on that occasion;--and it may be doubted
whether he ever again spoke to the senior partner of his firm in
terms so imperious and decisive; "Mr. Brown, to you has been allotted
your share in our work, and when you insisted on throwing away our
ready money on those cheap Manchester prints, I never said a word. It
lay in your department to do so. The composition of this card lies in
mine, and I mean to exercise my own judgment." And then he went on,
"Eight thousand real African monkey muffs; six thousand ditto, ditto,
ditto, very superior, with long fine hair." Mr. Brown merely groaned,
but he said nothing further.
"Couldn't you say that they are such as are worn by the Princess
Alice?" suggested Jones.
"No, I could not," answered Robinson. "You may tell them that in the
shop if you please. That will lie in your department."
In this way was the first card of the firm drawn out, and in the
space of a fortnight, nineteen thousand of them were disseminated
through the metropolis. When it is declared that each of those cards
cost B. J. and R. threepence three farthings, some idea may be formed
of the style in which they commenced their operations.
CHAPTER VI.
IT IS OUR OPENING DAY.
And now the day had arrived on which the firm was to try the result
of their efforts. It is believed that the 15th of May in that year
will not easily be forgotten in the neighbourhood of Bishopsgate
Street. It was on this day that the experiment of the men in armour
was first tried, and the four cavaliers, all mounted and polished as
bright as brass, were stationed in the front of the house by nine
o'clock. There they remained till the doors and shop windows were
opened, which ceremony actually took place at twelve. It had been
stated to the town on the preceding day by a man dressed as Fame,
with a long horn, who had been driven about in a gilt car, that this
would be done at ten. But peeping through the iron shutters at that
hour, the gentlemen of the firm saw that the crowd was as yet by no
means great. So a huge poster was put up outside each window:--
POSTPONED TILL ELEVEN.
IMMENSE PRESSURE OF GOODS IN THE BACK PREMISES.
At eleven this was done again; but at twelve the house was really
opened. At that time the car with Fame and the long horn was
stationed in front of the men in armour, and there really was a
considerable concourse of people.
"This won't do, Mr. Brown," a policeman had said. "The people are
half across the street."
"Success! success!" shouted Mr. Robinson, from the first landing on
the stairs. He was busy correcting the proofs of their second set of
notices to the public.
"Shall we open, George?" whispered Mr. Brown, who was rather
flurried.
"Yes; you may as well begin," said he. "It must be done sooner or
later." And then he retired quietly to his work. He had allowed
himself to be elated for one moment at the interference of the
police, but after that he remained above, absorbed in his work; or if
not so absorbed, disdaining to mix with the crowd below. For there,
in the centre of the shop, leaning on the arm of Mr. William Brisket,
stood Maryanne Brown.
As regards grouping, there was certainly some propriety in the
arrangements made for receiving the public. When the iron shutters
were wound up, the young men of the establishment stood in a row
behind one of the counters, and the young women behind the other.
They were very nicely got up for the occasion. The girls were all
decorated with magenta-coloured ribbons, and the young men with
magenta neckties. Mr. Jones had been very anxious to charge them
for these articles in their wages, but Mr. Brown's good feeling had
prevented this. "No, Jones, no; the master always finds the livery."
There had been something in the words, master and livery, which
had tickled the ears of his son-in-law, and so the matter had been
allowed to pass by.
In the centre of the shop stood Mr. Brown, very nicely dressed in
a new suit of black. That bald head of his, and the way he had
of rubbing his hands together, were not ill-calculated to create
respect. But on such occasions it was always necessary to induce him
to hold his tongue. Mr. Brown never spoke effectively unless he had
been first moved almost to tears. It was now his special business
to smile, and he did smile. On his right hand stood his partner
and son-in-law Jones, mounted quite irrespectively of expense. His
waistcoat and cravat may be said to have been gorgeous, and from his
silky locks there came distilled a mixed odour of musk and patchouli.
About his neck also the colours of the house were displayed, and in
his hand he waved a magenta handkerchief. His wife was leaning on his
arm, and on such an occasion as this even Robinson had consented to
her presence. She was dressed from head to foot in magenta. She wore
a magenta bonnet, and magenta stockings, and it was said of her that
she was very careful to allow the latter article to be seen. The
only beauty of which Sarah Jane could boast, rested in her feet and
ankles.
But on the other side of Mr. Brown stood a pair, for whose presence
there George Robinson had not expressed his approbation, and as to
one of whom it may be said that better taste would have been shown on
all sides had he not thus intruded himself. Mr. Brisket had none of
the rights of proprietorship in that house, nor would it be possible
that he should have as long as the name of the firm contained within
itself that of Mr. Robinson. Had Brown, Jones, and Brisket agreed
to open shop together, it would have been well for Brisket to stand
there with that magenta shawl round his neck, and waving that magenta
towel in his hand. But as it was, what business had he there?
"What business has he there? Ah, tell me that; what business has he
there?" said Robinson to himself, as he sat moodily in the small back
room upstairs. "Ah, tell me that, what business has he here? Did
not the old man promise that she should be mine? Is it for him that
I have done all; for him that I have collected the eager crowd of
purchasers that throng the hall of commerce below, which my taste has
decorated? Or for her--? Have I done this for her,--the false one?
But what recks it? She shall live to know that had she been constant
to me she might have sat--almost upon a throne!" And then he rushed
again to his work, and with eager pen struck off those well-known
lines about the house which some short time after ravished the ears
of the metropolis.
In a following chapter of these memoirs it will be necessary to
go back for a while to the domestic life of some of the persons
concerned, and the fact of Mr. Brisket's presence at the opening of
the house will then be explained. In the meantime the gentle reader
is entreated to take it for granted that Mr. William Brisket was
actually there, standing on the left hand of Mr. Brown, waving high
above his head a huge magenta cotton handkerchief, and that on his
other arm was hanging Maryanne Brown, leaning quite as closely upon
him as her sister did upon the support which was her own. For one
moment George Robinson allowed himself to look down upon the scene,
and he plainly saw that clutch of the hand upon the sleeve. "Big as
he is," said Robinson to himself, "pistols would make us equal. But
the huge ox has no sense of chivalry."
It was unfortunate for the future intrinsic comfort of the firm that
that member of it who was certainly not the least enterprising should
have found himself unable to join in the ceremony of opening the
house; but, nevertheless, it must be admitted that that ceremony was
imposing. Maryanne Brown was looking her best, and dressed as she was
in the correctest taste of the day, wearing of course the colours of
the house, it was not unnatural that all eyes should be turned on
her. "What a big man that Robinson is!" some one in the crowd was
heard to observe. Yes; that huge lump of human clay that called
itself William Brisket, the butcher of Aldersgate Street, was
actually taken on that occasion for the soul, and life, and salt of
an advertising house. Of Mr. William Brisket, it may here be said,
that he had no other idea of trade than that of selling at so much
per pound the beef which he had slaughtered with his own hands.
But that ceremony was imposing. "Ladies and gentlemen," said those
five there assembled--speaking as it were with one voice,--"we bid
you welcome to Magenta House. Nine times nine is eighty-one. Never
forget that." Robinson had planned the words, but he was not there to
assist at their utterance! "Ladies and gentlemen, again we bid you
welcome to Magenta House." And then they retired backwards down the
shop, allowing the crowd to press forward, and all packed themselves
for awhile into Mr. Brown's little room at the back.
"It was smart," said Mr. Brisket.
"And went off uncommon well," said Jones, shaking the scent from his
head. "All the better, too, because that chap wasn't here."
"He's a clever fellow," said Brisket.
"And you shouldn't speak against him behind his back, Jones. Who did
it all? And who couldn't have done it if he hadn't been here?" When
these words were afterwards told to George Robinson, he forgave Mr.
Brown a great deal.
The architect, acting under the direction of Mr. Robinson, had
contrived to arch the roof, supporting it on five semicircular iron
girders, which were left there visible to the eye, and which were of
course painted magenta. On the foremost of these was displayed the
name of the firm,--Brown, Jones, and Robinson. On the second, the
name of the house,--Magenta House. On the third the number,--Nine
times nine is eighty one. On the fourth, an edict of trade
against which retail houses in the haberdashery line should never
sin,--"Terms: Ready cash." And on the last, the special principle of
our trade,--"Five-and-a-half per cent. profit." The back of the shop
was closed in with magenta curtains, through which the bald head of
Mr. Brown would not unfrequently be seen to emerge; and on each side
of the curtains there stood a tall mirror, reaching up to the very
ceiling. Upon the whole, the thing certainly was well done.
"But the contractor,"--the man who did the work was called the
contractor,--"the contractor says that he will want the rest of his
money in two months," said Mr. Brown, whining.
"He would not have wanted any for the next twelve months," answered
Robinson, "if you had not insisted on paying him those few hundreds."
"You can find fault with the bill, you know," said Jones, "and delay
it almost any time by threatening him with a lawyer."
"And then he will put a distress on us," said Mr. Brown.
"And after that will be very happy to take our bill at six months,"
answered Robinson. And so that matter was ended for the time.
Those men in armour stood there the whole of that day, and Fame
in his gilded car used his trumpet up and down Bishopsgate Street
with such effect, that the people living on each side of the street
became very sick of him. Fame himself was well acted,--at 16_s._
the day,--and when the triumphal car remained still, stood balanced
on one leg, with the other stretched out behind, in a manner that
riveted attention. But no doubt his horn was badly chosen. Mr.
Robinson insisted on a long single-tubed instrument, saying that it
was classical; but a cornet à piston would have given more pleasure.
A good deal of money was taken on that day; but certainly not so much
as had been anticipated. Very many articles were asked for, looked
at, and then not purchased. But this, though it occasioned grief to
Mr. Brown, was really not of much moment. That the thing should be
talked of,--if possible mentioned in the newspapers--was the object
of the firm.
"I would give my bond for 2,000_l._," said Robinson, "to get a leader
in the Jupiter."
The first article demanded over the counter was a real African monkey
muff, very superior, with long fine hair.
"The ships which are bringing them have not yet arrived from the
coast," answered Jones, who luckily stepped up at the moment. "They
are expected in the docks to-morrow."
CHAPTER VII.
MISS BROWN PLEADS HER OWN CASE, AND MR. ROBINSON WALKS ON BLACKFRIARS
BRIDGE.
At the time of Mrs. McCockerell's death Robinson and Maryanne Brown
were not on comfortable terms with each other. She had twitted him
with being remiss in asserting his own rights in the presence of his
rival, and he had accused her of being fickle, if not actually false.
"I shall be just as fickle as I please," she said. "If it suits me
I'll have nine to follow me; but there shan't be one of the nine who
won't hold up his head and look after his own."
"Your conduct, Maryanne--."
"George, I won't be scolded, and that you ought to know. If you don't
like me, you are quite welcome to do the other thing." And then they
parted. This took place after Mr. Brown's adherence to the Robinson
interest, and while Brisket was waiting passively to see if that five
hundred pounds would be forthcoming.
Their next meeting was in the presence of Mr. Brown; and on that
occasion all the three spoke out their intentions on the subject of
their future family arrangements, certainly with much plain language,
if not on every side with positive truth. Mr. Robinson was at the
house in Smithfield, giving counsel to old Mr. Brown as to the
contest which was then being urged between him and his son-in-law.
At that period the two sisters conceived that their joint pecuniary
interests required that they should act together; and it must be
acknowledged that they led poor Mr. Brown a sad life of it. He and
Robinson were sitting upstairs in the little back room looking out
into Spavinhorse Yard, when Maryanne abruptly broke in upon them.
"Father," she said, standing upright in the middle of the room before
them, "I have come to know what it is that you mean to do?"
"To do, my dear?" said old Mr. Brown.
"Yes; to do. I suppose something is to be done some day. We ain't
always to go on shilly-shallying, spending the money, and ruining the
business, and living from hand to mouth, as though there was no end
to anything. I've got myself to look to, and I don't mean to go into
the workhouse if I can help it!"
"The workhouse, Maryanne!"
"I said the workhouse, father, and I meant it. If everybody had what
was justly their own, I shouldn't have to talk in that way. But as
far as I can see, them sharks, the lawyers, will have it all. Now,
I'll tell you what it is--"
Hitherto Robinson had not said a word; but at this moment he thought
it right to interfere. "Maryanne!" he said,--and, in pronouncing the
well-loved name, he threw into it all the affection of which his
voice was capable,--"Maryanne!"
"'Miss Brown' would be a deal properer, and also much more pleasing,
if it's all the same to you, sir!"
How often had he whispered "Maryanne" into her ears, and the dear
girl had smiled upon him to hear herself so called! But he could
not remind her of this at the present moment. "I have your father's
sanction," said he--
"My father is nothing to me,--not with reference to what young man I
let myself be called 'Maryanne' by. And going on as he is going on, I
don't suppose that he'll long be much to me in any way."
"Oh, Maryanne!" sobbed the unhappy parent.
"That's all very well, sir, but it won't keep the kettle a-boiling!"
"As long as I have a bit to eat of, Maryanne, and a cup to drink of,
you shall have the half."
"And what am I to do when you won't have neither a bit nor a cup?
That's what you're coming to, father. We can all see that. What's the
use of all them lawyers?"
"That's Jones's doing," said Robinson.
"No; it isn't Jones's doing. And of course Jones must look after
himself. I'm not partial to Jones. Everybody knows that. When Sarah
Jane disgraced herself, and went off with him, I never said a word in
her favour. It wasn't I who brought a viper into the house and warmed
it in my bosom." It was at this moment that Jones was behaving with
the most barefaced effrontery, as well as the utmost cruelty, towards
the old man, and Maryanne's words cut her father to the very soul.
"Jones might have been anywhere for me," she continued; "but there he
is downstairs, and Sarah Jane is with him. Of course they are looking
for their own."
"And what is it you want, Maryanne?"
"Well; I'll tell you what I want. My dear sainted mother's last wish
was that--I should become Mrs. Brisket!"
"And do you mean to say," said Robinson--"do you mean to say that
that is now your wish?" And he looked at her till the audacity even
of her eyes sank beneath the earnestness of his own. But though for
the moment he quelled her eye, nothing could quell her voice.
"I mean to say," said she, speaking loudly, and with her arms akimbo,
"that William Brisket is a very respectable young man, with a
trade,--that he's got a decent house for a young woman to live in,
and a decent table for her to sit at. And he's always been brought
up decent, having been a regular 'prentice to his uncle, and all
that sort of thing. He's never been wandering about like a vagrant,
getting his money nobody knows how. William Brisket's as well known
in Aldersgate Street as the Post Office. And moreover," she added,
after a pause, speaking these last words in a somewhat milder
breath--"And moreover, it was my sainted mother's wish!"
"Then go to him!" said Robinson, rising suddenly, and stretching out
his arm against her. "Go to him, and perform your--sainted mother's
wish! Go to the--butcher! Revel in his shambles, and grow fat and
sleek in his slaughter-house! From this moment George Robinson will
fight the world alone. Brisket, indeed! If it be accounted manliness
to have killed hecatombs of oxen, let him be called manly!"
"He would have pretty nigh killed you, young man, on one occasion, if
you hadn't made yourself scarce."
"By heavens!" exclaimed Robinson, "if he'll come forth, I'll fight
him to-morrow;--with cleavers, if he will!"
"George, George, don't say that," exclaimed Mr. Brown. "'Let dogs
delight to bark and bite.'"
"You needn't be afraid," said Maryanne. "He doesn't mean fighting,"
and she pointed to Robinson. "William would about eat him, you know,
if they were to come together."
"Heaven forbid!" said Mr. Brown.
"But what I want to know is this," continued the maiden; "how is it
to be about that five hundred pounds which my mother left me?"
"But, my dear, your mother had not five hundred pounds to leave."
"Nor did she make any will if she had," said Robinson.
"Now don't put in your oar, for I won't have it," said the lady. "And
you'd show a deal more correct feeling if you wasn't so much about
the house just at present. My darling mamma,"--and then she put her
handkerchief up to her eyes--"always told William that when he and I
became one, there should be five hundred pounds down;--and of course
he expects it. Now, sir, you often talk about your love for your
children."
"I do love them; so I do. What else have I?"
"Now's the time to prove it. Let me have that sum of five hundred
pounds, and I will always take your part against the Joneses. Five
hundred pounds isn't so much,--and surely I have a right to some
share. And you may be sure of this; when we're settled, Brisket is
not the man to come back to you for more, as some would do." And then
she gave another look at Robinson.
"I haven't got the money; have I, George?" said the father.
"That question I cannot answer," replied Robinson. "Nor can I say how
far it might be prudent in you to debar yourself from all further
progress in commerce if you have got it. But this I can say; do not
let any consideration for me prevent you from giving a dowry with
your daughter to Mr. Brisket; if she loves him--"
"Oh, it's all bother about love," said she; "men and women must eat,
and they must have something to give their children, when they come."
"But if I haven't got it, my dear?"
"That's nonsense, father. Where has the money gone to? Whatever you
do, speak the truth. If you choose to say you won't--"
"Well, then, I won't," said he, roused suddenly to anger. "I never
made Brisket any promise!"
"But mother did; she as is now gone, and far away; and it was her
money,--so it was."
"It wasn't her money;--it was mine!" said Mr. Brown.
"And that's all the answer I'm to get? Very well. Then I shall know
where to look for my rights. And as for that fellow there, I didn't
think it of him, that he'd be so mean. I knew he was a coward
always."
"I am neither mean nor a coward," said Robinson, jumping up, and
speaking with a voice that was audible right across Spavinhorse Yard,
and into the tap of the "Man of Mischief" public-house opposite. "As
for meanness, if I had the money, I would pour it out into your lap,
though I knew that it was to be converted into beef and mutton for
the benefit of a hated rival. And as for cowardice, I repel the
charge, and drive it back into the teeth of him who, doubtless, made
it. I am no coward."
"You ran away when he bid you!"
"Yes; because he is big and strong, and had I remained, he would
have knocked me about, and made me ridiculous in the eyes of the
spectators. But I am no coward. If you wish it, I am ready to fight
him."
"Oh, dear, no. It can be nothing to me."
"He will make me one mash of gore," said Robinson, still holding out
his hand. "But if you wish it, I care nothing for that. His brute
strength will, of course, prevail; but I am indifferent as to that,
if it would do you a pleasure."
"Pleasure to me! Nothing of the kind, I can assure you."
"Maryanne, if I might have my wish, it should be this. Let us both
sit down, with our cigars lighted,--ay, and with tapers in our
hands,--on an open barrel of gunpowder. Then let him who will sit
there longest receive this fair hand as his prize." And as he
finished, he leaned over her, and took up her hand in his.
"Laws, Robinson!" she said; but she did not on the moment withdraw
her hand. "And if you were both blew up, what'd I do then?"
"I won't hear of such an arrangement," said Mr. Brown. "It would be
very wicked. If there's another word spoke about it, I'll go to the
police at once!"
On that occasion Mr. Brown was quite determined about the money; and,
as we heard afterwards, Mr. Brisket expressed himself as equally
resolute. "Of course, I expect to see my way," said he; "I can't do
anything of that sort without seeing my way." When that overture
about the gunpowder was repeated to him, he is reported to have
become very red. "Either with gloves or without, or with the sticks,
I'm ready for him," said he; "but as for sitting on a barrel of
gunpowder, it's a thing as nobody wouldn't do unless they was in
Bedlam."
When that interview was over, Robinson walked forth by himself into
the evening air, along Giltspur Street, down the Old Bailey, and so
on by Bridge Street, to the middle of Blackfriars Bridge; and as he
walked, he strove manfully to get the better of the passion which was
devouring the strength of his blood, and the marrow of his bones.
"If she be not fair for me," he sang to himself, "what care I how
fair she be?" But he did care; he could not master that passion.
She had been vile to him, unfeminine, untrue, coarsely abusive; she
had shown herself to be mercenary, incapable of true love, a scold,
fickle, and cruel. But yet he loved her. There was a gallant feeling
at his heart that no misfortune could conquer him,--but one; that
misfortune had fallen upon him,--and he was conquered.
"Why is it," he said as he looked down into the turbid stream--"why
is it that bloodshed, physical strife, and brute power are dear to
them all? Any fool can have personal bravery; 'tis but a sign of
folly to know no fear. Grant that a man has no imagination, and he
cannot fear; but when a man does fear, and yet is brave--" Then for
awhile he stopped himself. "Would that I had gone at his throat like
a dog!" he continued, still in his soliloquy. "Would that I had!
Could I have torn out his tongue, and laid it as a trophy at her
feet, then she would have loved me." After that he wandered slowly
home, and went to bed.
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. BRISKET THINKS HE SEES HIS WAY, AND MR. ROBINSON AGAIN WALKS ON
BLACKFRIARS BRIDGE.
For some half-hour on that night, as Robinson had slowly walked
backwards and forwards across the bridge, ideas of suicide had
flitted across his mind. Should he not put an end to all this,--to
all this and so much else that harassed him and made life weary.
"''Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished,'" he said, as he looked
down into the dark river. And then he repeated a good deal more,
expressing his desire to sleep, but acknowledging that his dreams in
that strange bed might be the rub. "And thus 'calamity must still
live on,'" he said, as he went home to his lodgings.
Then came those arrangements as to the partnership and the house in
Bishopsgate Street, which have already been narrated. During the
weeks which produced these results, he frequently saw Maryanne in
Smithfield, but never spoke to her, except on the ordinary topics of
the day. In his demeanour he was courteous to her, but he never once
addressed her except as Miss Brown, and always with a politeness
which was as cold as it was studied. On one or two occasions he
thought that he observed in her manner something that showed a wish
for reconciliation; but still he said nothing to her. "She has
treated me like a dog," he said to himself, "and yet I love her. If
I tell her so, she will treat me worse than a dog." Then he heard,
also, that Brisket had declared more than once that he could not see
his way. "I could see mine," he said, "as though a star guided me,
if she should but stretch forth her hand to me and ask me to forgive
her."
It was some week or two after the deed of partnership had been
signed, and when the house at No. 81 had been just taken, that
Miss Twizzle came to Robinson. He was, at the moment, engaged in
composition for an illustrious house in the Minories that shall be
nameless; but he immediately gave his attention to Miss Twizzle,
though at the moment he was combating the difficulties of a rhyme
which it had been his duty to repeat nineteen times in the same poem.
"I think that will do," said he, as he wrote it down. "And yet it's
lame,--very lame:
But no lady ever loses
By going to the shop of--"
And then Miss Twizzle entered.
"I see you are engaged," said she, "and, perhaps, I had better call
another time."
"By no means, Miss Twizzle; pray be seated. How is everything going
on at the Hall of Harmony?"
"I haven't been there, Mr. Robinson, since that night as Mr. Brisket
did behave so bad. I got such a turn that night, as I can't endure
the sight of the room ever since. If you'll believe me, I can't."
"It was not a pleasant occurrence," said Robinson. "I felt it very
keenly. A man's motives are so vilely misconstrued, Miss Twizzle. I
have been accused of--of--cowardice."
"Not by me, Mr. Robinson. I did say you should have stuck up a bit;
but I didn't mean anything like that."
"Well; it's over now. When are they to be married, Miss Twizzle?"
"Now, Mr. Robinson, don't you talk like that. You wouldn't take it
all calm that way if you thought she was going to have him."
"I mean to take it very calm for the future."
"But I suppose you're not going to give her up. It wouldn't be like
you, that wouldn't."
"She has spurned me, Miss Twizzle; and after that--."
"Oh, spurn! that's all my eye. Of course she has. There's a little of
that always, you know,--just for the fun of the thing. The course of
love shouldn't run too smooth. I wouldn't give a straw for a young
man if he wouldn't let me spurn him sometimes."
"But you wouldn't call him a--a--"
"A what? A coward, is it? Indeed but I would, or anything else that
came uppermost. Laws! what's the good of keeping company if you ain't
to say just what comes uppermost at the moment. 'Twas but the other
day I called my young man a raskil."
"It was in sport, no doubt."
"I was that angry at the time I could have tore him limb from limb;
I was, indeed. But he says, 'Polly,' says he, 'if I'm a he-raskil,
you're a she-raskil; so that needn't make any difference between us.'
And no more it didn't. He gets his salary rose in January, and then
we shall be married."
"I wish you all the happiness that married life can bestow," said
Robinson.
"That's very prettily said, and I wish the same to you. Only you
mustn't be so down like. There's Maryanne; she says you haven't a
word for her now."
"She'll find as many words as she likes in Aldersgate Street, no
doubt."
"Now, Robinson, if you're going to go on like that, you are not
the man I always took you for. You didn't suppose that a girl like
Maryanne isn't to have her bit of fun as long as it lasts. Them as
is as steady as old horses before marriage usually has their colt's
fling after marriage. Maryanne's principles is good, and that's
everything;--ain't it?"
"I impute nothing to Miss Brown, except that she is false, and
mercenary, and cruel."
"Exactly; just a she-raskil, as Tom called me. I was mercenary and
all the rest of it. But, laws! what's that between friends? The long
and short of it is this; is Barkis willing? If Barkis is willing,
then a certain gentleman as we know in the meat trade may suit
himself elsewhere. Come; answer that. Is Barkis willing?"
For a minute or two Robinson sat silent, thinking of the indignities
he had endured. That he loved the girl,--loved her warmly, with all
his heart,--was only too true. Yes; he loved her too well. Had his
affection been of a colder nature, he would have been able to stand
off for awhile, and thus have taught the lady a lesson which might
have been of service. But, in his present mood, the temptation was
too great for him, and he could not resist it. "Barkis is willing,"
said he. And thus, at the first overture, he forgave her all the
injury she had done him. A man never should forgive a woman unless he
has her absolutely in his power. When he does so, and thus wipes out
all old scores, he merely enables her to begin again.
But Robinson had said the word, and Miss Twizzle was not the woman to
allow him to go back from it. "That's well," said she. "And now I'll
tell you what. Tom and I are going to drink tea in Smithfield, with
old Brown, you know. You'll come too; and then, when old Brown goes
to sleep, you and Maryanne will make it up." Of course she had her
way; and Robinson, though he repented himself of what he was doing
before she was out of the room, promised to be there.
And he was there. When he entered Mr. Brown's sitting-room he found
Maryanne and Miss Twizzle, but Miss Twizzle's future lord had not
yet come. He did not wait for Mr. Brown to go to sleep, but at once
declared the purpose of his visit.
"Shall I say 'Maryanne?'" said he, putting out his hand; "or is it to
be 'Miss Brown?'"
"Well, I'm sure," said she; "there's a question! If 'Miss Brown' will
do for you, sir, it will do uncommon well for me."
"Call her 'Maryanne,' and have done with it," said Miss Twizzle. "I
hate all such nonsense, like poison."
"George," said the old man, "take her, and may a father's blessing go
along with her. We are partners in the haberdashery business, and now
we shall be partners in everything." Then he rose up, as though he
were going to join their hands.
"Oh, father, I know a trick worth two of that!" said Maryanne.
"That's not the way we manage these things now-a-days, is it, Polly?"
"I don't know any better way," said Polly, "when Barkis is willing."
"Maryanne," said Robinson, "let bygones be bygones."
"With all my heart," said she. "All of them, if you like."
"No, not quite all, Maryanne. Those moments in which I first declared
what I felt for you can never be bygones for me. I have never
faltered in my love; and now, if you choose to accept my hand in the
presence of your father, there it is."
"God bless you, my boy! God bless you!" said Mr. Brown.
"Come, Maryanne," said Miss Twizzle, "he has spoke out now, quite
manly; and you should give him an answer."
"But he is so imperious, Polly! If he only sees me speaking to
another, in the way of civility--as, of course, I must,--he's up with
his grand ways, and I'm put in such a trembling that I don't know how
to open my mouth."
Of course, every one will know how the affair ended on that evening.
The quarrels of lovers have ever been the renewal of love. Miss Brown
did accept Mr. Robinson's vows; Mr. Brown did go to sleep; Tom, whose
salary was about to be raised to the matrimonial point, did arrive;
and the evening was passed in bliss and harmony.
Then, again, for a week or two did George Robinson walk upon roses.
It could not now be thrown in his teeth that some other suitor was
an established tradesman; for such also was his proud position. He
was one of that firm whose name was already being discussed in the
commercial world, and could feel that the path to glory was open
beneath his feet. It was during these days that those original ideas
as to the name and colour of the house, and as to its architectural
ornamentation, came from his brain, and that he penned many of those
advertisements which afterwards made his reputation so great. It was
then that he so plainly declared his resolve to have his own way in
his own department, and startled his partners by the firmness of his
purpose. It need hardly be said that gratified love was the source
from whence he drew his inspiration.
"And now let us name the day," said Robinson, as soon as that other
day,--the opening day for Magenta House,--had been settled. All
nature would then be smiling. It would be the merry month of May; and
Robinson suggested that, after the toil of the first fortnight of
the opening, a day's holiday for matrimonial purposes might well be
accorded to him. "We'll go to the bowers of Richmond, Maryanne," said
he.
"God bless you, my children," said Mr. Brown. "And as for the
holiday, Jones shall see the shutters down, and I will see them up
again."
"What!" said Maryanne. "This next first of June as ever is? I'll do
no such thing."
"Why not, my own one?"
"I never heard the like! Where am I to get my things? And you will
have no house taken or anything. If you think I'm going into lodgings
like Sarah Jane, you're mistook. I don't marry unless I have things
comfortable about me,--furniture, and all that. While you were in
your tantrums, George, I once went to see William Brisket's house."
"---- William Brisket!" said Robinson. Perhaps, he was wrong in using
such a phrase, but it must be confessed that he was sorely tried. Who
but a harpy would have alluded to the comforts of a rival's domestic
establishment at such a moment as that? Maryanne Brown was a harpy,
and is a harpy to this day.
"There, father," said she, "look at that! just listen to him! You
wouldn't believe me before. What's a young woman to look for with
a man as can go on like that?--cursing and swearing before one's
face,--quite awful!"
"He was aggravated, Maryanne," said the old man.
"Yes, and he'll always be being aggravated. If he thinks as I ain't
going to speak civil of them as has always spoke civil to me, he's in
the wrong of it. William Brisket never went about cursing at me in
that way."
"I didn't curse at you, Maryanne."
"If William Brisket had anything to say of a rival, he said it out
honest. 'Maryanne,' said he to me once, 'if that young man comes
after you any more, I'll polish his head off his shoulders.' Now,
that was speaking manly; and, if you could behave like that, you'd
get yourself respected. But as for them rampagious Billingsgate ways
before a lady, I for one haven't been used to it, and I won't put up
with it!" And so she bounced out of the room.
"You shouldn't have swore at her, George," said Mr. Brown.
"Swear at her!" said Robinson, putting his hand up to his head,
as though he found it almost impossible to collect his scattered
thoughts. "But it doesn't matter. The world may swear at her for me
now; and the world will swear at her!" So saying, he left the house,
went hastily down Snow Hill, and again walked moodily on the bridge
of Blackfriars. "'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished," said
he: "--devoutly!--devoutly! And when they take me up,--up to her,
would it be loving, or would it be loathing?--A nasty, cold, moist,
unpleasant body!" he went on. "Ah me! it would be loathing! He
hadn't a father; he hadn't a mother; he hadn't a sister; he hadn't a
brother;--but he had a dearer one still, and a nearer one yet, than
all other.--'To be or not to be; that is the question.'--He must in
ground unsanctified be lodged, till the last trumpet! Ah, there's the
rub! But for that, who would these fardels bear?" Then he made up his
mind that the fardels must still be borne, and again went home to his
lodgings.
This had occurred some little time before the opening of the house,
and on the next morning George Robinson was at his work as hard,--ay,
harder--than ever. He had pledged himself to the firm, and was aware
that it would ill become him to allow private sorrows to interfere
with public duties. On that morrow he was more enterprising than
ever, and it was then that he originated the idea of the four men in
armour, and of Fame with her classical horn and gilded car.
"She'll come round again, George," said Mr. Brown, "and then take her
at the hop."
"She'll hop no more for me," said George Robinson, sternly. But on
this matter he was weak as water, and this woman was able to turn him
round her little finger.
On the fourteenth of May, the day previous to the opening of the
house, Robinson was seated upstairs alone, still at work on some of
his large posters. There was no sound to be heard but the hammers of
the workmen below; and the smell of the magenta paint, as it dried,
was strong in his nostrils. It was then that one of the workmen came
up to him, saying that there was a gentleman below who wished to
see him. At this period Robinson was anxious to be called on by
commercial gentlemen, and at once sent down civil word, begging that
the gentleman would walk up. With heavy step the gentleman did walk
up, and William Brisket was shown into the room.
"Sir," said George Robinson as soon as he saw him, "I did not expect
this honour from you." And then he bethought himself of his desire to
tear out the monster's tongue, and began to consider whether he might
do it now.
"I don't know much about honour," said Brisket; "but it seems to me
an understandin's wanted 'twixt you and I."
"There can be none such," said Robinson.
"Oh, but there must."
"It is not within the compass of things. You, sir, cannot understand
me;--your intellectual vision is too limited. And I,--I will not
understand you."
"Won't you, by jingo! Then your vision shall be limited, as far as
two uncommon black eyes can limit it. But come, Robinson, if you
don't want to quarrel, I don't."
"As for quarrelling," said Robinson, "it is the work of children.
Come, Brisket, will you jump with me into yonder river? The first
that reaches the further side, let him have her!" And he pointed up
Bishopsgate Street towards the Thames.
"Perhaps you can swim?" said Brisket.
"Not a stroke!" said Robinson.
"Then what a jolly pair of fools we should be!"
"Ah-h-h-h! That's the way to try a man's metal!"
"If you talk to me about metal, young man, I'll drop into you.
You've been a-sending all manner of messages to me about a barrel
of gunpowder and that sort of thing, and it's my mind that you're a
little out of your own. Now I ain't going to have anything to do with
gunpowder, nor yet with the river. It's a nasty place is the river;
and when I want a wash I shan't go there."
"'Dreadfully staring through muddy impurity!'" said Robinson.
"Impurity enough," continued the other; "and I won't have anything to
do with it. Now, I'll tell you what. Will you give me your word, as a
man, never to have nothing more to say to Maryanne Brown?"
"Never again to speak to her?"
"Not, except in the way of respect, when she's Mrs. Brisket."
"Never again to clasp her hand in mine?"
"Not by no means. And if you want me to remain quiet, you'd a deal
better stow that kind of thing. I'll tell you what it is--I'm
beginning to see my way with old Brown."
"Et tu, Brute?" said Robinson, clasping his hands together.
"I'm beginning to see my way with old Brown," continued Brisket;
"and, to tell you the truth at once, I don't mean to be interfered
with."
"Has--my partner--promised--her hand to you?"
"Yes, he has; and five hundred pounds with it."
"And she--?"
"Oh, she's all right. There isn't any doubt about she. I've just come
from she, as you call her. Now that I see my way, she and I is to be
one."
"And where's the money to come from, Mr. Brisket?"
"The father 'll stand the money--in course."
"I don't know where he'll get it, then; certainly not out of the
capital of our business, Mr. Brisket. And since you are so keen about
seeing your way, Mr. Brisket, I advise you to be quite sure that you
do see it."
"That's my business, young man; I've never been bit yet, and I don't
know as I'm going to begin now. I never moves till I see my way. They
as does is sure to tumble."
"Well; see your way," said Robinson. "See it as far as your natural
lights will enable you to look. It's nothing to me."
"Ah, but I must hear you say that you renounce her."
"Renounce her, false harpy! Ay, with all my heart."
"But I won't have her called out of her name."
"She is false."
"Hold your tongue, or I'll drop into you. They're all more or less
false, no doubt; but I won't have you say so of her. And since you're
so ready about the renouncing, suppose you put it on paper--'I
renounce my right to the hand and heart of Maryanne Brown.' You've
got pen and ink there;--just put it down."
"It shall not need," said Robinson.
"Oh, but it does need. It'll put an end to a world of trouble and
make her see that the thing is all settled. It can't be any sorrow to
you, because you say she's a false harpy."
"Nevertheless, I love her."
"So do I love her; and as I'm beginning to see my way, why, of
course, I mean to have her. We can't both marry her; can we?"
"No; not both," said Robinson. "Certainly not both."
"Then you just write as I bid you," said Brisket.
"Bid me, sir!"
"Well,--ask you; if that will make it easier."
"And what if I don't?"
"Why, I shall drop into you. That's all about it. There's the pen,
ink, and paper; you'd better do it."
Not at first did Robinson write those fatal words by which he gave up
all his right to her he loved; but before that interview was ended
the words were written. "What matters it?" he said, at last, just as
Brisket had actually risen from his seat to put his vile threat into
execution. "Has not she renounced me?"
"Yes," said Brisket, "she has done that certainly."
"Had she been true to me," continued Robinson, "to do her a pleasure
I would have stood up before you till you had beaten me into the
likeness of one of your own carcases."
"That's what I should have done, too."
"But now;--why should I suffer now?"
"No, indeed; why should you?"
"I would thrash you if I could, for the pure pleasure."
"No doubt; no doubt."
"But it stands to reason that I can't. God, when He gave me power of
mind, gave you power of body."
"And a little common sense along with it, my friend. I'm generally
able to see my way, big as I look. Come; what's the good of arguing.
You're quick at writing, I know, and there's the paper."
Then George Robinson did write. The words were as follows;--"I
renounce the hand and heart of Maryanne Brown. I renounce them for
ever.--George Robinson."
On the night of that day, while the hammers were still ringing by
gaslight in the unfinished shop; while Brown and Jones were still
busy with the goods, and Mrs. Jones was measuring out to the
shop-girls yards of Magenta ribbon, short by an inch, Robinson again
walked down to the bridge. "The bleak wind of March makes me tremble
and shiver," said he to himself;--"but, 'Not the dark arch or the
black flowing river.'"
"Come, young man, move on," said a policeman to him. And he did move
on.
"But for that man I should have done it then," he whispered, in his
solitude, as he went to bed.
CHAPTER IX.
SHOWING HOW MR. ROBINSON WAS EMPLOYED ON THE OPENING DAY.
"Et tu, Brute?" were the words with which Mr. Brown was greeted at
six o'clock in the morning on that eventful day, when, at early dawn,
he met his young partner at Magenta House. He had never studied the
history of Cæsar's death, but he understood the reproach as well as
any Roman ever did.
"It was your own doing, George," he said. "When she was swore at in
that way, and when you went away and left her--."
"It was she went away and left me."
"'Father,' said she when she came back, 'I shall put myself under the
protection of Mr. William Brisket.' What was I to do then? And when
he came himself, ten minutes afterwards, what was I to say to him? A
father is a father, George; and one's children is one's children."
"And they are to be married?"
"Not quite at once, George."
"No. The mercenary slaughterer will reject that fair hand at last,
unless it comes to him weighted with a money-bag. From whence are to
come those five hundred pounds without which William Brisket will not
allow your daughter to warm herself at his hearthstone?"
"As Jones has got the partnership, George, Maryanne's husband should
have something."
"Ah, yes! It is I, then,--I, as one of the partners of this house,
who am to bestow a dowry upon her who has injured me, and make happy
the avarice of my rival! Since the mimic stage first represented the
actions of humanity, no such fate as that has ever been exhibited as
the lot of man. Be it so. Bring hither the cheque-book. That hand
that was base enough to renounce her shall, with the same pen, write
the order for the money."
"No, George, no," said Mr. Brown. "I never meant to do that. Let him
have it--out of the profits."
"Ha!"
"I said in a month,--if things went well. Of course, I meant,--well
enough."
"But they'll lead you such a life as never man passed yet. Maryanne,
you know, can be bitter; very bitter."
"I must bear it, George. I've been a-bearing a long while, and I'm
partly used to it. But, George, it isn't a pleasure to me. It isn't a
pleasure to a poor old father to be nagged at by his daughters from
his very breakfast down to his very supper. And they comes to me
sometimes in bed, nagging at me worse than ever."
"My heart has often bled for you, Mr. Brown."
"I know it has, George; and that's why I've loved you and trusted
you. And now you won't quarrel with me, will you, though I have a
little thrown you over like?"
What was Robinson to say? Of course he forgave him. It was in his
nature to forgive; and he would even have forgiven Maryanne at that
moment, had she come to him and asked him. But she was asleep in her
bed, dreaming, perchance, of that big Philistine whom she had chosen
as her future lord. A young David, however, might even yet arise, who
should smite that huge giant with a stone between the eyes.
Then did Mr. Brown communicate to his partner those arrangements as
to grouping which his younger daughter had suggested for the opening
of the house. When Robinson first heard that Maryanne intended to be
there, he declared his intention of standing by her side, though he
would not deign even to look her in the face. "She shall see that she
has no power over me, to make me quail," he said. And then he was
told that Brisket also would be there; Maryanne had begged the favour
of him, and he had unwillingly consented. "It is hard to bear," said
Robinson, "very hard. But it shall be borne. I do not remember ever
to have heard of the like."
"He won't come often, George, you may be sure."
"That I should have planned these glories for him! Well, well; be it
so. What is the pageantry to me? It has been merely done to catch the
butterflies, and of these he is surely the largest. I will sit alone
above, and work there with my brain for the service of the firm,
while you below are satisfying the eyes of the crowd."
And so it had been, as was told in that chapter which was devoted to
the opening day of the house. Robinson had sat alone in the very room
in which he had encountered Brisket, and had barely left his seat
for one moment when the first rush of the public into the shop had
made his heart leap within him. There the braying of the horn in
the street, and the clatter of the armed horsemen on the pavement,
and the jokes of the young boys, and the angry threatenings of the
policemen, reached his ears. "It is well," said he; "the ball has
been set a-rolling, and the work that has been well begun is already
half completed. When once the steps of the unthinking crowd have
habituated themselves to move hither-ward, they will continue to come
with the constancy of the tide, which ever rolls itself on the same
strand." And then he tasked himself to think how that tide should
be made always to flow,--never to ebb. "They must be brought here,"
said he, "ever by new allurements. When once they come, it is only in
accordance with the laws of human nature that they should leave their
money behind them." Upon that, he prepared the words for another
card, in which he begged his friends, the public of the city, to
come to Magenta House, as friends should come. They were invited to
see, and not to buy. The firm did not care that purchases should be
made thus early in their career. Their great desire was that the
arrangements of the establishment should be witnessed before any
considerable portion of the immense stock had been moved for the
purpose of retail sale. And then the West End public were especially
requested to inspect the furs which were being collected for the
anticipated sale of the next winter. It was as he wrote these words
that he heard that demand for the African monkey muff, and heard also
Mr. Jones's discreet answer. "Yes," said he to himself; "before we
have done, ships shall come to us from all coasts; real ships. From
Tyre and Sidon, they shall come; from Ophir and Tarshish, from the
East and from the West, and from the balmy southern islands. How
sweet will it be to be named among the Merchant Princes of this great
commercial nation!" But he felt that Brown and Jones would never be
Merchant Princes, and he already looked forward to the day when he
would be able to emancipate himself from such thraldom.
It has been already said that a considerable amount of business was
done over the counter on the first day, but that the sum of money
taken was not as great as had been hoped. That this was caused by Mr.
Brown's injudicious mode of going to work, there could be no doubt.
He had filled the shelves of the shop with cheap articles for which
he had paid, and had hesitated in giving orders for heavy amounts
to the wholesale houses. Such orders had of course been given, and
in some cases had been given in vain; but quite enough of them had
been honoured to show what might have been done, had there been no
hesitation. "As a man of capital, I must object," he had said to Mr.
Robinson, only a week before the house was opened. "I wish I could
make you understand that you have no capital." "I would I could
divest you of the idea and the money too," said Robinson. But it was
all of no use. A domestic fowl that has passed all its days at a
barn-door can never soar on the eagle's wing. Now Mr. Brown was the
domestic fowl, while the eagle's pinion belonged to his youngest
partner. By whom in that firm the kite was personified, shall not
here be stated.
Brisket on that day soon left the shop; but as Maryanne Brown
remained there, Robinson did not descend among the throng. There was
no private door to the house, and therefore he was forced to walk out
between the counters when he went to his dinner. On that occasion,
he passed close by Miss Brown, and met that young lady's eye without
quailing. She looked full upon him: and then, turning her face round
to her sister, tittered with an air of scorn.
"I think he's been very badly used," said Sarah Jane.
"And who has he got to blame but his own want of spirit?" said the
other. This was spoken in the open shop, and many of the young men
and women heard it. Robinson, however, merely walked on, raising his
hat, and saluting the daughters of the senior partner. But it must be
acknowledged that such remarks as that greatly aggravated the misery
of his position.
It was on the evening of that day, when he was about to leave the
establishment for the night, that he heard a gentle creeping step on
the stairs, and presently Mrs. Jones presented herself in the room in
which he was sitting. Now if there was any human fellow-creature on
the face of this earth whom George Robinson had brought himself to
hate, that human fellow-creature was Sarah Jane Jones. Jones himself
he despised, but his feeling towards Mrs. Jones was stronger than
contempt. To him it was odious that she should be present in the
house at all, and he had obtained from her father a direct promise
that she should not be allowed to come behind the counters after this
their opening day.
"George," she said, coming up to him, "I have come upstairs because I
wish to have a few words with you private."
"Will you take a chair?" said he, placing one for her. One is bound
to be courteous to a lady, even though that lady be a harpy.
"George," she again began,--she had never called him "George" before,
and he felt himself sorely tempted to tell her that his name was Mr.
Robinson. "George, I've brought myself to look upon you quite as a
brother-in-law, you know."
"Have you?" said he. "Then you have done me an honour that does not
belong to me,--and never will."
"Now don't say that, George. If you'll only bring yourself to show a
little more spirit to Maryanne, all will be right yet."
What was she that she should talk to him about spirit? In these days
there was no subject which was more painful to him than that of
personal courage. He was well aware that he was no coward. He felt
within himself an impulse that would have carried him through any
danger of which the result would not have been ridiculous. He could
have led a forlorn hope, or rescued female weakness from the fangs of
devouring flames. But he had declined,--he acknowledged to himself
that he had declined,--to be mauled by the hands of an angry butcher,
who was twice his size. "One has to keep one's own path in the
world," he had said to himself; "but, nevertheless, one avoids a
chimney-sweeper. Should I have gained anything had I allowed that
huge monster to hammer at me?" So he had argued. But, though he had
thus argued, he had been angry with himself, and now he could not
bear to be told that he had lacked spirit.
"That is my affair," he replied to her. "But those about me will find
that I do not lack spirit when I find fitting occasion to use it."
"No; I'm sure they won't. And now's the time, George. You're not
going to let that fellow Brisket run off with Maryanne from before
your eyes."
"He's at liberty to run anywhere for me."
"Now, look here, George. I know you're fond of her."
"No. I was once; but I've torn her from my heart."
"That's nonsense, George. The fact is, the more she gives herself
airs and makes herself scarce and stiff to you, the more precious you
think her." Ignorant as the woman was of almost everything, she did
know something of human nature.
"I shall never trouble myself about her again," said he.
"Oh, yes, you will; and make her Mrs. Robinson before you've done.
Now, look here, George; that fellow Brisket won't have her, unless he
gets the money."
"It's nothing to me," said Robinson.
"And where's the money to come from, if not out of the house? Now,
you and Jones has your rights as partners, and I do hope you and he
won't let the old man make off with the capital of the firm in that
way. If he gives Brisket five hundred pounds,--and there isn't much
more left--"
"I'll tell you what, Mrs. Jones;--he may give Brisket five thousand
pounds as far as I am concerned. Whatever Mr. Brown may do in that
way, I shan't interfere to prevent him."
"You shan't!"
"It's his own money, and, as far as George Robinson is concerned--"
"His own money, and he in partnership with Jones! Not a penny of it
is his own, and so I'll make them understand. As for you, you are the
softest--"
"Never mind me, Mrs. Jones."
"No; I never will mind you again. Well, to be sure! And you'd stand
by and see the money given away in that way to enable the man you
hate to take away the girl you love! Well, I never--. They did say
you was faint-hearted, but I never thought to see the like of that in
a thing that called itself a man." And so saying, she took herself
off.
--"It cannot be,
But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall,
To make oppression bitter,"
said Robinson, rising from his seat, and slapping his forehead with
his hand; and then he stalked backwards and forwards through the
small room, driven almost to madness by the misery of his position.
"I am not splenetic and rash," he said; "yet have I something in me
dangerous. I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand Briskets could not, with
all their quantities of love, make up my sum."
At this time Mr. Brown still lived at the house in Smithfield. It was
intended that he should move to Bishopsgate Street as soon as the
upper rooms could be made ready for him, but the works had hitherto
been confined to the shop. On this, the night of the opening day,
he intended to give a little supper to his partners; and Robinson,
having promised to join it, felt himself bound to keep his word.
"Brisket will not be there?" he asked, as he walked across Finsbury
Square with the old man. "Certainly not," said Mr. Brown; "I never
thought of asking him." And yet, when they reached the house, Brisket
was already seated by the fire, superintending the toasting of the
cheese, as though he were one of the family. "It's not my doing,
George; indeed, it's not," whispered Mr. Brown, as they entered the
sitting-room of the family.
[Illustration: Brisket makes himself useful.]
That supper-party was terrible to Robinson, but he bore it all
without flinching. Jones and his wife were there, and so also, of
course, was Maryanne. Her he had seen at the moment of his entry,
sitting by with well-pleased face, while her huge lover put butter
and ale into the frying-pan. "Why, Sarah Jane," she said, "I declare
he's quite a man cook. How useful he would be about a house!"
"Oh, uncommon," said Sarah Jane. "And you mean to try before long,
don't you, Mr. Brisket?"
"You must ask Maryanne about that," said he, raising his great red
face from the fire, and putting on the airs and graces of a thriving
lover.
"Don't ask me anything," said Maryanne, "for I won't answer anything.
It's nothing to me what he means to try."
"Oh, ain't it, though," said Brisket. And then they all sat down
to supper. It may be imagined with what ease Robinson listened to
conversation such as this, and with what appetite he took his seat at
that table.
"Mr. Robinson, may I give you a little of this cheese?" said
Maryanne. What a story such a question told of the heartlessness,
audacity, and iron nerves of her who asked it! What power, and at
the same time what cruelty, there must have been within that laced
bodice, when she could bring herself to make such an offer!
"By all means," said Robinson, with equal courage. The morsel was
then put upon his plate, and he swallowed it. "I would he had
poisoned it," said he to himself. "With what delight would I then
partake of the dish, so that he and she partook of it with me!"
The misery of that supper-party will never be forgotten. Had Brisket
been Adonis himself, he could not have been treated with softer
courtesies by those two harpies; and yet, not an hour ago, Sarah
Jane Jones had been endeavouring to raise a conspiracy against his
hopes. What an ass will a man allow himself to become under such
circumstances! There sat the big butcher, smirking and smiling,
ever and again dipping his unlovely lips into a steaming beaker of
brandy-and-water, regarding himself as triumphant in the courts of
Venus. But that false woman who sat at his side would have sold him
piecemeal for money, as he would have sold the carcase of a sheep.
"You do not drink, George," said Mr. Brown.
"It does not need," said Robinson; and then he took his hat and went
his way.
On that night he swore to himself that he would abandon her for ever,
and devote himself to commerce and the Muses. It was then that he
composed the opening lines of a poem which may yet make his name
famous wherever the English language is spoken:--
The golden-eyed son of the Morning rushed down the wind
like a trumpet,
His azure locks adorning with emeralds fresh from the ocean.
CHAPTER X.
SHOWING HOW THE FIRM INVENTED A NEW SHIRT.
It has already been said that those four men in armour, on the
production of whom Robinson had especially prided himself, were
dispensed with after the first fortnight. This, no doubt, was brought
about through the parsimony of Mr. Brown, but in doing so he was
aided by a fortuitous circumstance. One of the horses trampled on a
child near the Bank, and then the police and press interfered. At
first the partners were very unhappy about the child, for it was
reported to them that the poor little fellow would die. Mr. Brown
went to see it, and ascertained that the mother knew how to make the
most of the occurrence;--and so, after a day or two, did the firm.
The Jupiter daily newspaper took the matter up, and lashed out
vigorously at what it was pleased to call the wickedness as well as
absurdity of such a system of advertising; but as the little boy
was not killed, nor indeed seriously hurt, the firm was able to
make capital out of the Jupiter, by sending a daily bulletin from
Magenta House as to the state of the child's health. For a week the
newspapers inserted these, and allowed the firm to explain that they
supplied nourishing food, and paid the doctor's bill; but at the end
of the week the editor declined any further correspondence. Mr. Brown
then discontinued his visits; but the child's fortune had been made
by gifts from a generous public, and the whole thing had acted as an
excellent unpaid advertisement. Now, it is well understood by all
trades that any unpaid advertisement is worth twenty that have cost
money.
In this way the men in armour were put down, but they will be long
remembered by the world of Bishopsgate Street. That they cost money
is certain. "Whatever we do," said Mr. Brown, "don't let's have any
more horses. You see, George, they're always a-eating!" He could not
understand that it was nothing, though the horses had eaten gilded
oats, so long as there were golden returns.
The men in armour, however, were put down, as also was the car of
Fame. One horse only was left in the service of the firm, and this
was an ancient creature that had for many years belonged to the
butter establishment in Smithfield. By this animal a light but large
wooden frame was dragged about, painted Magenta on its four sides,
and bearing on its various fronts different notices as to the
business of the house. A boy stood uncomfortably in the centre,
driving the slow brute by means of reins which were inserted through
the apertures of two of the letters; through another letter above
there was a third hole for his eyes, and, shut up in this prison, he
was enjoined to keep moving throughout the day. This he did at the
slowest possible pace, and thus he earned five shillings a week. The
arrangement was one made entirely by Mr. Brown, who himself struck
the bargain with the boy's father. Mr. Robinson was much ashamed of
this affair, declaring that it would be better to abstain altogether
from advertising in that line than to do it in so ignoble a manner;
but Mr. Brown would not give way, and the magenta box was dragged
about the streets till it was altogether shattered and in pieces.
Stockings was the article in which, above all others, Mr. Brown was
desirous of placing his confidence. "George," said he, "all the world
wears stockings; but those who require African monkey muffs are in
comparison few in number. I know Legg and Loosefit of the Poultry,
and I'll purchase a stock." He went to Legg and Loosefit and did
purchase a stock, absolutely laying out a hundred pounds of ready
money for hosiery, and getting as much more on credit. Stockings is
an article on which considerable genius might be displayed by any
house intending to do stockings, and nothing else; but taken up in
this small way by such a firm as that of 81, Bishopsgate Street, it
was simply embarrassing. "Now you can say something true in your
advertisements," said Mr. Brown, with an air of triumph, when the
invoice of the goods arrived.
"True!" said Robinson. He would not, however, sneer at his partner,
so he retreated to his own room, and went to work. "Stockings!" said
he to himself. "There is no room for ambition in it! But the word
'Hose' does not sound amiss." And then he prepared that small book,
with silk magenta covers and silvery leaves, which he called _The New
Miracle!_
The whole world wants stockings, [he began, not disdaining
to take his very words from Mr. Brown]--and Brown, Jones,
and Robinson are prepared to supply the whole world with
the stockings which they want. The following is a list of
some of the goods which are at present being removed from
the river to the premises at Magenta House, in Bishopsgate
Street. B., J., and R. affix the usual trade price of the
article, and the price at which they are able to offer them
to the public.
One hundred and twenty baskets of ladies' Spanish
hose,--usual price, 1_s._ 3_d._; sold by B., J., and R. at
9¾_d._
"Baskets!" said Mr. Brown, when he read the little book.
"It's all right," said Robinson. "I have been at the trouble to learn
the trade language."
Four hundred dozen white cotton hose,--usual price, 1_s._
0½_d._; sold by B., J., and R. at 7¼_d._
Eight stack of China and pearl silk hose,--usual price,
3_s._; sold by B., J., and R. for 1_s._ 9¾_d._
Fifteen hundred dozen of Balbriggan,--usual price, 1_s._
6_d._; sold by B., J., and R. for 10½_d._
It may not, perhaps, be necessary to continue the whole list
here; but as it was read aloud to Mr. Brown, he sat aghast with
astonishment. "George!" said he, at last, "I don't like it. It makes
me quite afeard. It does indeed."
"And why do you not like it?" said Robinson, quietly laying down the
manuscript, and putting his hand upon it. "Does it want vigour?"
"No; it does not want vigour."
"Does it fail to be attractive? Is it commonplace?"
"It is not that I mean," said Mr. Brown. "But--"
"Is it not simple? The articles are merely named, with their prices."
"But, George, we haven't got 'em. We couldn't hold such a quantity.
And if we had them, we should be ruined to sell them at such prices
as that. I did want to do a genuine trade in stockings."
"And so you shall, sir. But how will you begin unless you attract
your customers?"
"You have put your prices altogether too low," said Jones. "It stands
to reason you can't sell them for the money. You shouldn't have put
the prices at all;--it hampers one dreadful. You don't know what it
is to stand down there among 'em all, and tell 'em that the cheap
things haven't come."
"Say that they've all been sold," said Robinson.
"It's just the same," argued Jones. "I declare last Saturday night I
didn't think my life was safe in the crowd."
"And who brought that crowd to the house?" demanded Robinson. "Who
has filled the shop below with such a throng of anxious purchasers?"
"But, George," said Mr. Brown, "I should like to have one of these
bills true, if only that one might show it as a sample when the
people talk to one."
"True!" said Robinson, again. "You wish that it should be true! In
the first place, did you ever see an advertisement that contained the
truth? If it were as true as heaven, would any one believe it? Was it
ever supposed that any man believed an advertisement? Sit down and
write the truth, and see what it will be! The statement will show
itself of such a nature that you will not dare to publish it. There
is the paper, and there the pen. Take them, and see what you can make
of it."
"I do think that somebody should be made to believe it," said Jones.
"You do!" and Robinson, as he spoke, turned angrily at the other.
"Did you ever believe an advertisement?" Jones, in self-defence,
protested that he never had. "And why should others be more simple
than you? No man,--no woman believes them. They are not lies; for it
is not intended that they should obtain credit. I should despise the
man who attempted to base his advertisements on a system of facts,
as I would the builder who lays his foundation upon the sand. The
groundwork of advertising is romance. It is poetry in its very
essence. Is Hamlet true?"
"I really do not know," said Mr. Brown.
"There is no man, to my thinking, so false," continued Robinson, "as
he who in trade professes to be true. He deceives, or endeavours to
do so. I do not. No one will believe that we have fifteen hundred
dozen of Balbriggan."
"Nobody will," said Mr. Brown.
"But yet that statement will have its effect. It will produce custom,
and bring grist to our mill without any dishonesty on our part.
Advertisements are profitable, not because they are believed, but
because they are attractive. Once understand that, and you will cease
to ask for truth." Then he turned himself again to his work and
finished his task without further interruption.
"You shall sell your stockings, Mr. Brown," he said to the senior
member of the firm, about three days after that.
"Indeed, I hope so."
"Look here, sir!" and then he took Mr. Brown to the window. There
stood eight stalwart porters, divided into two parties of four each,
and on their shoulders they bore erect, supported on painted frames,
an enormous pair of gilded, embroidered, brocaded, begartered wooden
stockings. On the massive calves of these was set forth a statement
of the usual kind, declaring that "Brown, Jones, and Robinson, of 81,
Bishopsgate Street, had just received 40,000 pairs of best French
silk ladies' hose direct from Lyons."
"And now look at the men's legs," said Robinson. Mr. Brown did
look, and perceived that they were dressed in magenta-coloured
knee-breeches, with magenta-coloured stockings. They were gorgeous
in their attire, and at this moment they were starting from the door
in different directions. "Perhaps you will tell me that that is not
true?"
"I will say nothing about it for the future," said Mr. Brown.
"It is not true," continued Robinson; "but it is a work of fiction,
in which I take leave to think that elegance and originality are
combined."
"We ought to do something special in shirts," said Jones, a few days
after this. "We could get a few dozen from Hodges, in King Street,
and call them Eureka."
"Couldn't we have a shirt of our own?" said Mr. Robinson. "Couldn't
you invent a shirt, Mr. Jones?" Jones, as Robinson looked him full
in the face, ran his fingers through his scented hair, and said that
he would consult his wife. Before the day was over, however, the
following notice was already in type:--
MANKIND IN A STATE OF BLISS!
BROWN, JONES, AND ROBINSON have sincere pleasure in
presenting to the Fashionable World their new KATAKAIRION
SHIRT, in which they have thoroughly overcome the
difficulties, hitherto found to be insurmountable, of
adjusting the bodies of the Nobility and Gentry to
an article which shall be at the same time elegant,
comfortable, lasting, and cheap.
B., J., and R.'s KATAKAIRION SHIRT, and their Katakairion
Shirt alone, is acknowledged to unite these qualities.
Six Shirts for 39_s._ 9_d._
The Katakairion Shirt is specially recommended to Officers
going to India and elsewhere, while it is at the same time
eminently adapted for the Home Consumption.
"I think I would have considered it a little more, before I committed
myself," said Jones.
"Ah, yes; you would have consulted your wife; as I have not got one,
I must depend on my own wits."
"And are not likely to have one either," said Jones.
"Young men, young men," said Mr. Brown, raising his hands
impressively, "if as Christians you cannot agree, at any rate you are
bound to do so as partners. What is it that the Psalmist says, 'Let
dogs delight, to bark and bite--.'"
The notice as to the Katakairion shirt was printed on that day, as
originally drawn out by Robinson, and very widely circulated on the
two or three following mornings. A brisk demand ensued, and it was
found that Hodges, the wholesale manufacturer, of King Street, was
able to supply the firm with an article which, when sold at 39_s._
6_d._, left a comfortable profit.
"I told you that we ought to do something special in shirts," said
Jones, as though the whole merit of the transaction were his own.
Gloves was another article to which considerable attention was
given;--
BROWN, JONES, AND ROBINSON have made special arrangements
with the glove manufacturers of Worcestershire, and are
now enabled to offer to the public English-sewn Worcester
gloves, made of French kid, at a price altogether out of
the reach of any other house in the trade.
B., J., and R. boldly defy competition.
When that notice was put up in front of the house, none of the firm
expected that any one would believe in their arrangement with the
Worcestershire glove-makers. They had no such hope, and no such wish.
What gloves they sold, they got from the wholesale houses in St.
Paul's Churchyard, quite indifferent as to the county in which they
were sewn, or the kingdom from which they came. Nevertheless, the
plan answered, and a trade in gloves was created.
But perhaps the pretty little dialogues which were circulated about
the town, did more than anything else to make the house generally
known to mothers and their families.
"Mamma, mamma, I have seen such a beautiful sight!"
one of them began.
"My dearest daughter, what was it?"
"I was walking home through the City, with my kind cousin
Augustus, and he took me to that wonderfully handsome and
extraordinarily large new shop, just opened by those
enterprising men, Brown, Jones, and Robinson, at No. 81,
Bishopsgate Street. They call it 'Nine Times Nine, or
Magenta House.'"
"My dearest daughter, you may well call it wonderful. It
is the wonder of the age. Brown, Jones, and Robinson sell
everything; but not only that,--they sell everything good;
and not only that--they sell everything cheap. Whenever
your wants induce you to make purchases, you may always be
sure of receiving full value for your money at the house of
Brown, Jones, and Robinson."
In this way, by efforts such as these, which were never allowed
to flag for a single hour,--by a continued series of original
composition which, as regards variety and striking incidents, was,
perhaps, never surpassed,--a great and stirring trade was established
within six months of the opening day. By this time Mr. Brown had
learned to be silent on the subject of advertising, and had been
brought to confess, more than once, that the subject was beyond his
comprehension.
"I am an old man, George," he said once, "and all this seems to be
new."
"If it be not new, it is nothing," answered Robinson.
"I don't understand it," continued the old man; "I don't pretend to
understand it; I only hope that it's right."
The conduct which Jones was disposed to pursue gave much more
trouble. He was willing enough to allow Robinson to have his own
way, and to advertise in any shape or manner, but he was desirous of
himself doing the same thing. It need hardly be pointed out here that
this was a branch of trade for which he was peculiarly unsuited, and
that his productions would be stale, inadequate, and unattractive.
Nevertheless, he persevered, and it was only by direct interference
at the printer's, that the publication of documents was prevented
which would have been fatal to the interests of the firm.
"Do I meddle with you in the shop?" Robinson would say to him.
"You haven't the personal advantages which are required for meeting
the public," Jones would answer.
"Nor have you the mental advantages without which original
composition is impossible."
In spite of all these difficulties a considerable trade was
established within six months, and the shop was usually crowded. As a
drawback to this, the bills at the printer's and at the stationer's
had become very heavy, and Robinson was afraid to disclose their
amount to his senior partner. But nevertheless he persevered. "Faint
heart never won fair lady," he repeated to himself, over and over
again,--the fair lady for whom his heart sighed being at this time
Commercial Success.
_Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum._ That should be the motto of the house. He
failed, however, altogether in making it intelligible to Mr. Brown.
CHAPTER XI.
JOHNSON OF MANCHESTER.
It was about eight months after the business had been opened that a
circumstance took place which gave to the firm a reputation which
for some few days was absolutely metropolitan. The affair was at
first fortuitous, but advantage was very promptly taken of all that
occurred; no chance was allowed to pass by unimproved; and there was,
perhaps, as much genuine talent displayed in the matter as though the
whole had been designed from the beginning. The transaction was the
more important as it once more brought Mr. Robinson and Maryanne
Brown together, and very nearly effected a union between them. It was
not, however, written in the book that such a marriage should ever
be celebrated, and the renewal of love which for a time gave such
pleasure to the young lady's father, had no other effect than that
of making them in their subsequent quarrels more bitter than ever to
each other.
It was about midwinter when the circumstances now about to be
narrated took place. Mr. Brown had gone down to the neighbourhood of
Manchester for the purpose of making certain bonâ fide purchases of
coloured prints, and had there come to terms with a dealer. At this
time there was a strike among the factories, and the goods became
somewhat more scarce in the market, and, therefore, a trifle dearer
than was ordinarily the case. From this arose the fact that the
agreement made with Mr. Brown was not kept by the Lancashire house,
and that the firm in Bishopsgate was really subjected to a certain
amount of commercial ill-treatment.
"It is a cruel shame," said Mr. Brown--"a very cruel shame; when a
party in trade has undertaken a transaction with another party, no
consideration should hinder that party from being as good as his
word. A tradesman's word should be his bond." This purchase down
among the factories had been his own special work, and he had been
proud of it. He was, moreover, a man who could ill tolerate any
ill-usage from others. "Can't we do anything to 'em, George? Can't we
make 'em bankrupts?"
"If we could, what good would that do us?" said Robinson. "We must
put up with it."
"I'd bring an action against them," said Jones.
"And spend thirty or forty pounds with the lawyers," said Robinson.
"No; we will not be such fools as that. But we might advertise the
injury."
"Advertise the injury," said Mr. Brown, with his eyes wide open. By
this time he had begun to understand that the depth of his partner's
finesse was not to be fathomed by his own unaided intelligence.
"And spend as much money in that as with the lawyers," said Jones.
"Probably more," said Robinson, very calmly. "We promised the public
in our last week's circular that we should have these goods."
"Of course we did," said Mr. Brown; "and now the public will be
deceived!" And he lifted up his hands in horror at the thought.
"We'll advertise it," said Robinson again; and then for some short
space he sat with his head resting on his hands. "Yes, we'll
advertise it. Leave me for awhile, that I may compose the notices."
Mr. Brown, after gazing at him for a moment with a countenance on
which wonder and admiration were strongly written, touched his other
partner on the arm, and led him from the room.
The following day was Saturday, which at Magenta House was always the
busiest day of the week. At about four o'clock in the afternoon the
shop would become thronged, and from that hour up to ten at night
nearly as much money was taken as during all the week besides. On
that Saturday at about noon the following words were to be read at
each of the large sheets of glass in the front of the house. They
were printed, of course, on magenta paper, and the corners and
margins were tastefully decorated:--
Brown, Jones, and Robinson, having been greatly deceived by
Johnson of Manchester, are not able to submit to the public
the 40,000 new specimens of English prints, as they had
engaged to do, on this day. But they beg to assure their
customers and the public in general that they will shortly
do so, however tremendous may be the sacrifice.
"But it was Staleybridge," said Mr. Brown, "and the man's name was
Pawkins."
"And you would have me put up 'Pawkins of Staleybridge,' and thus
render the firm liable to an indictment for libel? Are not Pawkins
and Johnson all the same to the public?"
"But there is sure to be some Johnson at Manchester."
"There are probably ten, and therefore no man can say that he is
meant. I ascertained that there were three before I ventured on the
name."
On that afternoon some trifling sensation was created in Bishopsgate
Street, and a few loungers were always on the pavement reading the
notice. Robinson went out from time to time, and heard men as they
passed talking of Johnson of Manchester. "It will do," said he. "You
will see that it will do. By seven o'clock on next Saturday evening I
will have the shop so crowded that women who are in shall be unable
to get out again."
That notice remained up on Saturday evening, and till twelve on
Monday, at which hour it was replaced by the following:--
Johnson of Manchester has proved himself utterly unable to
meet his engagement. The public of the metropolis, however,
may feel quite confident that Brown, Jones, and Robinson
will not allow any provincial manufacturer to practise such
dishonesty on the City with impunity.
The concourse of persons outside then became much greater, and an
audible hum of voices not unfrequently reached the ears of those
within. During this trying week Mr. Jones, it must be acknowledged,
did not play his part badly. It had come home to him in some manner
that this peculiar period was of vital importance to the house, and
on each day he came down to business dressed in his very best. It
was pleasant to see him as he stood at the door, shining with bear's
grease, loaded with gilt chains, glittering with rings, with the
lappets of his coat thrown back so as to show his frilled shirt and
satin waistcoat. There he stood, rubbing his hands and looking out
upon the people as though he scorned to notice them. As regards
intellect, mind, apprehension, there was nothing to be found in the
personal appearance of Jones, but he certainly possessed an amount of
animal good looks which had its weight with weak-minded females.
The second notice was considered sufficient to attract notice on
Monday and Tuesday. On the latter day it became manifest that the
conduct of Johnson of Manchester had grown to be matter of public
interest, and the firm was aware that persons from a distance were
congregating in Bishopsgate Street, in order that they might see with
their own eyes the notices at Magenta House.
Early on the Wednesday, the third of the series appeared. It was very
short, and ran as follows:--
Johnson of Manchester is off!
The police are on his track!
This exciting piece of news was greedily welcomed by the walking
public, and a real crowd had congregated on the pavement by noon. A
little after that time, while Mr. Brown was still at dinner with his
daughter upstairs, a policeman called and begged to see some member
of the firm. Jones, whose timidity was overwhelming, immediately sent
for Mr. Brown; and he, also embarrassed, knocked at the door of Mr.
Robinson's little room, and asked for counsel.
"The Peelers are here, George," he said. "I knew there'd be a row."
"I hope so," said Robinson; "I most sincerely hope so."
As he stood up to answer his senior partner he saw that Miss Brown
was standing behind her father, and he resolved that, as regarded
this occasion, he would not be taunted with want of spirit.
"But what shall I say to the man?" asked Mr. Brown.
"Give him a shilling and a glass of spirits; beg him to keep the
people quiet outside, and promise him cold beef and beer at three
o'clock. If he runs rusty, send for me." And then, having thus
instructed the head of the house, he again seated himself before his
writing materials at the table.
"Mr. Robinson," said a soft voice, speaking to him through the
doorway, as soon as the ponderous step of the old man was heard
descending the stairs.
"Yes; I am here," said he.
"I don't know whether I may open the door," said she; "for I would
not for worlds intrude upon your studies."
He knew that she was a Harpy. He knew that her soft words would only
bring him to new grief. But yet he could not help himself. Strong, in
so much else, he was utterly weak in her hands. She was a Harpy who
would claw out his heart and feed upon it, without one tender feeling
of her own. He had learned to read her character, and to know her for
what she was. But yet he could not help himself.
"There will be no intrusion," he said. "In half an hour from this
time, I go with this copy to the printer's. Till then I am at rest."
"At rest!" said she. "How sweet it must be to rest after labours such
as yours! Though you and I are two, Mr. Robinson, who was once one,
still I hear of you, and--sometimes think of you."
"I am surprised that you should turn your thoughts to anything so
insignificant," he replied.
"Ah! that is so like you. You are so scornful, and so proud,--and
never so proud as when pretending to be humble. I sometimes think
that it is better that you and I are two, because you are so proud.
What could a poor girl like me have done to satisfy you?"
False and cruel that she was! 'Tis thus that the basilisk charms the
poor bird that falls a victim into its jaws.
"It is better that we should have parted," said he. "Though I still
love you with my whole heart, I know that it is better."
"Oh, Mr. Robinson!"
"And I would that your nuptials with that man in Aldersgate Street
were already celebrated."
"Oh, you cruel, heartless man!"
"For then I should be able to rest. If you were once another's, I
should then know--"
"You would know what, Mr. Robinson?"
"That you could never be mine. Maryanne!"
"Sir!"
"If you would not have me disgrace myself for ever by my folly, leave
me now."
"Disgrace yourself! I'm sure you'll never do that. 'Whatever happens
George Robinson will always act the gentleman,' I have said of you,
times after times, both to father and to William Brisket. 'So he
will!' father has answered. And then William Brisket has said--; I
don't know whether I ought to tell you what he said. But what he said
was this--'If you're so fond of the fellow, why don't you have him?'"
All this was false, and Robinson knew that it was false. No such
conversation had ever passed. Nevertheless, the pulses of his heart
were stirred.
"Tell me this," said he. "Are you his promised wife?"
"Laws, Mr. Robinson!"
"Answer me honestly, if you can. Is that man to be your husband? If
it be so it will be well for him, and well for you, but, above all,
it will be well for me, that we should part. And if it be so, why
have you come hither to torment me?"
"To torment you, George!"
"Yes; to torment me!" And then he rose suddenly from his feet, and
advanced with rapid step and fierce gesture towards the astonished
girl. "Think you that love such as mine is no torment? Think you that
I have no heart, no feeling; that this passion which tears me in
pieces can exist without throwing a cloud upon my life? With you, as
I know too well, all is calm and tranquil. Your bosom boils with no
ferment. It has never boiled. It will never boil. It can never boil.
It is better for you so. You will marry that man, whose house is
good, and whose furniture has been paid for. From his shop will come
to you your daily meals,--and you will be happy. Man wants but little
here below, nor wants that little long. Adieu."
"Oh, George, are you going so?"
"Yes; I am going. Why should I stay? Did I not with my own hand in
this room renounce you?"
"Yes; you did, George. You did renounce me, and that's what's killing
me. So it is,--killing me." Then she threw herself into a chair and
buried her face in her handkerchief.
"Would that we could all die," he said, "and that everything should
end. But now I go to the printer's. Adieu, Maryanne."
"But we shall see each other occasionally,--as friends?"
"To what purpose? No; certainly not as friends. To me such a trial
would be beyond my strength." And then he seized the copy from the
table, and taking his hat from the peg, he hurried out of the room.
"As William is so stiff about the money, I don't know whether it
wouldn't be best after all," said she, as she took herself back to
her father's apartments.
Mr. Brown, when he met the policeman, found that that excellent
officer was open to reason, and that when properly addressed he did
not actually insist on the withdrawal of the notice from the window.
"Every man's house is his castle, you know," said Mr. Brown. To this
the policeman demurred, suggesting that the law quoted did not refer
to crowded thoroughfares. But when invited to a collation at three
o'clock, he remarked that he might as well abstain from action till
that hour, and that he would in the meantime confine his beat to the
close vicinity of Magenta House. A friendly arrangement grew out
of this, which for awhile was convenient to both parties, and two
policemen remained in the front of the house, and occasionally
entered the premises in search of refreshment.
After breakfast on the Thursday the fourth notice was put up:--
The public of London will be glad to learn that Brown,
Jones, and Robinson have recovered the greatest part
of their paper which was in the hands of Johnson of
Manchester. Bills to the amount of fifteen thousand
pounds are, however, still missing.
It was immediately after this that the second policeman was
considered to be essentially necessary. The whole house, including
the young men and women of the shop, were animated with an enthusiasm
which spread itself even to the light porter of the establishment.
The conduct of Johnson, and his probable fate, were discussed aloud
among those who believed in him, while they who were incredulous
communicated their want of faith to each other in whispers. Mr. Brown
was smiling, affable, and happy; and Jones arrived on the Friday
morning with a new set of torquoise studs in his shirt. Why men
and women should have come to the house for gloves, stockings, and
ribbons, because Johnson of Manchester was said to have run away, it
may be difficult to explain. But such undoubtedly was the fact, and
the sales during that week were so great, as to make it seem that
actual commercial prosperity was at hand.
"If we could only keep up the ball!" said Robinson.
"Couldn't we change it to Tomkins of Leeds next week?" suggested
Jones.
"I rather fear that the joke might be thought stale," replied
Robinson, with a good-natured smile. "There is nothing so fickle as
the taste of the public. The most popular author of the day can never
count on favour for the next six months." And he bethought himself
that, great as he was at the present moment, he also might be
eclipsed, and perhaps forgotten, before the posters which he was then
preparing had been torn down or become soiled.
On the Friday no less than four letters appeared in the daily
Jupiter, all dated from Manchester, all signed by men of the name
of Johnson, and all denying that the writer of that special letter
had had any dealings whatever with Brown, Jones, and Robinson, of
Bishopsgate Street, London. There was "Johnson Brothers," "Johnson
and Co.," "Alfred Johnson and Son," and "Johnson and Johnson;" and in
one of those letters a suggestion was made that B., J., and R., of
London, should state plainly who was the special Johnson that had
gone off with the paper belonging to their house.
"I know we shall be detected," said Mr. Brown, upon whose feelings
these letters did not act favourably.
"There is nothing to detect," said Robinson; "but I will write a
letter to the editor."
This he did, stating that for reasons which must be quite obvious to
the commercial reading public, it would be very unwise in the present
state of affairs to give any detailed description of that Mr. Johnson
who had been named; but that B., J., and R. were very happy to
be able to certify that that Mr. Johnson who had failed in his
engagements to them was connected neither with Johnson Brothers, or
Johnson and Co.; nor with Alfred Johnson and Son, or Johnson and
Johnson. This also acted as an advertisement, and no doubt brought
grist to the mill.
On the evening of that same Friday a small note in a scented envelope
was found by Robinson on his table when he returned upstairs from the
shop. Well did he know the handwriting, and often in earlier days
had he opened such notes with mixed feelings of joy and triumph. All
those past letters had been kept by him, and were now lying under
lock and key in his desk, tied together with green silk, ready to be
returned when the absolute fact of that other marriage should have
become a certainty. He half made up his mind to return the present
missive unopened. He knew that good could not arise from a renewed
correspondence. Nevertheless, he tore asunder the envelope, and the
words which met his eye were as follows:--
Miss Brown's compliments to Mr. Robinson, and will Mr.
Robinson tea with us in papa's room on Saturday, at six
o'clock? There will be nobody else but Mr. and Mrs.
Poppins, that used to be Miss Twizzle. Papa, perhaps, will
have to go back to the shop when he's done tea. Miss Brown
hopes Mr. Robinson will remember old days, and not make
himself scornful.
"Scornful!" said he. "Ha! ha! Yes; I scorn her;--I do scorn her. But
still I love her." Then he sat down and accepted the invitation.
Mr. Robinson presents his compliments to Miss Brown, and
will do himself the honour of accepting her kind invitation
for to-morrow evening. Mr. Robinson begs to assure Miss
Brown that he would have great pleasure in meeting any of
Miss Brown's friends whom she might choose to ask.
"Psha!" said Maryanne, when she read it. "It would serve him right
to ask Bill. And I would, too, only--." Only it would hardly have
answered her purpose, she might have said, had she spoken out her
mind freely.
In the meantime the interest as to Johnson of Manchester was reaching
its climax. At ten o'clock on Saturday morning each division of the
window was nearly covered by an enormous bill, on which in very large
letters it was stated that--
Johnson of Manchester has been taken.
From that till twelve the shop was inundated by persons who were
bent on learning what was the appearance and likeness of Johnson.
Photographers came to inquire in what gaol he was at present held,
and a man who casts heads in plaster of Paris was very intent upon
seeing him. No information could, of course, be given by the men and
women behind the counters. Among them there was at present raging a
violent discussion as to the existence or non-existence of Johnson.
It was pleasant to hear Jones repeating the circumstances to the
senior partner. "Mr. Brown, there's Miss Glassbrook gone over to the
anti-Johnsonites. I think we ought to give her a month's notice."
To those who inquired of Mr. Brown himself, he merely lifted up his
hands and shook his head. Jones professed that he believed the man to
be in the underground cells of Newgate.
The bill respecting Johnson's capture remained up for two hours, and
then it was exchanged for another;--
Johnson has escaped, but no expense
shall be spared in his recapture.
At four in the afternoon the public was informed as follows;--
Johnson has got off, and sailed for America.
And then there was one other, which closed the play late on Saturday
evening;--
Brown, Jones, and Robinson beg to assure the public that
they shall be put out of all suspense early on Monday
morning.
"And what shall we really say to them on Monday?" asked Mr. Jones.
"Nothing at all," replied Mr. Robinson. "The thing will be dead by
that time. If they call, say that he's in Canada."
"And won't there be any more about it?"
"Nothing, I should think. We, however, have gained our object. The
house will be remembered, and so will the name of Brown, Jones, and
Robinson."
And it was so. When the Monday morning came the windows were without
special notices, and the world walked by in silence, as though
Johnson of Manchester had never existed. Some few eager inquirers
called at the shop, but they were answered easily; and before the
afternoon the name had almost died away behind the counters. "I knew
I was right," said Miss Glassbrook, and Mr. Jones heard her say so.
In and about the shop Johnson of Manchester was heard of no more, but
in Mr. Brown's own family there was still a certain interest attached
to the name. How it came about that this was so, shall be told in the
next chapter.
CHAPTER XII.
SAMSON AND DELILAH.
In the commercial world of London there was one man who was really
anxious to know what were the actual facts of the case with reference
to Johnson of Manchester. This was Mr. William Brisket, whose mind at
this time was perplexed by grievous doubts. He was called upon to act
in a case of great emergency, and was by no means sure that he saw
his way. It had been hinted to him by Miss Brown, on the one side,
that it behoved her to look to herself, and take her pigs to market
without any more shilly-shallying,--by which expression the fair
girl had intended to signify that it would suit her now to name
her wedding-day. And he had been informed by Mr. Brown, on the
other side, that that sum of five hundred pounds should be now
forthcoming;--or, if not actually the money, Mr. Brown's promissory
note at six months should be handed to him, dated from the day of his
marriage with Maryanne.
Under these circumstances, he did not see his way. That the house in
Bishopsgate Street was doing a large business he did not doubt. He
visited the place often, and usually found the shop crowded. But he
did doubt whether that business was very lucrative. It might be that
the whole thing was a bubble, and that it would be burst before that
bill should have been honoured. In such case, he would have saddled
himself with an empty-handed wife, and would decidedly not have seen
his way. In this emergency he went to Jones and asked his advice.
Jones told him confidentially that, though the bill of the firm for
five thousand pounds would be as good as paper from the Bank of
England, the bill of Mr. Brown himself as an individual would be
worth nothing.
Although Mr. Brisket had gone to Jones as a friend, there had been
some very sharp words between them before they separated. Brisket
knew well enough that all the ready money at the command of the firm
had belonged to Mr. Brown, and he now took upon himself to say that
Maryanne had a right to her share. Jones replied that there was no
longer anything to share, and that Maryanne's future husband must
wait for her fortune till her father could pay it out of his income.
"I couldn't see my way like that; not at all," said Brisket. And then
there had been high words between them.
It was at this time that the first act of Johnson of Manchester's
little comedy was being played, and people in Mr. Brisket's world
were beginning to talk about the matter. "They must be doing a deal
of trade," said one. "Believe me, it is all flash and sham," said
another. "I happen to know that old Brown did go down to Manchester
and see Johnson there," said the first. "There is no such person at
all," said the second. So this went on till Mr. Brisket resolved that
his immediate matrimony should depend on the reality of Johnson's
existence. If it should appear that Johnson, with all his paper, was
a false meteor; that no one had deceived the metropolitan public;
that no one had been taken and had then escaped, he would tell Miss
Brown that he did not see his way. The light of his intelligence told
him that promissory notes from such a source, even though signed by
all the firm, would be illusory. If, on the other hand, Johnson of
Manchester had been taken, then, he thought, he might accept the
bill--and wife.
"Maryanne," he said to the young lady early on that day on which she
had afterwards had her interview with Robinson, "what's all this
about Johnson of Manchester?"
"I know nothing about your Johnsons, nor yet about your Manchester,"
said Miss Brown, standing with her back to her lover. At this time
she was waxing wroth with him, and had learned to hate his voice,
when he would tell her that he had not yet seen his way.
"That's all very well, Maryanne; but I must know something before I
go on."
"Who wants you to go on? Not I, I'm sure; nor anybody belonging to
me. If I do hate anything, it's them mercenary ways. There's one who
really loves me, who'd be above asking for a shilling, if I'd only
put out my hand to him."
"If you say that again, Maryanne, I'll punch his head."
"You're always talking of punching people's heads; but I don't see
you do so much. I shouldn't wonder if you don't want to punch my head
some of these days."
"Maryanne, I never riz a hand to a woman yet."
"And you'd better not, as far as I'm concerned,--not as long as the
pokers and tongs are about." And then there was silence between them
for awhile.
"Maryanne," he began again, "can't you find out about this Johnson?"
"No; I can't," said she.
"You'd better."
"Then I won't," said she.
"I'll tell you what it is, then, Maryanne. I don't see my way the
least in life about this money."
"Drat your way! Who cares about your way?"
"That's all very fine, Maryanne; but I care. I'm a man as is as good
as my word, and always was. I defy Brown, Jones, and Robinson to say
that I'm off, carrying anybody's paper. And as for paper, it's a
thing as I knows nothing about, and never wish. When a man comes to
paper, it seems to me there's a very thin wall betwixt him and the
gutter. When I buys a score of sheep or so, I pays for them down; and
when I sells a leg of mutton, I expects no less myself. I don't owe
a shilling to no one, and don't mean; and the less that any one owes
me, the better I like it. But Maryanne, when a man trades in that
way, a man must see his way. If he goes about in the dark, or with
his eyes shut, he's safe to get a fall. Now about this five hundred
pound; if I could only see my way--."
As to the good sense of Mr. Brisket's remarks, there was no
difference of opinion between him and his intended wife. Miss
Brown would at that time have been quite contented to enter into
partnership for life on those terms. And though these memoirs are
written with the express view of advocating a theory of trade founded
on quite a different basis, nevertheless, it may be admitted that Mr.
Brisket's view of commerce has its charms, presuming that a man has
the wherewithal. But such a view is apt to lose its charms in female
eyes if it be insisted on too often, or too violently. Maryanne had
long since given in her adhesion to Mr. Brisket's theory; but now,
weary with repetition of the lesson, she was disposed to rebel.
"Now, William Brisket," she said, "just listen to me. If you talk to
me again about seeing your way, you may go and see it by yourself.
I'm not so badly off that I'm going to have myself twitted at in that
way. If you don't like me, you can do the other thing. And this I
will say, when a gentleman has spoken his mind free to a lady, and a
lady has given her answer free back to him, it's a very mean thing
for a gentleman to be saying so much about money after that. Of
course, a girl has got herself to look to; and if I take up with you,
why, of course, I have to say, 'Stand off,' to any other young man as
may wish to keep me company. Now, there's one as shall be nameless
that wouldn't demean himself to say a word about money."
"Because he ain't got none himself, as I take it."
"He's a partner in a first-rate commercial firm. And I'll tell you
what, William Brisket, I'll not hear a word said against him, and
I'll not be put upon myself. So now I wishes you good morning." And
so she left him.
Brisket, when he was alone, scratched his head, and thought wistfully
of his love. "I should like to see my way," said he. "I always did
like to see my way. And as for that old man's bit of paper--" Then he
relapsed once again into silence.
It was within an hour of all this that Maryanne had followed her
father to George Robinson's room. She had declared her utter
indifference as to Johnson of Manchester; but yet it might, perhaps,
be as well that she should learn the truth. From her father she had
tried to get it, but he had succeeded in keeping her in the dark. To
Jones it would be impossible that she should apply; but from Robinson
she might succeed in obtaining his secret. She had heard, no doubt,
of Samson and Delilah, and thought she knew the way to the strong
man's locks. And might it not be well for her to forget that other
Samson, and once more to trust herself to her father's partners? When
she weighed the two young tradesmen one against the other, balancing
their claims with such judgment as she possessed, she doubted much as
to her choice. She thought that she might be happy with either;--but
then it was necessary that the other dear charmer should be away.
As to Robinson, he would marry her, she knew, at once, without any
stipulations. As to Brisket,--if Brisket should be her ultimate
choice,--it would be necessary that she should either worry her
father out of the money, or else cheat her lover into the belief that
the money would be forthcoming. Having taken all these circumstances
into consideration, she invited Mr. Robinson to tea.
Mr. Brown was there, of course, and so also were Mr. and Mrs.
Poppins. When Robinson entered, they were already at the tea-table,
and the great demerits of Johnson of Manchester were under
discussion.
"Now Mr. Robinson will tell us everything," said Mrs. Poppins. "It's
about Johnson, you know. Where has he gone to, Mr. Robinson?" But
Robinson professed that he did not know.
"He knows well enough," said Maryanne, "only he's so close. Now do
tell us."
"He'll tell _you_ anything _you_ choose to ask him," said Mrs.
Poppins.
"Tell me anything! Not him, indeed. What does he care for me?"
"I'm sure he would if he only knew what you were saying before he
came into the room."
"Now don't, Polly!"
"Oh, but I shall! because it's better he should know."
"Now, Polly, if you don't hold your tongue, I'll be angry! Mr.
Robinson is nothing to me, and never will be, I'm sure. Only if he'd
do me the favour, as a friend, to tell us about Mr. Johnson, I'd take
it kind of him."
In the meantime Mr. Brown and his young married guest were discussing
things commercial on their own side of the room, and Poppins, also,
was not without a hope that he might learn the secret. Poppins had
rather despised the firm at first, as not a few others had done,
distrusting all their earlier assurances as to trade bargains, and
having been even unmoved by the men in armour. But the great affair
of Johnson of Manchester had overcome even his doubts, and he began
to feel that it was a privilege to be noticed by the senior partner
in a house which could play such a game as that. It was not that
Poppins believed in Johnson, or that he thought that 15,000_l._ of
paper had at any time been missing. But, nevertheless, the proceeding
had affected his mind favourably with reference to Brown, Jones,
and Robinson, and brought it about that he now respected them,--and,
perhaps, feared them a little, though he had not respected or feared
them heretofore. Had he been the possessor of a wholesale house of
business, he would not now have dared to refuse them goods on credit,
though he would have done so before Johnson of Manchester had become
known to the world. It may therefore be surmised that George Robinson
had been right, and that he had understood the ways of British trade
when he composed the Johnsonian drama.
"Indeed, I'd rather not, Mr. Poppins," said Mr. Brown. "Secrets in
trade should be secrets. And though Mr. Johnson has done us a deal of
mischief, we don't want to expose him."
"But you've been exposing him ever so long," pleaded Poppins.
"Now Poppins," said that gentleman's wife, "don't you be troubling
Mr. Brown. He's got other things to think of than answering your
questions. I should like to know myself, I own, because all the
town's talking about it. And it does seem odd to me that Maryanne
shouldn't know."
"I don't, then," said Maryanne. "And I do think when a lady asks
a gentleman, the least thing a gentleman can do is to tell. But I
shan't ask no more,--not of Mr. Robinson. I was thinking--. But never
mind, Polly. Perhaps it's best as it is."
"Would you have me betray my trust?" said Robinson. "Would you esteem
me the more because I had deceived my partners? If you think that
I am to earn your love in that way, you know but little of George
Robinson." Then he got up, preparing to leave the room, for his
feelings were too many for him.
"Stop, George, stop," said Mr. Brown.
"Let him go," said Maryanne.
"If he goes away now I shall think him as hard as Adam," said Mrs.
Poppins.
"There's three to one again him," said Mr. Poppins to himself. "What
chance can he have?" Mr. Poppins may probably have gone through some
such phase of life himself.
"Let him go," said Maryanne again. "I wish he would. And then let him
never show himself here again."
"George Robinson, my son, my son!" exclaimed the old man.
It must be understood that Robinson had heard all this, though he had
left the room. Indeed, it may be surmised that had he been out of
hearing the words would not have been spoken. He heard them, for he
was still standing immediately beyond the door, and was irresolute
whether he would depart or whether he would return.
"George Robinson, my son, my son!" exclaimed the old man again.
"He shall come back!" said Mrs. Poppins, following him out of the
door. "He shall come back, though I have to carry him myself."
"Polly," said Maryanne, "if you so much as whisper a word to ask him,
I'll never speak to you the longest day you have to live."
But the threat was thrown away upon Mrs. Poppins, and, under her
auspices, Robinson was brought back into the room. "Maryanne," said
he, "will you renounce William Brisket?"
"Laws, George!" said she.
"Of course she will," said Mrs. Poppins, "and all the pomps and
vanities besides."
"My son, my son!" said old Brown, lifting up both his hands. "My
daughter, my daughter! My children, my children!" And then he joined
their hands together and blessed them.
He blessed them, and then went down into the shop. But before the
evening was over, Delilah had shorn Samson of his locks. "And so
there wasn't any Johnson after all," said she.
But Robinson, as he returned home, walked again upon roses.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WISDOM OF POPPINS.
George Robinson again walked upon roses, and for a while felt that
he had accomplished bliss. What has the world to offer equal to the
joy of gratified love? What triumph is there so triumphant as that
achieved by valour over beauty?
Take the goods the gods provide you.
The lovely Thais sits beside you.
Was not that the happiest moment in Alexander's life. Was it not
the climax of all his glories, and the sweetest drop which Fortune
poured into his cup? George Robinson now felt himself to be a second
Alexander. Beside him the lovely Thais was seated evening after
evening; and he, with no measured stint, took the goods the gods
provided. He would think of the night of that supper in Smithfield,
when the big Brisket sat next to his love, half hidden by her
spreading flounces, and would remember how, in his spleen, he had
likened his rival to an ox prepared for the sacrifice with garlands.
"Poor ignorant beast of the field!" he had said, apostrophizing the
unconscious Brisket, "how little knowest thou how ill those flowers
become thee, or for what purpose thou art thus caressed! They will
take from thee thy hide, thy fatness, all that thou hast, and divide
thy carcase among them. And yet thou thinkest thyself happy! Poor
foolish beast of the field!" Now that ox had escaped from the toils,
and a stag of the forest had been caught by his antlers, and was
bound for the altar. He knew all this, and yet he walked upon roses
and was happy. "Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof," he said
to himself. "The lovely Thais sits beside me. Shall I not take the
goods the gods provide me?"
The lovely Thais sat beside him evening after evening for nearly
two months, up in Mr. Brown's parlour, but as yet nothing had
been decided as to the day of their marriage. Sometimes Mr. and
Mrs. Poppins would be there smiling, happy, and confidential; and
sometimes Mr. and Mrs. Jones careworn, greedy, and suspicious. On
those latter evenings the hours would all be spent in discussing the
profits of the shop and the fair division of the spoils. On this
subject Mrs. Jones would be very bitter, and even the lovely Thais
would have an opinion of her own which seemed to be anything but
agreeable to her father.
"Maryanne," her lover said to her one evening, when words had been
rather high among them, "if you want your days to be long in the
land, you must honour your father and mother."
"I don't want my days to be long, if we're never to come to an
understanding," she answered. "And I've got no mother, as you know
well, or you wouldn't treat me so."
"You must understand, father," said Sarah Jane, "that things shan't
go on like this. Jones shall have his rights, though he don't
seem half man enough to stand up for them. What's the meaning of
partnership, if nobody's to know where the money goes to?"
"I've worked like a horse," said Jones. "I'm never out of that place
from morning to night,--not so much as to get a pint of beer. And, as
far as I can see, I was better off when I was at Scrimble and Grutts.
I did get my salary regular."
Mr. Brown was at this time in tears, and as he wept he lifted up
hands. "My children, my children!" said he.
"That's all very well, father," said Maryanne. "But whimpering won't
keep anybody's pot a-boiling. I'm sick of this sort of thing, and,
to tell the truth, I think it quite time to see some sort of a house
over my head."
"Would that I could seat you in marble halls!" said George Robinson.
"Oh, bother!" said Maryanne. "That sort of a thing is very good
in a play, but business should be business." It must always be
acknowledged, in favour of Mr. Brown's youngest daughter, that her
views were practical, and not over-strained by romance.
During these two or three months a considerable intimacy sprang up
between Mr. Poppins and George Robinson. It was not that there was
any similarity in their characters, for in most respects they were
essentially unlike each other. But, perhaps, this very difference led
to their friendship. How often may it be observed in the fields that
a high-bred, quick-paced horse will choose some lowly donkey for his
close companionship, although other horses of equal birth and speed
be in the same pasture! Poppins was a young man of an easy nature and
soft temper, who was content to let things pass by him unquestioned,
so long as they passed quietly. Live and let live, were words that
were often on his lips;--by which he intended to signify that he
would overlook the peccadilloes of other people, as long as other
people overlooked his own. When the lady who became afterwards Mrs.
Poppins had once called him a rascal, he had not with loud voice
asserted the injustice of the appellation, but had satisfied himself
with explaining to her that, even were it so, he was still fit for
her society. He possessed a practical philosophy of his own, by
which he was able to steer his course in life. He was not, perhaps,
prepared to give much to others, but neither did he expect that
much should be given to him. There was no ardent generosity in his
temperament; but then, also, there was no malice or grasping avarice.
If in one respect he differed much from our Mr. Robinson, so also
in another respect did he differ equally from our Mr. Jones. He
was at this time a counting-house clerk in a large wharfinger's
establishment, and had married on a salary of eighty pounds a year.
"I tell you what it is, Robinson," said he, about this time: "I don't
understand this business of yours."
"No," said Robinson; "perhaps not. A business like ours is not easily
understood."
"You don't seem to me to divide any profits."
"In an affair of such magnitude the profits cannot be adjusted every
day, nor yet every month."
"But a man wants his bread and cheese every day. Now, there's old
Brown. He's a deal sharper than I took him for."
"Mr. Brown, for a commercial man of the old school, possesses
considerable intelligence," said Robinson. Throughout all these
memoirs, it may be observed that Mr. Robinson always speaks with
respect of Mr. Brown.
"Very considerable indeed," said Poppins. "He seems to me to nobble
everything. Perhaps that was the old school. The young school ain't
so very different in that respect;--only, perhaps, there isn't so
much for them to nobble."
"A regular division of our profits has been arranged for in our deed
of partnership," said Robinson.
"That's uncommon nice, and very judicious," said Poppins.
"It was thought to be so by our law advisers," said Robinson.
"But yet, you see, old Brown nobbles the money. Now, if ever I goes
into partnership, I shall bargain to have the till for my share. You
never get near the till, do you?"
"I attend to quite another branch of the business," said Robinson.
"Then you're wrong. There's no branch of the business equal to the
ready money branch. Old Brown has lots of ready money always by him
now-a-days."
It certainly was the case that the cash received day by day over the
counter was taken by Mr. Brown from the drawers and deposited by him
in the safe. The payments into the bank were made three times a week,
and the checks were all drawn by Mr. Brown. None of these had ever
been drawn except on behalf of the business; but then the payments
into the bank had by no means tallied with the cash taken; and
latterly,--for the last month or so,--the statements of the daily
cash taken had been very promiscuous. Some payments had, of course,
been made both to Jones and Robinson for their own expenses, but the
payments made by Mr. Brown to himself had probably greatly exceeded
these. He had a vague idea that he was supreme in money matters,
because he had introduced "capital" into the firm. George Robinson
had found it absolutely impossible to join himself in any league with
Jones, so that hitherto Mr. Brown had been able to carry out his own
theory. The motto, _Divide et impera_, was probably unknown to Mr.
Brown in those words, but he had undoubtedly been acting on the
wisdom which is conveyed in that doctrine.
Jones and his wife were preparing themselves for war, and it was
plain to see that a storm of battle would soon be raging. Robinson
also was fully alive to the perils of his position, and anxious as he
was to remain on good terms with Mr. Brown, was aware that it would
be necessary for him to come to some understanding. In his difficulty
he had dropped some hints to his friend Poppins, not exactly
explaining the source of his embarrassment, but saying enough to make
that gentleman understand the way in which the firm was going on.
"I suppose you're in earnest about that girl," said Poppins. Poppins
had an offhand, irreverent way of speaking, especially on subjects
which from their nature demanded delicacy, that was frequently
shocking to Robinson.
"If you mean Miss Brown," said Robinson, in a tone of voice that was
intended to convey a rebuke, "I certainly am in earnest. My intention
is that she shall become Mrs. Robinson."
"But when?"
"As soon as prudence will permit and the lady will consent. Miss
Brown has never been used to hardship. For myself, I should little
care what privations I might be called on to bear, but I could hardly
endure to see her in want."
"My advice to you is this. If you mean to marry her, do it at once.
If you and she together can't manage the old man, you can't be worth
your salt. If you can do that, then you can throw Jones overboard."
"I am not in the least afraid of Jones."
"Perhaps not; but still you'd better mind your P's and Q's. It seems
to me that you and he and the young women are at sixes and sevens,
and that's the reason why old Brown is able to nobble the money."
"I certainly should be happier," said Robinson, "if I were married,
and things were settled."
"As to marriage," said Poppins, "my opinion is this; if a man has to
do it, he might as well do it at once. They're always pecking at you;
and a fellow feels that if he's in for it, what's the good of his
fighting it out?"
"I should never marry except for love," said Robinson.
"Nor I neither," said Poppins. "That is, I couldn't bring myself to
put up with a hideous old hag, because she'd money. I should always
be wanting to throttle her. But as long as they're young, and soft,
and fresh, one can always love 'em;--at least I can."
"I never loved but one," said Robinson.
"There was a good many of them used to be pretty much the same to me.
They was all very well; but as to breaking my heart about them,--why,
it's a thing that I never understood."
"Do you know, Poppins, what I did twice,--ay, thrice,--in those dark
days?"
"What; when Brisket was after her?"
"Yes; when she used to say that she loved another. Thrice did I
go down to the river bank, intending to terminate this wretched
existence."
"Did you now?"
"I swear to you that I did. But Providence, who foresaw the happiness
that is in store for me, withheld me from the leap."
"Polly once took up with a sergeant, and I can't say I liked it."
"And what did you do?"
"I got uncommon drunk, and then I knocked the daylight out of him.
We've been the best of friends ever since. But about marrying;--if
a man is to do it, he'd better do it. It depends a good deal on the
young woman, of course, and whether she's comfortable in her mind.
Some women ain't comfortable, and then there's the devil to pay. You
don't get enough to eat, and nothing to drink; and if ever you leave
your pipe out of your pocket, she smashes it. I've know'd 'em of that
sort, and a man had better have the rheumatism constant."
"I don't think Maryanne is like that."
"Well; I can't say. Polly isn't. She's not over good, by no means,
and would a deal sooner sit in a arm-chair and have her victuals and
beer brought to her, than she'd break her back by working too hard.
She'd like to be always a-junketing, and that's what she's best
for,--as is the case with many of 'em."
"I've seen her as sportive as a young fawn at the Hall of Harmony."
"But she ain't a young fawn any longer; and as for harmony, it's my
idea that the less of harmony a young woman has the better. It makes
'em give themselves airs, and think as how their ten fingers were
made to put into yellow gloves, and that a young man hasn't nothing
to do but to stand treat, and whirl 'em about till he ain't able
to stand. A game's all very well, but bread and cheese is a deal
better."
"I love to see beauty enjoying itself gracefully. My idea of a woman
is incompatible with the hard work of the world. I would fain do that
myself, so that she should ever be lovely."
"But she won't be lovely a bit the more. She'll grow old all the
same, and take to drink very like. When she's got a red nose and a
pimply face, and a sharp tongue, you'd be glad enough to see her at
the wash-tub then. I remember an old song as my father used to sing,
but my mother couldn't endure to hear it.
Woman takes delight in abundance of pleasure,
But a man's life is to labour and toil.
That's about the truth of it, and that's what comes of your Halls of
Harmony."
"You would like woman to be a household drudge."
"So I would,--only drudge don't sound well. Call her a ministering
angel instead, and it comes to the same thing. They both of 'em
means much of a muchness;--getting up your linen decent, and seeing
that you have a bit of something hot when you come home late. Well,
good-night, old fellow. I shall have my hair combed if I stay much
longer. Take my advice, and as you mean to do it, do it at once. And
don't let the old 'un nobble all the money. Live and let live. That's
fair play all over." And so Mr. Poppins took his leave.
Had anybody suggested to George Robinson that he should go to Poppins
for advice as to his course of life, George Robinson would have
scorned the suggestion. He knew very well the great difference
between him and his humble friend, both as regarded worldly position
and intellectual attainments. But, nevertheless, there was a strain
of wisdom in Poppins' remarks which, though it appertained wholly to
matters of low import, he did not disdain to use. It was true that
Maryanne Brown still frequented the Hall of Harmony, and went there
quite as often without her betrothed as with him. It was true that
Mr. Brown had adopted a habit of using the money of the firm, without
rendering a fair account of the purpose to which he applied it.
The Hall of Harmony might not be the best preparation for domestic
duties, nor Mr. Brown's method of applying the funds the best
specific for commercial success. He would look to both these things,
and see that some reform were made. Indeed, he would reform them both
entirely by insisting on a division of the profits, and by taking
Maryanne to his own bosom. Great ideas filled his mind. If any undue
opposition were made to his wishes when expressed, he would leave
the firm, break up the business, and carry his now well-known genius
for commercial enterprise to some other concern in which he might be
treated with a juster appreciation of his merits.
"Not that I will ever leave thee, Maryanne," he said to himself, as
he resolved these things in his mind.
CHAPTER XIV.
MISTRESS MORONY.
It was about ten days after the conversation recorded in the last
chapter between Mr. Robinson and Mr. Poppins that an affair was
brought about through the imprudence and dishonesty of Mr. Jones,
which for some time prevented that settlement of matters on which Mr.
Robinson had resolved. During those ten days he had been occupied in
bringing his resolution to a fixed point; and then, when the day and
hour had come in which he intended to act, that event occurred which,
disgraceful as it is to the annals of the Firm, must now be told.
There are certain small tricks of trade, well known to the lower
class of houses in that business to which Brown, Jones, and Robinson
had devoted themselves, which for a time may no doubt be profitable,
but which are very apt to bring disgrace and ruin upon those who
practise them. To such tricks as these Mr. Jones was wedded, and by
none of the arguments which he used in favour of a high moral tone
of commerce could Robinson prevail upon his partner to abandon them.
Nothing could exceed the obstinacy and blindness of Mr. Jones during
these discussions. When it was explained to him that the conduct he
was pursuing was hardly removed,--nay, it was not removed,--from
common swindling, he would reply that it was quite as honest as
Mr. Robinson's advertisements. He would quote especially those
Katakairion shirts which were obtained from Hodges, and of which the
sale at 39_s._ 6_d._ the half-dozen had by dint of a wide circulation
of notices become considerable. "If that isn't swindling, I don't
know what is," said Jones.
"Do you know what Katakairion means?" said Robinson.
"No; I don't," said Jones. "And I don't want to know."
"Katakairion means 'fitting,'" said Robinson; "and the purchaser has
only to take care that the shirt he buys does fit, and then it is
Katakairion."
"But we didn't invent them."
"We invented the price and the name, and that's as much as anybody
does. But that is not all. It's a well-understood maxim in trade,
that a man may advertise whatever he chooses. We advertise to attract
notice, not to state facts. But it's a mean thing to pass off a false
article over the counter. If you will ticket your goods, you should
sell them according to the ticket."
At first, the other partners had not objected to this ticketing, as
the practice is now common, and there is at first sight an apparent
honesty about it which has its seduction. A lady seeing 21_s._ 7_d._
marked on a mantle in the window, is able to contemplate the desired
piece of goods and to compare it, in silent leisure, with her
finances. She can use all her power of eye, but, as a compensation to
the shopkeeper, is debarred from the power of touch; and then, having
satisfied herself as to the value of the thing inspected, she can go
in and buy without delay or trouble to the vendor. But it has been
found by practice that so true are the eyes of ladies that it is
useless to expose in shop-windows articles which are not good of
their kind, and cheap at the price named. To attract customers in
this way, real bargains must be exhibited; and when this is done,
ladies take advantage of the unwary tradesman, and unintended
sacrifices are made. George Robinson soon perceived this, and
suggested that the ticketing should be abandoned. Jones, however,
persevered, observing that he knew how to remedy the evil inherent
in the system. Hence difficulties arose, and, ultimately, disgrace,
which was very injurious to the Firm, and went near to break the
heart of Mr. Brown.
According to Jones's plan, the articles ticketed in the window were
not, under any circumstances, to be sold. The shopmen, indeed, were
forbidden to remove them from their positions under any entreaties or
threats from the customers. The customer was to be at first informed,
with all the blandishment at the shopman's command, that the goods
furnished within the shop were exact counterparts of those exposed.
Then the shopman was to argue that the arrangements of the window
could not be disturbed. And should a persistent purchaser after that
insist on a supposed legal right, to buy the very thing ticketed,
Mr. Jones was to be called; in which case Mr. Jones would inform the
persistent purchaser that she was regarded as unreasonable, violent,
and disagreeable; and that, under such circumstances, her custom
was not wanted by Brown, Jones, and Robinson. The disappointed
female would generally leave the shop with some loud remarks as to
swindling, dishonesty, and pettifogging, to which Mr. Jones could
turn a deaf ear. But sometimes worse than this would ensue; ladies
would insist on their rights; scrambles would occur in order that
possession of the article might be obtained; the assistants in the
shop would not always take part with Mr. Jones; and, as has been
before said, serious difficulties would arise.
There can be no doubt that Jones was very wrong. He usually was
wrong. His ideas of trade were mean, limited, and altogether
inappropriate to business on a large scale. But, nevertheless, we
cannot pass on to the narration of a circumstance as it did occur,
without expressing our strong abhorrence of those ladies who are
desirous of purchasing cheap goods to the manifest injury of the
tradesmen from whom they buy them. The ticketing of goods at prices
below their value is not to our taste, but the purchasing of such
goods is less so. The lady who will take advantage of a tradesman,
that she may fill her house with linen, or cover her back with
finery, at his cost, and in a manner which her own means would
not fairly permit, is, in our estimation,--a robber. It is often
necessary that tradesmen should advertise tremendous sacrifices.
It is sometimes necessary that they should actually make such
sacrifices. Brown, Jones, and Robinson have during their career
been driven to such a necessity. They have smiled upon their female
customers, using their sweetest blandishments, while those female
customers have abstracted their goods at prices almost nominal.
Brown, Jones, and Robinson, in forcing such sales, have been coerced
by the necessary laws of trade; but while smiling with all their
blandishments, they have known that the ladies on whom they have
smiled have been--robbers.
Why is it that commercial honesty has so seldom charms for women? A
woman who would give away the last shawl from her back will insist on
smuggling her gloves through the Custom-house! Who can make a widow
understand that she should not communicate with her boy in the
colonies under the dishonest cover of a newspaper? Is not the passion
for cheap purchases altogether a female mania? And yet every cheap
purchase,--every purchase made at a rate so cheap as to deny the
vendor his fair profit is, in truth, a dishonesty;--a dishonesty to
which the purchaser is indirectly a party. Would that women could be
taught to hate bargains! How much less useless trash would there be
in our houses, and how much fewer tremendous sacrifices in our shops!
Brown, Jones, and Robinson, when they had been established some six
or eight months, had managed to procure from a house in the silk
trade a few black silk mantles of a very superior description. The
lot had been a remnant, and had been obtained with sundry other goods
at a low figure. But, nevertheless, the proper price at which the
house could afford to sell them would exceed the mark of general
purchasers in Bishopsgate Street. These came into Mr. Jones' hands,
and he immediately resolved to use them for the purposes of the
window. Some half-dozen of them were very tastefully arranged upon
racks, and were marked at prices which were very tempting to ladies
of discernment. In the middle of one window there was a copious
mantle, of silk so thick that it stood almost alone, very full in
its dimensions, and admirable in its fashion. This mantle, which
would not have been dearly bought for 3_l._ 10_s._ or 4_l._, was
injudiciously ticketed at 38_s._ 11½_d._ "It will bring dozens of
women to the shop," said Jones, "and we have an article of the same
shape and colour, which we can do at that price uncommonly well."
Whether or no the mantle had brought dozens of women into the shop,
cannot now be said, but it certainly brought one there whom Brown,
Jones, and Robinson will long remember.
Mrs. Morony was an Irishwoman who, as she assured the magistrates in
Worship Street, had lived in the very highest circles in Limerick,
and had come from a princely stock in the neighbouring county of
Glare. She was a full-sized lady, not without a certain amount
of good looks, though at the period of her intended purchase in
Bishopsgate Street, she must have been nearer fifty than forty. Her
face was florid, if not red, her arms were thick and powerful, her
eyes were bright, but, as seen by Brown, Jones, and Robinson, not
pleasant to the view, and she always carried with her an air of
undaunted resolution. When she entered the shop, she was accompanied
by a thin, acrid, unmarried female friend, whose feminine charms by
no means equalled her own. She might be of about the same age, but
she had more of the air and manner of advanced years. Her nose was
long, narrow and red; her eyes were set very near together; she was
tall and skimpy in all her proportions; and her name was Miss Biles.
Of the name and station of Mrs. Morony, or of Miss Biles, nothing
was of course known when they entered the shop; but with all these
circumstances, B., J., and R. were afterwards made acquainted.
"I believe I'll just look at that pelisse, if you plaze," said Mrs.
Morony, addressing herself to a young man who stood near to the
window in which the mantle was displayed.
"Certainly, ma'am," said the man. "If you'll step this way, I'll show
you the article."
"I see the article there," said Mrs. Morony, poking at it with her
parasol. Standing where she did she was just able to touch it in this
way. "That's the one I mane, with the price;--how much was it, Miss
Biles?"
"One, eighteen, eleven and a halfpenny," said Miss Biles, who had
learned the figures by heart before she ventured to enter the shop.
"If you'll do me the favour to step this way I'll show you the same
article," said the man, who was now aware that it was his first duty
to get the ladies away from that neighbourhood.
But Mrs. Morony did not move. "It's the one there that I'm asking
ye for," said she, pointing again, and pointing this time with the
hooked end of her parasol. "I'll throuble ye, young man, to show me
the article with the ticket."
"The identical pelisse, if you please, sir," said Miss Biles, "which
you there advertise as for sale at one, eighteen, eleven and a
halfpenny." And then she pressed her lips together, and looked at the
shopman with such vehemence that her two eyes seemed to grow into
one.
The poor man knew that he was in a difficulty, and cast his eyes
across the shop for assistance. Jones, who in his own branch was ever
on the watch,--and let praise for that diligence be duly given to
him,--had seen from the first what was in the wind. From the moment
in which the stout lady had raised her parasol he felt that a battle
was imminent; but he had thought it prudent to abstain awhile from
the combat himself. He hovered near, however, as personal protection
might be needed on behalf of the favourite ornament of his window.
"I'll throuble you, if you plaze, sir, to raich me that pelisse,"
said Mrs. Morony.
"We never disturb our window," said the man, "but we keep the same
article in the shop."
"Don't you be took in by that, Mrs. Morony," said Miss Biles.
"I don't mane," said Mrs. Morony. "I shall insist, sir--"
Now was the moment in which, as Jones felt, the interference of the
general himself was necessary. Mrs. Morony was in the act of turning
herself well round towards the window, so as to make herself sure
of her prey when she should resolve on grasping it. Miss Biles had
already her purse in her hand, ready to pay the legal claim. It was
clear to be seen that the enemy was of no mean skill and of great
valour. The intimidation of Mrs. Morony might be regarded as a feat
beyond the power of man. Her florid countenance had already become
more than ordinarily rubicund, and her nostrils were breathing anger.
"Ma'am," said Mr. Jones, stepping up and ineffectually attempting to
interpose himself between her and the low barrier which protected
the goods exposed to view, "the young man has already told you that
we cannot disarrange the window. It is not our habit to do so. If
you will do me the honour to walk to a chair, he shall show you any
articles which you may desire to inspect."
"Don't you be done," whispered Miss Biles.
"I don't mane, if I know it," said Mrs. Morony, standing her ground
manfully. "I don't desire to inspect anything,--only that pelisse."
"I am sorry that we cannot gratify you," said Mr. Jones.
"But you must gratify me. It's for sale, and the money's on it."
"You shall have the same article at the same price;" and Mr. Jones,
as he spoke, endeavoured to press the lady out of her position. "But
positively you cannot have that. We never break through our rules."
"Chaiting the public is the chief of your rules, I'm thinking," said
Mrs. Morony; "but you'll not find it so aisy to chait me. Pay them
the money down on the counter, Miss Biles, dear." And so saying she
thrust forth her parasol, and succeeded in her attempt to dislodge
the prey. Knowing well where to strike her blow and obtain a hold,
she dragged forth the mantle, and almost got it into her left hand.
But Jones could not stand by and see his firm thus robbed. Dreadful
as was his foe in spirit, size, and strength, his manliness was too
great for this. So he also dashed forward, and was the first to grasp
the silk.
"Are you going to rob the shop?" said he.
"Is it rob?" said Mrs. Morony. "By the powers, thin, ye're the
biggest blag-guard my eyes have seen since I've been in London, and
that's saying a long word. Is it rob to me? I'll tell you what it is,
young man,--av you don't let your fingers off this pelisse that I've
purchased, I'll have you before the magisthrates for stailing it.
Have you paid the money down, dear?"
Miss Biles was busy counting out the cash, but no one was at hand to
take it from her. It was clear that the two confederates had prepared
themselves at all points for the contest, having, no doubt, more than
once inspected the article from the outside,--for Miss Biles had
the exact sum ready, done to the odd halfpenny. "There," said she,
appealing to the young man who was nearest to her, "one, eighteen,
eleven, and a halfpenny." But the young man was deaf to the charmer,
even though she charmed with ready money. "May I trouble you to see
that the cash is right." But the young man would not be troubled.
"You'd a deal better leave it go, ma'am," said Jones, "or I shall be
obliged to send for the police."
"Is it the police? Faith, thin, and I think you'd better send! Give
me my mantilla, I say. It's bought and paid for at your own price."
By this time there was a crowd in the shop, and Jones, in his anxiety
to defend the establishment, had closed with Mrs. Morony, and was,
as it were, wrestling with her. His effort, no doubt, had been to
disengage her hand from the unfortunate mantle; but in doing so, he
was led into some slight personal violence towards the lady. And now
Miss Biles, having deposited her money, attacked him from behind,
declaring that her friend would be murdered.
"Come, hands off. A woman's a woman always!" said one of the crowd
who had gathered round them.
"What does the man mean by hauling a female about that way?" said
another.
"The poor crathur's nigh murthered wid him intirely," said a
countrywoman from the street.
"If she's bought the thingumbob at your own price, why don't you give
it her?" asked a fourth.
"I'll be hanged if she shall have it!" said Jones, panting for
breath. He was by no means deficient in spirit on such an occasion as
this.
"And it's my belief you will be hanged," said Miss Biles, who was
still working away at his back.
The scene was one which was not creditable to the shop of English
tradesmen in the nineteenth century. The young men and girls had come
round from behind the counter, but they made no attempt to separate
the combatants. Mr. Jones was not loved among them, and the chance of
war seemed to run very much in favour of the lady. One discreet youth
had gone out in quest of a policeman, but he was not successful in
his search till he had walked half a mile from the door. Mr. Jones
was at last nearly smothered in the encounter, for the great weight
and ample drapery of Mrs. Morony were beginning to tell upon him.
When she got his back against the counter, it was as though a feather
bed was upon him. In the meantime the unfortunate mantle had fared
badly between them, and was now not worth the purchase-money which,
but ten minutes since, had been so eagerly tendered for it.
Things were in this state when Mr. Brown slowly descended into the
arena, while George Robinson, standing at the distant doorway in the
back, looked on with blushing cheeks. One of the girls had explained
to Mr. Brown what was the state of affairs, and he immediately
attempted to throw oil on the troubled waters.
"Wherefore all this noise?" he said, raising both his hands as he
advanced slowly to the spot. "Mr. Jones, I implore you to desist!"
But Mr. Jones was wedged down upon the counter, and could not desist.
"Madam, what can I do for you?" And he addressed himself to the back
of Mrs. Marony, which was still convulsed violently by her efforts to
pummel Mr. Jones.
"I believe he's well nigh killed her; I believe he has," said Miss
Biles.
Then, at last, the discreet youth returned with three policemen, and
the fight was at an end. That the victory was with Mrs. Morony nobody
could doubt. She held in her hand all but the smallest fragment of
the mantle,--the price of which, however, Miss Biles had been careful
to repocket,--and showed no sign of exhaustion, whereas Jones was
speechless. But, nevertheless, she was in tears, and appealed loudly
to the police and to the crowd as to her wrongs.
"I'm fairly murthered with him, thin, so I am,--the baist, the
villain, the swindhler. What am I to do at all, and my things all
desthroyed? Look at this, thin!" and she held up the cause of war.
"Did mortial man iver see the like of that? And I'm beaten black and
blue wid him,--so I am." And then she sobbed violently.
"So you are, Mrs. Morony," said Miss Biles. "He to call himself a man
indeed, and to go to strike a woman!"
"It's thrue for you, dear," continued Mrs. Morony. "Policemen, mind,
I give him in charge. You're all witnesses, I give that man in
charge."
Mr. Jones, also, was very eager to secure the intervention of the
police,--much more so than was Mr. Brown, who was only anxious that
everybody should retire. Mr. Jones could never be made to understand
that he had in any way been wrong. "A firm needn't sell an article
unless it pleases," he argued to the magistrate. "A firm is bound
to make good its promises, sir," replied the gentleman in Worship
Street. "And no respectable firm would for a moment hesitate to do
so." And then he made some remarks of a very severe nature.
Mr. Brown did all that he could to prevent the affair from becoming
public. He attempted to bribe Mrs. Morony by presenting her with
the torn mantle; but she accepted the gift, and then preferred her
complaint. He bribed the policemen, also; but, nevertheless, the
matter got into the newspaper reports. The daily Jupiter, of course,
took it up,--for what does it not take up in its solicitude for poor
British human nature?--and tore Brown, Jones, and Robinson to pieces
in a leading article. No punishment could be inflicted on the firm,
for, as the magistrate said, no offence could be proved. The lady,
also, had certainly been wrong to help herself. But the whole affair
was damaging in the extreme to Magenta House, and gave a terrible
check to that rapid trade which had already sprang up under the
influence of an extended system of advertising.
CHAPTER XV.
MISS BROWN NAMES THE DAY.
George Robinson had been in the very act of coming to an
understanding with Mr. Brown as to the proceeds of the business, when
he was interrupted by that terrible affair of Mrs. Morony. For some
days after that the whole establishment was engaged in thinking,
talking, and giving evidence about the matter, and it was all that
the firm could do to keep the retail trade going across the counter.
Some of the young men and women gave notice, and went away; and
others became so indifferent that it was necessary to get rid of
them. For a week it was doubtful whether it would be possible to
keep the house open, and during that week Mr. Brown was so paralyzed
by his feelings that he was unable to give any assistance. He sat
upstairs moaning, accompanied generally by his two daughters; and
he sent a medical certificate to Worship Street, testifying his
inability to appear before the magistrate. From what transpired
afterwards we may say that the magistrate would have treated him more
leniently than did the young women. They were aware that whatever
money yet remained was in his keeping; and now, as at the time of
their mother's death, it seemed fitting to them that a division
should be made of the spoils.
"George," he said one evening to his junior partner, "I'd like to be
laid decent in Kensal Green! I know it will come to that soon."
Robinson hereupon reminded him that care had killed a cat; and
promised him all manner of commercial greatness if he could only
rouse himself to his work. "The career of a merchant prince is still
open to you," said Robinson, enthusiastically.
"Not along with Maryanne and Sarah Jane, George!"
"Sarah Jane is a married woman, and sits at another man's hearth. Why
do you allow her to trouble you?"
"She is my child, George. A man can't deny himself to his child. At
least I could not. And I don't want to be a merchant prince. If I
could only have a little place of my own, that was my own; and where
they wouldn't always be nagging after money when they come to see
me."
Poor Mr. Brown! He was asking from the fairies that for which we are
all asking,--for which men have ever asked. He merely desired the
comforts of the world, without its cares. He wanted his small farm of
a few acres, as Horace wanted it, and Cincinnatus, and thousands of
statesmen, soldiers, and merchants, from their days down to ours; his
small farm, on which, however, the sun must always shine, and where
no weeds should flourish. Poor Mr. Brown! Such little farms for
the comforts of old age can only be attained by long and unwearied
cultivation during the years of youth and manhood.
It was on one occasion such as this, not very long after the affair
of Mrs. Morony, that Robinson pressed very eagerly upon Mr. Brown the
special necessity which demanded from the firm at the present moment
more than ordinary efforts in the way of advertisement.
"Jones has given us a great blow," said Robinson.
"I fear he has," said Mr. Brown.
"And now, if we do not put our best foot forward it will be all up
with us. If we flag now, people will see that we are down. But if we
go on with audacity, all those reports will die away, and we shall
again trick our beams, and flame once more in the morning sky."
It may be presumed that Mr. Brown did not exactly follow the
quotation, but the eloquence of Robinson had its desired effect. Mr.
Brown did at last produce a sum of five hundred pounds, with which
printers, stationers, and advertising agents were paid or partially
paid, and Robinson again went to work.
"It's the last," said Mr. Brown, with a low moan, "and would have
been Maryanne's!"
Robinson, when he heard this, was much struck by the old man's
enduring courage. How had he been able to preserve this sum from the
young woman's hands, pressed as he had been by her and by Brisket? Of
this Robinson said nothing, but he did venture to allude to the fact
that the money must, in fact, belong to the firm.
This is here mentioned chiefly as showing the reason why Robinson did
not for awhile renew the business on which he was engaged when Mrs.
Morony's presence in the shop was announced. He felt that no private
matter should be allowed for a time to interfere with his renewed
exertions; and he also felt that as Mr. Brown had responded to his
entreaties in that matter of the five hundred pounds, it would not
become him to attack the old man again immediately. For three months
he applied himself solely to business; and then, when affairs had
partially been restored under his guidance, he again resolved, under
the further instigation of Poppins, to put things at once on a proper
footing.
"So you ain't spliced yet," said Poppins.
"No, not yet."
"Nor won't be,--not to Maryanne Brown. There was my wife at
Brisket's, in Aldersgate Street, yesterday, and we all know what that
means."
"What does it mean?" demanded Robinson, scowling fearfully. "Would
you hint to me that she is false?"
"False! No! she's not false that I know of. She's ready enough to
have you, if you can put yourself right with the old man. But if
you can't,--why, of course, she's not to wait till her hair's grey.
She and Polly are as thick as thieves, and so Polly has been to
Aldersgate Street. Polly says that the Jones's are getting their
money regularly out of the till."
"Wait till her hair be grey!" said Robinson, when he was left to
himself. "Do I wish her to wait? Would I not stand with her at the
altar to-morrow, though my last half-crown should go to the greedy
priest who joined us? And she has sent her friend to Aldersgate
Street,--to my rival! There must, at any rate, be an end of this!"
Late on that evening, when his work was over, he took a glass of hot
brandy-and-water at the "Four Swans," and then he waited upon Mr.
Brown. He luckily found the senior partner alone. "Mr. Brown," said
he, "I've come to have a little private conversation."
"Private, George! Well, I'm all alone. Maryanne is with Mrs. Poppins,
I think."
With Mrs. Poppins! Yes; and where might she not be with Mrs. Poppins?
Robinson felt that he had it within him at that moment to start
off for Aldersgate Street. "But first to business," said he, as he
remembered the special object for which he had come.
"For the present it is well that she should be away," he said. "Mr.
Brown, the time has now come at which it is absolutely necessary that
I should know where I am."
"Where you are, George?"
"Yes; on what ground I stand. Who I am before the world, and what
interest I represent. Is it the fact that I am the junior partner in
the house of Brown, Jones, and Robinson?"
"Why, George, of course you are."
"And is it the fact that by the deed of partnership drawn up between
us, I am entitled to receive one quarter of the proceeds of the
business?"
"No, George, no; not proceeds."
"What then?"
"Profits, George; one quarter of the profits."
"And what is my share for the year now over?"
"You have lived, George; you must always remember that. It is a great
thing in itself even to live out of a trade in these days. You have
lived; you must acknowledge that."
"Mr. Brown, I am not a greedy man, nor a suspicious man, nor an idle
man, nor a man of pleasure. But I am a man in love."
"And she shall be yours, George."
"Ay, sir, that is easily said. She shall be mine, and in order that
she may be mine, I must request to know what is accurately the state
of our account?"
"George," said Mr. Brown in a piteous accent, "you and I have always
been friends."
"But there are those who will do much for their enemies out of fear,
though they will do nothing for their friends out of love. Jones has
a regular income out of the business."
"Only forty shillings or so on every Saturday night; nothing more, on
my honour. And then they've babbies, you know, and they must live."
"By the terms of our partnership I am entitled to as much as he."
"But then, George, suppose that nobody is entitled to nothing!
Suppose there is no profits. We all must live, you know, but then
it's only hand to mouth; is it?"
How terrible was this statement as to the affairs of the firm,
coming, as it did, from the senior partner, who not more than twelve
months since entered the business with a sum of four thousand pounds
in hard cash! Robinson, whose natural spirit in such matters was
sanguine and buoyant, felt that even he was depressed. Had four
thousand pounds gone, and was there no profit? He knew well that the
stock on hand would not even pay the debts that were due. The shop
had always been full, and the men and women at the counter had always
been busy. The books had nominally been kept by himself; but who can
keep the books of a concern, if he be left in ignorance as to the
outgoings and incomings?
"That comes of attempting to do business on a basis of capital!" he
said in a voice of anger.
"It comes of advertising, George. It comes of little silver books,
and big wooden stockings, and men in armour, and cats-carrion shirts;
that's what it's come from, George."
"Never," said Robinson, rising from his chair with energetic action.
"Never. You may as well tell me that the needle does not point to the
pole, that the planets have not their appointed courses, that the
swelling river does not run to the sea. There are facts as to which
the world has ceased to dispute, and this is one of them. Advertise,
advertise, advertise! It may be that we have fallen short in our
duty; but the performance of a duty can never do an injury." In reply
to this, old Brown merely shook his head. "Do you know what Barlywig
has spent on his physic; Barlywig's Medean Potion? Forty thousand
a-year for the last ten years, and now Barlywig is worth;--I don't
know what Barlywig is worth; but I know he is in Parliament."
"We haven't stuff to go on like that, George." In answer to this,
Robinson knew not what to urge, but he did know that his system was
right.
At this moment the door was opened, and Maryanne Brown entered the
room. "Father," she said, as soon as her foot was over the threshold
of the door; but then seeing that Mr. Brown was not alone, she
stopped herself. There was an angry spot on her cheeks, and it was
manifest from the tone of her voice that she was about to address her
father in anger. "Oh, George; so you are there, are you? I suppose
you came, because you knew I was out."
"I came, Maryanne," said he, putting out his hand to her, "I came--to
settle our wedding day."
"My children, my children!" said Mr. Brown.
"That's all very fine," said Maryanne; "but I've heard so much about
wedding days, that I'm sick of it, and don't mean to have none."
"What; you will never be a bride?"
"No; I won't. What's the use?"
"You shall be my bride;--to-morrow if you will."
"I'll tell you what it is, George Robinson; my belief of you is, that
you are that soft, a man might steal away your toes without your feet
missing 'em."
"You have stolen away my heart, and my body is all the lighter."
"It's light enough; there's no doubt of that, and so is your head.
Your heels too were, once, but you've given up that."
"Yes, Maryanne. When a man commences the stern realities of life,
that must be abandoned. But now I am anxious to commence a reality
which is not stern,--that reality which is for me to soften all the
hardness of this hardworking world. Maryanne, when shall be our
wedding day?"
For a while the fair beauty was coy, and would give no decisive
answer; but at length under the united pressure of her father and
lover, a day was named. A day was named, and Mr. Brown's consent to
that day was obtained; but this arrangement was not made till he had
undertaken to give up the rooms in which he at present lived, and to
go into lodgings in the neighbourhood.
"George," said she, in a confidential whisper, before the evening was
over, "if you don't manage about the cash now, and have it all your
own way, you must be soft." Under the influence of gratified love, he
promised her that he would manage it.
"Bless you, my children, bless you," said Mr. Brown, as they parted
for the night. "Bless you, and may your loves be lasting, and your
children obedient."
CHAPTER XVI.
SHOWING HOW ROBINSON WALKED UPON ROSES.
"Will it ever be said of me when my history is told that I spent
forty thousand pounds a-year in advertising a single article? Would
that it might be told that I had spent ten times forty thousand." It
was thus that Robinson had once spoken to his friend Poppins, while
some remnant of that five hundred pounds was still in his hands.
"But what good does it do? It don't make anything."
"But it sells them, Poppins."
"Everybody wears a shirt, and no one wears more than one at a time. I
don't see that it does any good."
"It is a magnificent trade in itself. Would that I had a monopoly of
all the walls in London! The very arches of the bridges must be worth
ten thousand a-year. The omnibuses are invaluable; the cabs are a
mine of wealth; and the railway stations throughout England would
give a revenue for an emperor. Poppins, my dear fellow, I fancy that
you have hardly looked into the depths of it."
"Perhaps not," said Poppins. "Some objects to them that they're all
lies. It isn't that I mind. As far as I can see, everything is mostly
lies. The very worst article our people can get for sale, they call
'middlings;' the real middlings are 'very superior,' and so on.
They're all lies; but they don't cost anything, and all the world
knows what they mean. Bad things must be bought and sold, and if
we said our things was bad, nobody would buy them. But I can't
understand throwing away so much money and getting nothing."
Poppins possessed a glimmering of light, but it was only a
glimmering. He could understand that a man should not call his own
goods middling; but he could not understand that a man is only
carrying out the same principle in an advanced degree, when he
proclaims with a hundred thousand voices in a hundred thousand
places, that the article which he desires to sell is the best of
its kind that the world has yet produced. He merely asserts with
his loudest voice that his middlings are not middlings. A little
man can see that he must not cry stinking fish against himself;
but it requires a great man to understand that in order to abstain
effectually from so suicidal a proclamation, he must declare with
all the voice of his lungs, that his fish are that moment hardly out
of the ocean. "It's the poetry of euphemism," Robinson once said to
Poppins;--but he might as well have talked Greek to him.
Robinson often complained that no one understood him; but he forgot
that it is the fate of great men generally to work alone, and to
be not comprehended. The higher a man raises his head, the more
necessary is it that he should learn to lean only on his own
strength, and to walk his path without even the assistance of
sympathy. The greedy Jones had friends. Poppins with his easy
epicurean laisser aller,--he had friends. The decent Brown, who would
so fain be comfortable, had friends. But for Robinson, there was no
one on whose shoulder he could rest his head, and from whose heart
and voice he could receive sympathy and encouragement.
From one congenial soul,--from one soul that he had hoped to
find congenial,--he did look for solace; but even here he was
disappointed. It has been told that Maryanne Brown did at last
consent to name the day. This occurred in May, and the day named was
in August. Robinson was very anxious to fix it at an earlier period,
and the good-natured girl would have consented to arrange everything
within a fortnight. "What's the use of shilly-shallying?" said she
to her father. "If it is to be done, let it be done at once. I'm so
knocked about among you, I hardly know where I am." But Mr. Brown
would not consent. Mr. Brown was very feeble, but yet he was very
obstinate. It would often seem that he was beaten away from his
purpose, and yet he would hang on it with more tenacity than that of
a stronger man. "Town is empty in August, George, and then you can be
spared for a run to Margate for two or three days."
"Oh, we don't want any nonsense," said Maryanne; "do we, George?"
"All I want is your own self," said Robinson.
"Then you won't mind going into lodgings for a few months," said
Brown.
Robinson would have put up with an attic, had she he loved consented
to spread her bridal couch so humbly; but Maryanne declared with
resolution that she would not marry till she saw herself in
possession of the rooms over the shop.
"There'll be room for us all for awhile," said old Brown.
"I think we might manage," said George.
"I know a trick worth two of that," said the lady. "Who's to make pa
go when once we begin in that way? As I mean to end, so I'll begin.
And as for you, George, there's no end to your softness. You're that
green, that the very cows would eat you." Was it not well said by
Mr. Robinson in his preface to these memoirs, that the poor old
commercial Lear, whose name stood at the head of the firm, was cursed
with a Goneril,--and with a Regan?
But nothing would induce Mr. Brown to leave his home, or to say that
he would leave his home, before the middle of August, and thus the
happy day was postponed till that time.
"There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip," said Poppins,
when he was told. "Do you take care that she and Polly ain't off to
Aldersgate Street together."
"Poppins, I wouldn't be cursed with your ideas of human nature,--not
for a free use of all the stations on the North Western. Go to
Aldersgate Street now that she is my affianced bride!"
"That's gammon," said Poppins. "When once she's married she'll go
straight enough. I believe that of her, for she knows which side her
bread's buttered. But till the splice is made she's a right to please
herself; that's the way she looks at it."
"And will it not please her to become mine?"
"It's about the same with 'em all," continued Poppins. "My Polly
would have been at Hong Kong with the Buffs by this time, if I hadn't
knocked the daylight out of that sergeant." And Poppins, from the
tone in which he spoke of his own deeds, seemed to look back upon his
feat of valour with less satisfaction than it had given him at the
moment. Polly was his own certainly; but the comfort of his small
menage was somewhat disturbed by his increasing family.
But to return. Robinson, as we have said, looked in vain to his
future partner in life for a full appreciation of his own views as to
commerce. "It's all very well, I daresay," said she; "but one should
feel one's way."
"When you launch your ship into the sea," he replied, "you do not
want to feel your way. You know that the waves will bear her up, and
you send her forth boldly. As wood will float upon water, so will
commerce float on the ocean streams of advertisement."
"But if you ran aground in the mud, where are you then? Do you take
care, George, or your boat 'll be water-logged."
It was during some of these conversations that Delilah cut another
lock of hair from Samson's head, and induced him to confess that he
had obtained that sum of five hundred pounds from her father, and
spent it among those who prepared for him his advertisements. "No!"
said she, jumping up from her seat. "Then he had it after all?"
"Yes; he certainly had it."
"Well, that passes. And after all he said!"
A glimmering of the truth struck coldly upon Robinson's heart. She
had endeavoured to get from her father this sum and had failed. She
had failed, and the old man had sworn to her that he had it not. But
for what purpose had she so eagerly demanded it? "Maryanne," he said,
"if you love another more fondly than you love me--"
"Don't bother about love, George, now. And so you got it out of him
and sent it all flying after the rest. I didn't think you were that
powerful."
"The money, Maryanne, belonged to the firm."
"Gracious knows who it belongs to now. But, laws;--when I think of
all that he said, it's quite dreadful. One can't believe a word that
comes out of his mouth."
Robinson also thought that it was quite dreadful when he reflected
on all that she must have said before she had given up the task as
helpless. Then, too, an idea came upon him of what he might have to
endure when he and she should be one bone and one flesh. How charming
was she to the eyes! how luxuriously attractive, when in her softer
moments she would laugh, and smile, and joke at the winged hours
as they passed! But already was he almost afraid of her voice, and
already did he dread the fiercer glances of her eyes. Was he wise in
this that he was doing? Had he not one bride in commerce, a bride
that would never scold; and would it not be well for him to trust
his happiness to her alone? So he argued within his own breast. But
nevertheless, Love was still the lord of all.
"And the money's all gone?" said Maryanne.
"Indeed it is. Would I had as many thousands to send after it."
"It was like your folly, George, not to keep a little of it by you,
knowing how comfortable it would have been for us at the beginning."
"But, my darling, it belonged to the firm."
"The firm! Arn't they all helping themselves hand over hand, except
you? There was Sarah Jane in the shop behind the counter all
yesterday afternoon. Now, I tell you what it is; if she's to come in
I won't stand it. She's not there for nothing, and she with children
at home. No wonder she can keep a nursemaid, if that's where she
spends her time. If you would go down more into the shop, George, and
write less of them little books in verse, it would be better for us
all."
And so the time passed on towards August, and the fifteenth of that
month still remained fixed as the happy day. Robinson spent some
portion of this time in establishing a method of advertisement, which
he flattered himself was altogether new; but it must be admitted in
these pages that his means for carrying it out were not sufficient.
In accordance with this project it would have been necessary to
secure the co-operation of all the tailors' foremen in London, and
this could not be done without a douceur to the men. His idea was,
that for a period of a month in the heart of the London season, no
new coat should be sent home to any gentleman without containing in
the pocket one of those alluring little silver books, put out by
Brown, Jones, and Robinson.
"The thing is, to get them opened and looked at," said Robinson.
"Now, I put it to you, Poppins, whether you wouldn't open a book like
that if you found that somebody had put it into your tail coat."
"Well, I should open it."
"You would be more or less than mortal did you not? If it's thrown
into your cab, you throw it out. If a man hands it to you in the
street, you drop it. If it comes by post, you throw it into the
waste-paper basket. But I'll defy the sternest or the idlest man not
to open the leaves of such a work as that when he first takes it out
of his new dress-coat. Surprise will make him do so. Why should his
tailor send him the book of B., J., and R.? There must be something
in it. The name of B., J., and R., becomes fixed in his memory, and
then the work is done. If the tailors had been true to me, I might
have defied the world." But the tailors were not true to him.
During all this time nothing was heard of Brisket. It could not be
doubted that Brisket, busy among his bullocks in Aldersgate Street,
knew well what was passing among the Browns in Bishopsgate Street.
Once or twice it occurred to Robinson that the young women, Maryanne
namely and Mrs. Poppins, expected some intervention from the butcher.
Was it possible that Mr. Brisket might be expected to entertain less
mercenary ideas when he found that his prize was really to be carried
off by another? But whatever may have been the expectations of the
ladies, Brisket made no sign. He hadn't seen his way, and therefore
he had retired from the path of love.
But Brisket, even though he did not see his way, was open to female
seduction. Why was it, that at this eventful period of Robinson's
existence Mrs. Poppins should have turned against him? Why his old
friend, Polly Twizzle, should have gone over to his rival, Robinson
never knew. It may have been because, in his humble way, Poppins
himself stood firmly by his friend; for such often is the nature of
women. Be that as it may, Mrs. Poppins, who is now again his fast
friend, was then his enemy.
"We shall have to go to this wedding of George's," Poppins said
to his wife, when the first week in August had already passed. "I
suppose old Pikes 'ill give me a morning." Old Pikes was a partner in
the house to which Mr. Poppins was attached.
"I shan't buy my bonnet yet awhile," said Mrs. Poppins.
"And why not, Polly?"
"For reasons that I know of."
"But what reasons?"
"You men are always half blind, and t'other half stupid. Don't you
see that she's not going to have him?"
"She must be pretty sharp changing her mind, then. Here's Tuesday
already, and next Tuesday is to be the day."
"Then it won't be next Tuesday; nor yet any Tuesday this month.
Brisket's after her again."
"I don't believe it, Polly."
"Then disbelieve it. I was with him yesterday, and I'll tell you who
was there before me;--only don't you go to Robinson and say I said
so."
"If I can't make sport, I shan't spoil none," said Poppins.
"Well, Jones was there. Jones was with Brisket, and Jones told him
that if he'd come forward now he should have a hundred down, and a
promise from the firm for the rest of it."
"Then Jones is a scoundrel."
"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Poppins. "Maryanne is his wife's
sister, and he's bound to do the best he can by her. Brisket is a
deal steadier man than Georgy Robinson, and won't have to look for
his bread so soon, I'm thinking."
"He hasn't half the brains," said Poppins.
"Brains is like soft words; they won't butter no parsnips."
"And you've been with Brisket?" said the husband.
"Yes; why not? Brisket and I was always friends. I'm not going to
quarrel with Brisket because Georgy Robinson is afraid of him. I knew
how it would be with Robinson when he didn't stand up to Brisket that
night at the Hall of Harmony. What's a man worth if he won't stand up
for his young woman? If you hadn't stood up for me I wouldn't have
had you." And so ended that conversation.
"A hundred pounds down?" said Brisket to Jones the next day.
"Yes, and our bill for the remainder."
"The cash on the nail."
"Paid into your hand," said Jones.
"I think I should see my way," said Brisket; "at any rate I'll come
up on Saturday."
"Much better say to-morrow, or Friday."
"Can't. It's little Gogham Fair on Friday; and I always kills on
Thursday."
"Saturday will be very late."
"There'll be time enough if you've got the money ready. You've spoken
to old Brown, I suppose. I'll be up as soon after six on Saturday
evening as I can come. If Maryanne wants to see me, she'll find me
here. It won't be the first time."
Thus was it that among his enemies the happiness of Robinson's life
was destroyed. Against Brisket he breathes not a word. The course was
open to both of them; and if Brisket was the best horse, why, let him
win!
But in what words would it be right to depict the conduct of Jones?
CHAPTER XVII.
A TEA-PARTY IN BISHOPSGATE STREET.
If it shall appear to those who read these memoirs that there was
much in the conduct of Mr. Brown which deserves censure, let them
also remember how much there was in his position which demands pity.
In this short narrative it has been our purpose to set forth the
commercial doings of the house of Brown, Jones, and Robinson, rather
than the domestic life of the partners, and, therefore, it has been
impossible to tell of all the trials through which Mr. Brown passed
with his children. But those trials were very severe, and if Mr.
Brown was on certain points untrue to the young partner who trusted
him, allowances for such untruth must be made. He was untrue; but
there is one man, who, looking back upon his conduct, knows how to
forgive it.
The scenes upstairs at Magenta House during that first week in August
had been very terrible. Mr. Brown, in his anxiety to see his daughter
settled, had undoubtedly pledged himself to abandon the rooms in
which he lived, and to take lodgings elsewhere. To this promised
self-sacrifice Maryanne was resolved to keep him bound; and when some
hesitation appeared on his part, she swore to him that nothing should
induce her to become Mrs. Robinson till he had packed his things
and was gone. Mr. Brown had a heart to feel, and at this moment he
could have told how much sharper than a serpent's tooth is a child's
ingratitude!
But he would have gone; he would have left the house, although he had
begun to comprehend that in leaving it he must probably lose much of
his authority over the money taken in the shop; he would, however,
have done so, had not Mrs. Jones come down upon him with the whole
force of her tongue, and the full violence of her malice. When
Robinson should have become one with Maryanne Brown, and should also
have become the resident partner, then would the influence of Mrs.
Jones in that establishment have been brought to a speedy close.
The reader shall not be troubled with those frightful quarrels in
which each of the family was pitted against the others. Sarah Jane
declared to her father, in terms which no child should have used to
her parent, that he must be an idiot and doting if he allowed his
youngest daughter and her lover to oust him from his house and from
all share in the management of the business. Brown then appealed
piteously to Maryanne, and begged that he might be allowed to occupy
a small closet as his bed-room. But Maryanne was inexorable. He had
undertaken to go, and unless he did go she would never omit to din
into his ears this breach of his direct promise to her. Maryanne
became almost great in her anger, as with voice raised so as to drown
her sister's weaker tones, she poured forth her own story of her own
wrongs.
"It has been so from the beginning," she said. "When I first knew
Brisket, it was not for any love I had for the man, but because
mother took him up. Mother promised him money; and then I said
I'd marry him,--not because I cared for him, but because he was
respectable and all right. And then mother hadn't the money when the
pinch came, and, of course, Brisket wasn't going to be put upon;--why
should he? So I took up with Robinson, and you knew it, father."
"I did, Maryanne; I did."
"Of course you did. I wasn't going to make a fool of myself for no
man. I have got myself to look to; and if I don't do it myself, they
who is about me won't do it for me."
"Your old father would do anything for you."
"Father, I hate words! What I want is deeds. Well, then;--Robinson
came here and was your partner, and meanwhile I thought it was all
right. And who was it interfered? Why, you did. When Brisket went to
you, you promised him the money: and then he went and upset Robinson.
And we had that supper in Smithfield, and Robinson was off, and I was
to be Mrs. Brisket out of hand. But then, again, the money wasn't
there."
"I couldn't make the money, Maryanne."
"Father, it's a shame for you to tell such falsehoods before your own
daughters."
"Oh, Maryanne! you wicked girl!" said Sarah Jane.
"If I'm wicked, there's two of us so, Sarah Jane! You had the money,
and you gave it to Robinson for them notices of his. I know all about
it now! And then what could you expect of Brisket? Of course he was
off. There was no fal-lal about love, and all that, with him. He
wanted a woman to look after his house; but he wanted something with
her. And I wanted a roof over my head;--which I'm not likely to have,
the way you're going on."
"While I have a morsel, you shall have half."
"And when you haven't a morsel, how will it be then? Of course when
I saw all this, I felt myself put upon. There was Jones getting his
money out of the shop!"
"Well, miss," said Sarah Jane; "and isn't he a partner?"
"You ain't a partner, and I don't know what business you have there.
But every one was helping themselves except me. I was going to the
wall. I have always been going to the wall. Well; when Brisket was
off, I took up with Robinson again. I always liked him the best, only
I never thought of my own likings. I wasn't that selfish. I took up
with Robinson again; but I wasn't going to be any man's wife, if he
couldn't put a roof over my head. Well, father, you know what was
said then, and now you're going back from it."
"I suppose you'd better have Mr. Brisket," said the old man, after a
pause.
"Will you give Brisket those five hundred pounds?" And then those
embassies to Aldersgate Street were made by Mrs. Poppins and by Mr.
Jones. During this time Maryanne, having spoken her mind freely,
remained silent and sullen. That her father would not go out on the
appointed day, she knew. That she would not marry Robinson unless he
did, she knew also. She did not like Brisket; but, as she had said,
she was not so selfish as to let that stand in the way. If it was to
be Brisket, let it be Brisket. Only let something be done.
Only let something be done. It certainly was not a matter of surprise
that she should demand so much. It must be acknowledged that all
connected with the firm and family began to feel that the house of
Brown, Jones, and Robinson, had not succeeded in establishing itself
on a sound basis. Mr. Brown was despondent, and often unwell. The
Jones's were actuated by no ambition to raise themselves to the
position of British merchants, but by a greedy desire to get what
little might be gotten in the scramble. Robinson still kept his
shoulder to the collar, but he did so with but little hope. He had
made a fatal mistake in leaguing himself with uncongenial partners,
and began to feel that this mistake must be expiated by the ruin of
his present venture. Under such circumstances Maryanne Brown was not
unreasonable in desiring that something should be done. She had now
given a tacit consent to that plan for bringing back Brisket, and
consequently her brother-in-law went at once to work.
It must be acknowledged that the time was short. When Brisket, with
such easy indifference, postponed his visit to Bishopsgate Street
till the Saturday, giving to Gogham Market and the slaughtering of
his beasts a preference to the renewal of his love, he regarded the
task before him as a light one. But it must be supposed that it was
no light task to Miss Brown. On the Tuesday following that Saturday,
she would, if she were true to her word, join herself in wedlock to
George Robinson. She now purposed to be untrue to her word; but it
must be presumed that she had some misgivings at the heart when she
thought of the task before her.
On the Thursday and the Friday she managed to avoid Robinson. On the
Saturday morning they met in her father's room for a minute, and when
he attempted to exercise a privilege to which his near approaching
nuptials certainly entitled him, she repulsed him sullenly: "Oh,
come; none of that." "I shall require the more on Tuesday," he
replied, with his ordinary good-humour. She spoke nothing further to
him then, but left the room and went away to her friend Mrs. Poppins.
Robinson belonged to a political debating club, which met on every
Saturday evening at the "Goose and Gridiron" in one of the lanes
behind the church in Fleet Street. It was, therefore, considered that
the new compact might be made in Bishopsgate Street on that evening
without any danger of interruption from him. But at the hour of
dinner on that day, a word was whispered into his ear by Poppins. "I
don't suppose you care about it," said he, "but there's going to be
some sort of doing at the old man's this evening."
"What doing?"
"It's all right, I suppose; but Brisket is going to be there. It's
just a farewell call, I suppose."
"Brisket with my love!" said Robinson. "Then will I be there also."
"Don't forget that you've got to chaw up old Crowdy on the paper
question. What will the Geese do if you're not there?" The club in
question was ordinarily called the Goose Club, and the members were
in common parlance called "The Geese."
"I will be there also," said Robinson. "But if I should be late, you
will tell the Geese why it is so."
"They all know you are going to be married," said Poppins. And then
they parted.
The hour at which the parliament of the Geese assembled was, as a
rule, a quarter before eight in the evening, so that the debate might
absolutely begin at eight. Seven was the hour for tea in Bishopsgate
Street, but on the present occasion Brisket was asked for half-past
seven, so that Robinson's absence might be counted on as a certainty.
At half-past seven to the moment Brisket was there, and the greeting
between him and Maryanne was not of a passionate nature.
"Well, old girl, here I am again," he said, as he swung his burly
body into the room.
"I see you," she said, as she half reluctantly gave him her hand.
"But remember, it wasn't me who sent for you. I'd just as lief you
stayed away." And then they went to business.
Both Jones and his wife were there; and it may perhaps be said, that
if Maryanne Brown had any sincerity of feeling at her heart, it was
one of hatred for her brother-in-law. But now, this new change in her
fortunes was being brought about by his interference, and he was, as
it were, acting as her guardian. This was very bitter to her, and she
sat on one side in sullen silence, and to all appearance paid no heed
to what was being said.
The minds of them all were so intent on the business part of the
transaction that the banquet was allowed to remain untouched till all
the preliminaries were settled. There was the tea left to draw till
it should be as bitter as Maryanne's temper, and the sally luns
were becoming as cold as Sarah Jane's heart. Mr. Brown did, in some
half-bashful manner, make an attempt at performing the duties of a
host. "My dears, won't Mr. Brisket have his dish of tea now it's
here?" But "my dears" were deaf to the hint. Maryanne still sat
sullen in the corner, and Sarah Jane stood bolt upright, with ears
erect, ready to listen, ready to speak, ready to interfere with
violence should the moment come when anything was to be gained on her
side by doing so.
They went to the work in hand, with very little of the preamble of
courtesy. Yes; Brisket would marry her on the terms proposed by
Jones. He could see his way if he had a hundred pounds down, and the
bill of the Firm at three months for the remaining sum.
"Not three months, Brisket; six months," suggested Brown. But in this
matter Brisket was quite firm, and Mr. Brown gave way.
But, as all of them knew, the heat of the battle would concern the
names which were to be written on the bill. Brisket demanded that
the bill should be from the firm. Jones held that as a majority of
the firm were willing that this should be so, Mr. Brown was legally
entitled to make the bill payable at the bank out of the funds of the
house. In this absurd opinion he was supported violently by his wife.
Brisket, of course, gave no opinion on the subject. It was not for
him to interfere among the partners. All he said was, that the bill
of the firm had been promised to him, and that he shouldn't see his
way with anything else. Mr. Brown hesitated,--pondering painfully
over the deed he was called upon to do. He knew that he was being
asked to rob the man he loved;--but he knew also, that if he did not
do so, he must go forth from his home. And then, when he might be in
want of comfort, the child for whose sake he should do so would turn
from him without love or pity.
"Jones and me would do it together," said Mr. Brown.
"Jones won't do nothing of the kind," said Jones's careful wife.
"It would be no good if he did," said Brisket. "And, I'll tell you
what it is, I'm not going to be made a fool of; I must know how it's
to be at once, or I'm off." And he put out his hand as though to take
up his hat.
"What fools you are!" said Maryanne, speaking from her chair in the
corner. "There's not one of you knows George Robinson. Ask him to
give his name to the bill, and he'll do it instantly."
"Who is it wants the name of George Robinson?" said the voice of that
injured man, as at the moment he entered the room. "George Robinson
is here." And then he looked round upon the assembled councillors,
and his eyes rested at last with mingled scorn and sorrow upon the
face of Maryanne Brown;--with mingled scorn and sorrow, but not with
anger. "George Robinson is here; who wants his name?--and why?"
"Will you take a cup of tea, George?" said Mr. Brown, as soon as he
was able to overcome his first dismay.
"Maryanne," said Robinson, "why is that man here?" and he pointed to
Brisket.
"Ask them," said Maryanne, and she turned her face away from him, in
towards the wall.
"Mr. Brown, why is he here? Why is your daughter's former lover here
on the eve of her marriage with me?"
"I will answer that question, if you please," said Jones, stepping
up.
"You!" And Robinson, looking at him from head to foot, silenced him
with his look. "You answer me! From you I will take no answer in this
matter. With you I will hold no parley on this subject. I have spoken
to two whom I loved, and they have given me no reply. There is one
here whom I do not love and he shall answer me. Mr. Brisket, though I
have not loved you, I have believed you to be an honest man. Why are
you here?"
"To see if we can agree about my marrying that young woman," said
Brisket, nodding at her with his head, while he still kept his hands
in his trousers' pockets.
"Ah! Is it so? There she is, Mr. Brisket; and now, for the third
time, I shall go out from your presence, renouncing her charms in
your favour. When first I did so at the dancing-room, I was afraid of
your brute strength, because the crowd was looking on and I knew you
could carry out your unmanly threat. And when I wrote that paper the
second time, you had again threatened me, and I was again afraid. My
heart was high on other matters, and why should I have sacrificed
myself? Now I renounce her again; but I am not afraid,--for my heart
is high on nothing."
"George, George!" said Maryanne, jumping from her seat. "Leave him,
leave him, and I'll promise--" And then she seized hold of his arm.
For the moment some touch of a woman's feeling had reached her heart.
At that instant she perhaps recognized,--if only for the instant,
that true love is worth more than comfort, worth more than well
assured rations of bread and meat, and a secure roof. For that once
she felt rather than understood that an honest heart is better than a
strong arm. But it was too late.
[Illustration: Robinson defies his rival.]
"No," said he, "I'll have no promise from you;--your words are false.
I've humbled myself as the dust beneath your feet, because I loved
you,--and, therefore, you have treated me as the dust. The man who
will crawl to a woman will ever be so treated."
"You are about right there, old fellow," said Brisket.
"Leave me, I say." For still she held his arm. She still held his
arm, for she saw by his eye what he intended, though no one else had
seen.
"You have twitted me with my cowardice," he said; "but you shall
see that I am no coward. He is the coward!" and he pointed with his
finger to Brisket. "He is the coward, for he will undergo no risk."
And then, without further notice, George Robinson flew at the
butcher's throat.
It was very clear that Brisket himself had suspected no such attack,
for till the moment at which he felt Robinson's fingers about his
cravat, he had still stood with his hands in the pockets of his
trousers. He was very strong, and when his thoughts were well made up
to the idea of a fight, could in his own way be quick enough with his
fists; but otherwise he was slow in action, nor was he in any way
passionate.
"Halloo," he said, striving to extricate himself, and hardly able
to articulate, as the handkerchief tightened itself about his neck.
"Ugh-h-h." And getting his arm round Robinson's ribs he tried to
squeeze his assailant till he should drop his hold.
"I will have his tongue from his mouth," shouted Robinson, and as he
spoke, he gave another twist to the handkerchief.
"Oh, laws," said Mrs. Jones. "The poor man will be choked," and she
laid hold of the tail of Robinson's coat, pulling at it with all her
strength.
"Don't, don't," said Mr. Brown. "George, George, you shall have her;
indeed you shall,--only leave him."
Maryanne the while looked on, as ladies of yore did look on when
knights slaughtered each other for their smiles. And perhaps of yore
the hearts of those who did look on were as cold and callous as was
hers. For one moment of enthusiasm she had thought she loved, but now
again she was indifferent. It might be settled as well this way as
any other.
At length Brisket succeeded in actually forcing his weak assailant
from him, Mrs. Jones the while lending him considerable assistance;
and then he raised his heavy fist. Robinson was there opposite to
him, helpless and exhausted, just within his reach; and he raised his
heavy fist to strike him down.
He raised his fist, and then he let it fall. "No," said he; "I'm
blowed if I'll hit you. You're better stuff than I thought you was.
And now look here, young man; there she is. If she'll say that she'll
have you, I'll walk out, and I won't come across you or she any
more."
Maryanne, when she heard this, raised her face and looked steadily at
Robinson. If, however, she had any hope, that hope was fruitless.
"I have renounced her twice," said he, "and now I renounce her
again. It is not now from fear. Mr. Brown, you have my authority for
accepting that bill in the name of the Firm." Then he left the room
and went forth into the street.
CHAPTER XVIII.
AN EVENING AT THE "GOOSE AND GRIDIRON."
Those political debaters who met together weekly at the "Goose and
Gridiron" were certainly open to the insinuation that they copied
the practices of another debating society, which held its sittings
farther west. In some respects they did so, and were perhaps even
servile in their imitation. They divided themselves into parties, of
which each had an ostensible leader. But then there was always some
ambitious but hardly trustworthy member who endeavoured to gather
round him a third party which might become dominant by trimming
between the other two; and he again would find the ground cut from
beneath his feet by new aspirants. The members never called each
other by their own names, but addressed each always as "The worthy
Goose," speaking at such moments with the utmost courtesy. This
would still be done, though the speaker were using all his energy
to show that that other Goose was in every sense unworthy. They had
a perpetual chairman, for whom they affected the most unbounded
respect. He was generally called "The Grand," his full title being
"The Most Worthy Grand Goose;" and members on their legs, when they
wished to address the meeting with special eloquence, and were
about to speak words which they thought peculiarly fit for public
attention, would generally begin by thus invoking him. "Most Worthy
Grand," they would say. But this when done by others than well
accustomed speakers, was considered as a work either of arrogance
or of ignorance. This great officer was much loved among them, and
familiarly he was called "My Grand." Though there was an immensity of
talk at these meetings, men speaking sometimes by the half hour whose
silence the club would have been willing to purchase almost at any
price, there were not above four established orators. There were
four orators, of each of whom it was said that he copied the manner
and tone of some great speaker in that other society. There was our
friend Robinson, who in the elegance of his words, and the brilliancy
of his ideas, far surpassed any other Goose. His words were
irresistible, and his power in that assembly unequalled. But yet, as
many said, it was power working only for evil. The liberal party to
which he had joined himself did not dare to stand without him; but
yet, if the whispers that got abroad were true, they would only too
gladly have dispensed with him. He was terrible as a friend; but then
he could be more terrible as a foe.
Then there was Crowdy,--Crowdy, whose high-flown ideas hardly tallied
with the stern realities of his life. Crowdy was the leader of those
who had once held firmly by Protection. Crowdy had been staunchly
true to his party since he had a party, though it had been said of
him that the adventures of Crowdy in search of a party had been very
long and very various. There had been no Goose with a bitterer tongue
than Crowdy; but now in these days a spirit of quiescence had fallen
on him; and though he spoke as often as ever, he did not wield so
deadly a tomahawk.
Then there was the burly Buggins, than whom no Goose had a more
fluent use of his vernacular. He was not polished as Robinson, nor
had he ever possessed the exquisite keenness of Crowdy. But in
speaking he always hit the nail on the head, and carried his hearers
with him by the energy and perspicuity of his argument. But by
degrees the world of the Goose and Gridiron had learned that Buggins
talked of things which he did not understand, and which he had not
studied. His facts would not bear the light. Words fell from his
mouth sweeter than honey; but sweet as they were they were of no
avail. It was pleasant to hear Buggins talk, but men knew that it was
useless.
But perhaps the most remarkable Goose in that assembly, as decidedly
he was the most popular, was old Pan. He traced his birth to the
mighty blood of the great Pancabinets, whose noble name he still
proudly bore. Every one liked old Pancabinet, and though he did not
now possess, and never had possessed, those grand oratorical powers
which distinguished so highly the worthy Geese above mentioned, no
Goose ever rose upon his legs more sure of respectful attention. The
sway which he bore in that assembly was very wonderful, for he was an
old man, and there were there divers Geese of unruly spirit. Lately
he had associated himself much with our friend Robinson, for which
many blamed him. But old Pancabinet generally knew what he was about,
and having recognized the tremendous power of the young merchant from
Bishopsgate Street, was full sure that he could get on better with
him than he could against him.
It was pleasant to see "My Grand" as he sat in his big arm-chair,
with his beer before him, and his long pipe in his mouth. A benign
smile was ever on his face, and yet he showed himself plainly
conscious that authority lived in his slightest word, and that he had
but to nod to be obeyed. That pipe was constant in his hand, and was
the weapon with which he signified his approbation of the speakers.
When any great orator would arise and address him as Most Worthy
Grand, he would lay his pipe for an instant on the table, and,
crossing his hands on his ample waistcoat, would bow serenely to the
Goose on his legs. Then, not allowing the spark to be extinguished
on his tobacco, he would resume the clay, and spread out over his
head and shoulders a long soft cloud of odorous smoke. But when any
upstart so addressed him,--any Goose not entitled by character to
use the sonorous phrase,--he would still retain his pipe, and simply
wink his eye. It was said that this distinction quite equalled the
difference between big type and little. Perhaps the qualification
which was most valued among The Geese, and most specially valued by
The Worthy Grand, was a knowledge of the Forms of the Room, as it was
called. These rules or formulas, which had probably been gradually
invented for the complication of things which had once been too
simple, were so numerous that no Goose could remember them all who
was not very constant in his attention, and endowed with an accurate
memory. And in this respect they were no doubt useful;--that when
young and unskilled Geese tried to monopolize the attention of the
Room, they would be constantly checked and snubbed, and at last
subdued and silenced, by some reference to a forgotten form. No Goose
could hope to get through a lengthy speech without such interruption
till he had made the Forms of the Room a long and painful study.
On the evening in question,--that same evening on which Robinson
had endeavoured to tear out the tongue of Brisket,--the Geese were
assembled before eight o'clock. A motion that had been made elsewhere
for the repeal of the paper duties was to be discussed. It was known
that the minds of many Geese were violently set against a measure
which they presumed to be most deleterious to the country; but old
Pan, under the rigorous instigation of Robinson, had given in his
adhesion, and was prepared to vote for the measure,--and to talk for
it also, should there be absolute necessity. Buggins also was on the
same side,--for Buggins was by trade a radical. But it was felt by
all that the debate would be nothing unless Robinson should be there
to "chaw up" Crowdy, as had been intimated to our friend by that
worthy Goose the young Poppins.
But at eight o'clock and at a quarter past eight Robinson was
not there. Crowdy, not wishing to lacerate his foe till that foe
should be there to feel the wounds, sat silent in his usual seat.
Pancabinet, who understood well the beauty of silence, would not
begin the fray. Buggins was ever ready to talk, but he was cunning
enough to know that a future opportunity might be more valuable than
the present one. Then up jumped Poppins. Now Poppins was no orator,
but he felt that as the friend of Robinson, he was bound to address
the meeting on the present occasion. There were circumstances which
should be explained. "Most worthy Grand,--" he began, starting
suddenly to his legs; whereupon the worthy Grand slightly drew back
his head, still holding his pipe between his lips, and winked at the
unhappy Poppins. "As the friend of the absent Robinson--" he went on;
but he was at once interrupted by loud cries of "order" from every
side of the Room. And, worse than that, the Grand frowned at him.
There was no rule more established than that which forbade the name
of any Goose to be mentioned. "I beg the Grand's pardon," continued
Poppins; "I mean the absent worthy Goose. As his friend I rise to
say a few words. I know he feels the greatest interest about this
measure, which has been brought forward in the House of C--" But
again he was interrupted. "Order, order, order," was shouted at him
by vociferous Geese on every side, and the Grand frowned at him
twice. When the Grand had frowned at a member three times, that
member was silenced for the night. In this matter the assembly at the
"Goose and Gridiron" had not copied their rule from any other Body.
But it is worthy of consideration whether some other Body might not
do well to copy theirs. "I beg the Grand's pardon again," said the
unhappy Poppins; "but I meant in another place." Hereupon a worthy
Goose got up and suggested that their numbers should be counted. Now
there was a rule that no debate could be continued unless a dozen
Geese were present; and a debate once closed, was closed for that
night. When such a hint was given to the Grand, it became the Grand's
duty to count his Geese, and in order to effect this in accordance
with the constitution of the assembly, it was necessary that the
servants should withdraw. Strangers also were sometimes present,
and at such moments they were politely asked to retire. When the
suggestion was made, the suggestor no doubt knew that the requisite
number was not there, but it usually happened on such occasions that
some hangers-on were at hand to replenish the room. A Goose or two
might be eating bread and cheese in the little parlour,--for food
could not be introduced into the debating-room; and a few of the
younger Geese might often be found amusing themselves with the
young lady at the bar. Word would be passed to them that the Grand
was about to count, and indeed they would hear the tap of his
tobacco-stopper on the table. Then there would be a rush among these
hungry and amorous Geese, and so the number would be made up. That
they called making a flock.
When the suggestion was given on the present occasion the Grand put
down his tankard from his hand and proceeded to the performance of
his duty. Turning the mouthpiece of his long pipe-clay out from him,
he pointed it slowly to one after another, counting them as he so
pointed. First he counted up old Pancabinet, and a slight twinkle
might be seen in the eyes of the two old men as he did so. Then,
turning his pipe round the room, he pointed at them all, and it was
found that there were fifteen present. "There is a flock, and the
discreet and worthy Goose is in possession of the room," he said,
bowing to Poppins. And Poppins again began his speech.
It was but a blundering affair, as was too often the case with the
speeches made there; and then when Poppins sat down, the great Crowdy
rose slowly to his legs. We will not attempt to give the speech of
this eloquent Goose at length, for the great Crowdy often made long
speeches. It may suffice to say that having a good cause he made
the best of it, and that he pitched into our poor Robinson most
unmercifully, always declaring as he did so that as his friend
the enterprising and worthy Goose was absent, his own mouth was
effectually closed. It may be noted here that whenever a Goose was
in commerce the epithet "enterprising" was always used when he was
mentioned; and if he held or ever had held a service of trust, as
Poppins did, he was called the "discreet" Goose. And then, just as
Crowdy finished his speech, the swinging door of the room was opened,
and Robinson himself started up to his accustomed place.
It was easy to see that both the inner man had been disturbed and
the outer. His hair and clothes had been ruffled in the embrace
with Brisket, and his heart had been ruffled in its encounter with
Maryanne. He had come straight from Bishopsgate Street to the "Goose
and Gridiron;" and now when he walked up to his seat, all the Geese
remained silent waiting for him to declare himself.
"Most worthy Grand," he began; and immediately the long pipe was
laid upon the table and the hands of the Grand were crossed upon his
bosom. "A circumstance has occurred to-night, which unfits me for
these debates." "No, no, no," was shouted on one side; and "hear,
hear, hear," on the other; during which the Grand again bowed and
then resumed his pipe.
"If the chamber will allow me to wander away from paper for a moment,
and to open the sores of a bleeding heart--"
"Question, question," was then called by a jealous voice.
"The enterprising and worthy Goose is perfectly in order," said the
burly Buggins. "Many a good heart will bleed before long if this
debate is to be choked and smothered by the cackle of the incapable."
"I submit that the question before the chamber is the repeal of the
paper duties," said the jealous voice, "and not the bleeding heart of
the enterprising and worthy Goose."
"The question before the cabinet is," said My Grand, "that the
chamber considers that two millions a-year will be lost for ever by
the repeal of the paper duties; but if the enterprising and worthy
Goose have any personal remarks to make bearing on that subject, he
will be in order."
"It is a matter of privilege," suggested Poppins.
"A personal explanation is always allowed," said Robinson,
indignantly; "nor did I think that any member of this chamber would
have had the baseness to stop my voice when--"
"Order--order--order!"
"I may have been wrong to say baseness in this chamber, however base
the worthy Goose may be; and, therefore, with permission of our
worthy Grand, I will substitute 'hardihood.'" Whereupon the worthy
Grand again bowed. But still there were cries of question from the
side of the room opposite to that on which Robinson sat.
Then old Pancabinet rose from his seat, and all voices were hushed.
"If I may be allowed to make a suggestion," said he, "I would say
that the enterprising and worthy Goose should be heard on a matter
personal to himself. It may very probably be that the privileges of
this chamber are concerned; and I think I may say that any worthy
Goose speaking on matters affecting privilege in this chamber is
always heard with that attention which the interest of the subject
demands." After that there was no further interruption, and Robinson
was allowed to open his bleeding heart.
"Most worthy Grand," he again began, and again the pipe was laid
down, for Robinson was much honoured. "I come here hot from a scene
of domestic woe, which has robbed me of all political discretion,
and made the paper duty to me an inscrutable mystery. The worthy
Geese here assembled see before them a man who has been terribly
injured; one in whose mangled breast Fate has fixed her sharpest
dagger, and poisoned the blade before she fixed it." "No--no--no."
"Hear--hear--hear." "Yes, my Grand; she poisoned the blade before she
fixed it. On Tuesday next I had hoped--" and here his voice became
inexpressibly soft and tender, "on Tuesday next I had hoped to
become one bone and one flesh with a fair girl whom I have loved for
months;--fair indeed to the outer eye, as flesh and form can make
her; but ah! how hideously foul within. And I had hoped on this day
se'nnight to have received the congratulations of this chamber. I
need not say that it would have been the proudest moment of my life.
But, my Grand, that has all passed away. Her conduct has been the
conduct of a Harpy. She is a Regan. She is false, heartless, and
cruel; and this night I have renounced her."
Hereupon a small Goose, very venomous, but vehemently attached to the
privileges of his chamber, gave notice of a motion that that false
woman should be brought before the Most Worthy Grand, and heard
at the bar of the "Goose and Gridiron." But another worthy Goose
showed that the enterprising and worthy Goose had by his own showing
renounced the lady himself, and that, therefore, there could have
been no breach of the privilege of the chamber. The notice of motion
was then withdrawn.
"O woman!" continued Robinson, "how terrible is thy witchcraft,
and how powerful are thy charms! Thou spakest, and Adam fell. Thou
sangest, and Samson's strength was gone. The head of the last of the
prophets was the reward of thy meretricious feet. 'Twas thy damnable
eloquence that murdered the noble Duncan. 'Twas thy lascivious beauty
that urged the slaughter of the noble Dane. As were Adam and Samson,
so am I. As were Macbeth and the foul king in the play, so is my
rival Brisket. Most worthy Grand, this chamber must hold me excused
if I decline to-night to enter upon the subject of the paper duties."
Then Robinson left the chamber, and the discussion was immediately
adjourned to that day se'nnight.
CHAPTER XIX.
GEORGE ROBINSON'S MARRIAGE.
Thus ended George Robinson's dream of love. Never again will he
attempt that phase of life. Beauty to him in future shall be a
thing on which the eye may rest with satisfaction, as it may on the
sculptor's chiselled marble, or on the varied landscape. It shall be
a thing to look at,--possibly to possess. But for the future George
Robinson's heart shall be his own. George Robinson is now wedded, and
he will admit of no second wife. On that same Tuesday which was to
have seen him made the legal master of Maryanne's charms, he vowed
to himself that Commerce should be his bride; and, as in the dead
of night he stood on the top of the hill of Ludgate, he himself, as
high-priest, performed the ceremony. "Yes," said he on that occasion,
"O goddess, here I devote myself to thy embraces, to thine and thine
only. To live for thee shall satisfy both my heart and my ambition.
If thou wilt be kind, no softer loveliness shall be desired by me.
George Robinson has never been untrue to his vows, nor shalt thou,
O my chosen one, find him so now. For thee will I labour, straining
every nerve to satisfy thy wishes. Woman shall henceforward be to me
a doll for the adornment of whose back it will be my business to sell
costly ornaments. In no other light will I regard the loveliness of
her form. O sweet Commerce, teach me thy lessons! Let me ever buy in
the cheapest market and sell in the dearest. Let me know thy hidden
ways, and if it be that I am destined for future greatness, and may
choose the path by which it shall be reached, it is not great wealth
at which I chiefly aim. Let it rather be said of me that I taught the
modern world of trade the science of advertisement."
Thus did he address his new celestial bride, and as he spoke a
passing cloud rolled itself away from before the moon's face, and
the great luminary of the night shone down upon his upturned face.
"I accept the omen," said Robinson, with lightened heart; and from
that moment his great hopes never again altogether failed him,
though he was doomed to pass through scorching fires of commercial
disappointment.
But it must not be supposed that he was able to throw off his passion
for Maryanne Brown without a great inward struggle. Up to that
moment, in which he found Brisket in Mr. Brown's room, and, as he
stood for a moment on the landing-place, heard that inquiry made as
to the use of his name, he had believed that Maryanne would at last
be true to him. Poppins, indeed, had hinted his suspicions, but in
the way of prophecy Poppins was a Cassandra. Poppins saw a good deal
with those twinkling eyes of his, but Robinson did not trust to the
wisdom of Poppins. Up to that hour he had believed in Maryanne, and
then in the short flash of an instant the truth had come upon him.
She had again promised herself to Brisket, if Brisket would only
take her. Let Brisket have her if he would. A minute's thought was
sufficient to bring him to this resolve. But hours of scorching
torment must be endured ere he could again enjoy the calm working of
a sound mind in a sound body.
It has been told how in the ecstasy of his misery he poured out the
sorrows of his bleeding heart before his brethren at the debating
club. They, with that ready sympathy which they always evince for
the success or failure of any celebrated brother, at once adjourned
themselves; and Robinson walked out, followed at a distance by the
faithful Poppins.
"George, old fellow!" said the latter, touching his friend on the
shoulder, at the corner of Bridge Street.
"Leave me!" exclaimed Robinson. "Do not pry into sorrows which you
cannot understand. I would be alone with myself this night."
"You'd be better if you'd come to the 'Mitre,' and smoke a pipe,"
said Poppins.
"Pipe me no pipes," said Robinson.
"Oh, come. You'd better quit that, and take it easy. After all, isn't
it better so, than you should find her out when it was too late?
There's many would be glad to have your chance."
"Man!" shouted Robinson, and as he did so he turned round upon his
friend and seized him by the collar of his coat. "I loved that woman.
Forty thousand Poppinses could not, with all their quantity of love,
make up my sum."
"Very likely not," said Poppins.
"Would'st thou drink up Esil? Would'st thou eat a crocodile?"
"Heaven forbid," said Poppins.
"I'll do it. And if thou prate of mountains--"
"But I didn't."
"No, Poppins, no. That's true. Though I should be Hamlet, yet art not
thou Laërtes. But Poppins, thou art Horatio."
"I'm Thomas Poppins, old fellow; and I mean to stick to you till I
see you safe in bed."
"Thou art Horatio, for I've found thee honest. There are more things
in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in our philosophy."
"Come, old fellow."
"Poppins, give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will
wear him in my heart's core; ay, in my heart of hearts;--as I do
thee." And then, falling on Poppins' neck, George Robinson embraced
him.
"You'll be better after that," said Poppins. "Come, let's have a
little chat over a drop of something hot, and then we'll go to bed.
I'll stand Sammy."
"Something hot!" said Robinson. "I tell you, Poppins, that everything
is hot to me. Here, here I'm hot." And then he struck his breast.
"And yet I'm very cold. 'Tis cold to be alone; cold to have lost
one's all. Poppins, I've loved a harpy."
"I believe you're about right there," said Poppins.
"A harpy! Her nails will grow to talons, and on her feet are hoofs.
Within she is horn all over. There's not a drop of blood about her
heart. Oh, Poppins!"
"You're very well out of it, George. But yet I'm sorry for you. I am,
indeed."
"And now, good-night. This way is mine; yours there."
"What! to the bridge? No; I'm blessed if you do; at any rate not
alone."
"Poppins, tell me this; was Hamlet mad, or did he feign so?"
"Faith, very likely the latter. Many do that now. There are better
rations in Bedlam, than in any of the gaols;--let alone the
workhouses."
"Ay; go mad for rations! There's no feigning there, Poppins. The
world is doing that. But, Poppins, Hamlet feigned; and so do I. Let
the wind blow as it may, I know a hawk from a handsaw. Therefore you
need not fear me."
"I don't; but I won't let you go on to that bridge alone. You'll be
singing that song of a suicide, till you're as low as low. Come and
drink a drop of something, and wish Brisket joy with his wife."
"I will," said Robinson. And so the two went to the "Mitre;" and
there, comforted by the truth and honesty of his friend, Robinson
resolved that he would be weak no longer, but, returning at once
to his work, would still struggle on to rescue the house of Brown,
Jones, and Robinson from that bourne of bankruptcy to which it was
being hurried by the incompetency of his partners.
The following day was Sunday, and he rose at twelve with a racking
headache. He had promised to take a chop with his friend at two, and
at that hour he presented himself, with difficulty, at Mrs. Poppins's
room. She was busy laying the cloth as he entered, but his friend
was seated, half-dressed, unshorn, pale, and drooping, in an old
arm-chair near the window.
"It's a shame for you, George Robinson," said the lady, as he
entered, "so it is. Look at that, for a father of a family,--coming
home at three o'clock in the morning, and not able to make his way
upstairs till I went down and fetched him!"
"I told her that we were obliged to sit out the debate," said
Poppins, winking eagerly at his friend.
"Debate, indeed! A parcel of geese as you call yourself! Only geese
go to bed betimes, and never get beastly drunk as you was, Poppins."
"I took a bit of stewed cheese, which always disagrees with me."
"Stewed cheese never disagrees with you when I'm with you. I'll tell
you what it is, Poppins; if you ain't at home and in bed by eleven
o'clock next Saturday, I'll go down to the 'Goose and Gridiron,' and
I'll have that old Grandy out of his chair. That's what I will. I
suppose you're so bad you can't eat a bit of nothing?" In answer to
which, Robinson said that he did not feel himself to be very hungry.
"It's a blessing to Maryanne to have lost you; that's what it is."
"Stop, woman," said Robinson.
"Don't you woman me any womans. I know what stuff you're made off.
It's a blessing for her not to have to do with a man who comes home
roaring drunk, like a dead log, at three o'clock in the morning."
"Now, Polly,--" began poor Poppins.
"Oh, ah, Polly! Yes. Polly's very well. But it was a bad day for
Polly when she first sat eyes on you. There was Sergeant MacNash
never took a drop too much in his life. And you're worse than
Robinson ten times. He's got no children at home, and no wife. If he
kills hisself with tobacco and gin, nobody will be much the worse.
I know one who's got well out of it, anyway. And now, if either of
you are able to eat, you can come." Robinson did not much enjoy his
afternoon, but the scenes, as they passed, served to reconcile him
to that lonely life which must, henceforward, be his fate. What was
there to enjoy in the fate of Poppins, and what in the proposed
happiness of Brisket? Could not a man be sufficient for himself
alone? Was there aught of pleasantness in that grinding tongue of
his friend's wife? Should not one's own flesh,--the bone of one's
bone,--bind up one's bruises, pouring in balm with a gentle hand?
Poppins was wounded sorely about the head and stomach, and of what
nature was the balm which his wife administered? He, Robinson, had
longed for married bliss, but now he longed no longer.
On the following Monday and Tuesday he went silently about his work,
speaking hardly a word to anybody. Mr. Brown greeted him with an
apologetic sigh, and Jones with a triumphant sneer; but he responded
to neither of them. He once met Maryanne in the passage, and bowed to
her with a low salute, but he did not speak to her. He did not speak
to her, but he saw the colour in her cheek, and watched her downcast
eye. He was still weak as water, and had she clung to him even then,
he would even then have forgiven her! But she passed on, and, as she
left the house, she slammed the door behind her.
A little incident happened on that day, which is mentioned to show
that, even in his present frame of mind, Robinson was able to take
advantage of the smallest incident on behalf of his firm. A slight
crowd had been collected round the door in the afternoon, for there
had been a quarrel between Mr. Jones and one of the young men, in
which loud words had reached the street, and a baby, which a woman
held in her arms, had been somewhat pressed and hurt. As soon as the
tidings reached Robinson's ears he was instantly at his desk, and
before the trifling accident was two hours passed, the following bill
was in the printer's hands;--
CAUTION TO MOTHERS!--MOTHERS, BEWARE!
Three suckling infants were yesterday pressed to death in
their mothers' arms by the crowd which had congregated
before the house of Brown, Jones, and Robinson, at Nine
times Nine, Bishopsgate Street, in their attempts to be
among the first purchasers of that wonderful lot of cheap
but yet excellent flannels, which B., J., and R. have just
imported. Such flannels, at such a price, were never before
offered to the British public. The sale, at the figures
quoted below, will continue for three days more.
_Magenta House._
And then followed the list.
It had chanced that Mr. Brown had picked up a lot of remnants
from a wholesale house in Houndsditch, and the genius of Robinson
immediately combined that fact with the little accident above
mentioned.
CHAPTER XX.
SHOWING HOW MR. BRISKET DIDN'T SEE HIS WAY.
Then two months passed by, and the summer was over. Early in
September Mr. Brown had been taken ill, and he went to Margate for
a fortnight with his unmarried daughter. This had been the means of
keeping Brisket quiet for a while with reference to that sum of money
which he was to receive, and had given a reason why the marriage
with him should not be performed at once. On Mr. Brown's return, the
matter was discussed, and Brisket became impatient. But the middle
of October had come before any steps were taken to which it will be
necessary to allude in the annals of the firm.
At that time Brisket, on two successive days, was closeted with his
proposed father-in-law, and it was evident to Robinson that after
each of these interviews Mr. Brown was left in an unhappy frame
of mind. At this time the affairs of the shop were not absolutely
ruinous,--or would not have been so had there been a proper watch
kept on the cash taken over the counter. The heaviest amounts due
were to the stationer, printer, and advertising agents. This was
wrong, for such people of course press for their money; and whatever
hitch or stoppage there may be in trade, there should, at any rate,
be no hitch or stoppage in the capability for advertising. For the
goods disposed of by the house payments had been made, if not with
absolute punctuality on every side, at any rate so fairly that some
supply was always forthcoming. The account at the bank had always
been low; and, though a few small bills had been discounted, nothing
like a mercantile system of credit had been established. All this
was wrong, and had already betrayed the fact that Brown, Jones, and
Robinson were little people, trading in a little way. It is useless
to conceal the fact now, and these memoirs would fail to render to
commerce that service which is expected from them, were the truth on
this matter kept back from the public. Brown, Jones, and Robinson had
not soared upwards into the empyrean vault of commercial greatness
on eagle's wings. There are bodies so ponderous in their nature,
that for them no eagle's wings can be found. The firm had commenced
their pecuniary transactions on a footing altogether weak and
unsubstantial. They had shown their own timidity, and had confessed,
by the nature of their fiscal transactions, that they knew themselves
to be small. To their advertising agents they should never have been
behindhand in their payments for one day; but they should have been
bold in demanding credit from their bank, and should have given their
orders to the wholesale houses without any of that hesitation or
reserve which so clearly indicates feebleness of purpose.
But in spite of this acknowledged weakness, a brisk trade over the
counter had been produced; and though the firm had never owned a
large stock, an unremitting sale was maintained of small goods,
such as ribbons, stockings, handkerchiefs, and cotton gloves. The
Katakarion shirts also had been successful, and now there was a hope
that, during the coming winter, something might be done in African
monkey muffs. At that time, therefore, the bill of the house at three
months, though not to be regarded as a bank-note, was not absolutely
waste paper. How far Brisket's eyes were open on this matter cannot
now be said; but he still expressed himself willing to take one
hundred pounds in cash, and the remainder of Maryanne's fortune in
the bill of the firm at three months.
And then Mr. Brisket made a third visit to Bishopsgate Street. On all
these occasions he passed by the door of the little room in which
Robinson sat, and well did his late rival know his ponderous step.
His late rival;--for Brisket was now welcome to come and go. "Mr.
Brown!" said he, on one occasion, "I have come here to have a
settlement about this thing at once."
"I've been ill, Brisket; very ill, you know," said Mr. Brown,
pleadingly, "and I'm not strong now."
"But that can't make no difference about the money. Maryanne is
willing, and me also. When Christmas is coming on, it's a busy time
in our trade, and I can't be minding that sort of thing then. If
you've got the cash ready, and that bit of paper, we'll have it off
next week."
"I've never spoken to him about the paper;" and Mr. Brown, as he
uttered these words, pointed down towards the room in which Robinson
was sitting.
"Then you'd better," said Brisket. "For I shan't come here again
after to-day. I'll see it out now one way or the other, and so I've
told Maryanne."
Mr. Brown's sigh, when he heard these words, was prolonged and deep.
"You heard what he said that night," continued Brisket. "You ask him.
He's game for anything of that sort."
All these words Robinson had overheard, for the doors of the two
rooms were close together, and neither of them had been absolutely
closed. Now was the moment in which it behoved him to act. No false
delicacy as to the nature of the conversation between his partner and
that partner's proposed son-in-law withheld him; but rising from his
seat, he walked straight into the upper room.
"Here he is, by jingo," said Brisket. "Talk of the--"
"Speak of an angel and behold his wings," said Robinson, with a faint
smile. "I come on a visit which might befit an angel. Mr. Brown, I
consent that your daughter's dowry shall be paid from the funds of
the firm."
But Mr. Brown, instead of expressing his thankful gratitude, as was
expected, winked at his partner. The dull Brisket did not perceive
it; but Robinson at once knew that this act of munificence on his
part was not at the moment pleasing to the lady's father.
"You're a trump," said Brisket; "and when we're settled at home like,
Maryanne and I that is, I hope you'll let bygones be bygones, and
come and take pot luck with us sometimes. If there's a tender bit of
steak about the place it shall be sent to the kitchen fire when you
show your face."
"Brisket," said Robinson, "there's my hand. I've loved her. I don't
deny it. But you're welcome to her. No woman shall ever sit at the
hearth of George Robinson;--but at her hearth George Robinson will
never sit."
"You shall be as welcome as if you did," said Brisket; "and a man
can't say no fairer."
But in the meantime Mr. Brown still continued to wink, and Robinson
understood that his consent to that bill transaction was not in
truth desired. "Perhaps, Mr. Brisket," said he, "as this is a matter
of business, I and my partner had better discuss it for a moment
together. We can go down into my room, Mr. Brown."
"With all my heart," said Brisket. "But remember this, both of you:
if I don't see my way before I leave the house, I don't come here any
more. I know my way pretty well from Aldersgate Street, and I'm sick
of the road. I've been true to my word all along, and I'll be true
to the end. But if I don't see my way before I leave this house,
remember I'm off."
"You shouldn't have said that," whispered Brown to his partner as
soon as the two were together.
"Why not?"
"The money won't be there at the end of three months, not if we pay
them other things. And where's the hundred pounds of ready to come
from?"
"That's your look-out."
"I haven't got it, George. Jones has it, I know; but I can't get it
out of him."
"Jones got a hundred pounds! And where should Jones have gotten it?"
"I know we have been wrong, George; I know we have. But you can't
wonder at me, George; can you? I did bring four thousand pounds into
it; didn't I?"
"And now you haven't got a hundred pounds!"
"If I have it's as much as I can say. But Jones has it, and ever so
much more. If Brisket will wait, we can frighten it out of Jones."
"If I know anything of human nature," said Robinson, "Brisket will
not wait."
"He would, if you hadn't spoke to him that way. He'd say he wouldn't,
and go away, and Maryanne would blow up; but I should have worked the
money out of Jones at last, and then Brisket would have waited."
When Mr. Brown had made this disclosure, whispering all the time as
he leaned his head and shoulder on Robinson's upright desk, they both
remained silent for a while. "We have been wrong," he had said; "I
know we have." And Robinson, as he heard the words, perceived that
from the beginning to the end he had been a victim. No wonder that
the business should not have answered, when such confessions as these
were wrung from the senior partner! But the fact alleged by Mr. Brown
in his own excuse was allowed its due weight by Robinson, even at
that moment. Mr. Brown had possessed money,--money which might have
made his old age comfortable and respectable in obscurity. It was not
surprising that he should be anxious to keep in his own hand some
small remnant of his own property. But as for Jones! What excuse
could be made for Jones! Jones had been a thief; and worse than
ordinary thieves, for his thefts were committed on his own friends.
"And he has got the money," said Robinson.
"Oh, yes!" said Mr. Brown, "there's no doubt in life about that."
"Then, by the heaven above us, he shall refund it to the firm from
which he has stolen it," shouted Robinson, striking the desk with his
fist as he did so.
"Whish, George, whish; Brisket will hear you."
"Who cares? I have been robbed on every side till I care for nothing!
What is Brisket to me, or what is your daughter? What is anything?"
"But, George--"
"Is there no honesty left in the world, Mr. Brown? That there is no
love I had already learned. Ah me, what an age is this in which we
live! Deceit, deceit, deceit;--it is all deceit!"
"The heart of a man is very deceitful," said Mr. Brown. "And a
woman's especially."
"Delilah would have been a true wife now-a-days. But never mind. That
man is still there, and he must be answered. I have no hundred pounds
to give him."
"No, George; no; we're sure of that."
"When this business is broken up, as broken up it soon will be--"
"Oh, George, don't say so."
"Ay, but it will. Then I shall walk out from Magenta House with empty
pockets and with clean hands."
"But think of me, George. I had four thousand pounds when we began.
Hadn't I, now?"
"I do think of you, and I forgive you. Now go up to Brisket, for he
will want his answer. I can assist you no further. My name is still
left to me, and of that you may avail yourself. But as for money,
George Robinson has none."
About half an hour after that, Mr. Brisket again descended the stairs
with his usual ponderous and slow step, and went forth into the
street, shaking the dust from his feet as he did so. He was sore
offended, and vowed in his heart that he would never enter that
house again. He had pressed Mr. Brown home about the money; and that
gentleman had suggested to him, first, that it should be given to him
on the day after the marriage, and then that it should be included in
the bill. "You offered to take it all in one bill before, you know,"
said Mr. Brown. Hereupon Brisket began to think that he did not see
his way at all, and finally left the house in great anger.
He went direct from thence to Mrs. Poppins' lodgings, where he knew
that he would find Miss Brown. Poppins himself was, of course, at his
work, and the two ladies were together.
"I've come to wish you good-by," he said, as he walked into the room.
"Laws, Mr. Brisket!" exclaimed Mrs. Poppins.
"It's all up about this marriage, and so I thought it right to
come and tell you. I began straightforward, and I mean to end
straightforward."
"You mean to say you're not going to have her," said Mrs. Poppins.
"Polly, don't make a fool of yourself," said Maryanne. "Do you think
I want the man. Let him go." And then he did go, and Miss Brown was
left without a suitor.
CHAPTER XXI.
MR. BROWN IS TAKEN ILL.
Brisket kept his word, and never entered Magenta House again, nor,
as far as George Robinson is aware, has he seen any of the Brown
family from that day on which he gave up his intended marriage to
this present. For awhile Maryanne Brown protested that she was well
satisfied that this should be so. She declared to Mrs. Poppins
that the man was mercenary, senseless, uninteresting, heavy, and
brutal;--and though in the bosom of her own family she did not speak
out with equal freedom, yet from time to time she dropped words
to show that she was not breaking her heart for William Brisket.
But this mood did not last long. Before winter had come round the
bitterness of gall had risen within her heart, and when Christmas was
there her frame of mind was comfortable neither to herself nor to her
unfortunate father.
During this time the house still went on. Set a business going, and
it is astonishing how long it will continue to move by the force of
mere daily routine. People flocked in for shirts and stockings, and
young women came there to seek their gloves and ribbons, although but
little was done to attract them, either in the way of advertisement
or of excellence of supply. Throughout this wretched month or two
Robinson knew that failure was inevitable, and with this knowledge it
was almost impossible that he should actively engage himself in his
own peculiar branch of business. There was no confidence between the
partners. Jones was conscious of what was coming and was more eager
than ever to feather his own nest. But in these days Mr. Brown
displayed a terrible activity. He was constantly in the shop, and
though it was evident to all eyes that care and sorrow were heaping
upon his shoulders a burden which he could hardly bear, he watched
his son-in-law with the eyes of an Argus. It was terrible to see him,
and terrible, alas, to hear him;--for at this time he had no reserve
before the men and women engaged behind the counters. At first there
had been a pretence of great love and confidence, but this was now
all over. It was known to all the staff that Mr. Brown watched his
son-in-law, and known also that the youngest partner had been treated
with injustice by them both.
They in the shop, and even Jones himself, knew little of what in
these days was going on upstairs. But Robinson knew, for his room
was close to that in which Mr. Brown and his daughter lived; and,
moreover, in spite of the ill-feeling which could not but exist
between him and Miss Brown, he passed many hours in that room with
her father. The bitterness of gall had now risen within her breast,
and she had begun to realize that truth which must be so terrible for
a woman, that she had fallen to the ground between two stools. It is
a truth terrible to a woman. There is no position in a man's life of
the same aspect. A man may fail in business, and feel that no further
chance of any real success can ever come in his way; or he may fail
in love, and in the soreness of his heart may know that the pleasant
rippling waters of that fountain are for him dried for ever. But with
a woman the two things are joined together. Her battle must be fought
all in one. Her success in life and her romance must go together,
hand in hand. She is called upon to marry for love, and if she marry
not for love, she disobeys the ordinance of nature and must pay the
penalty. But at the same time all her material fortune depends upon
the nature of that love. An industrious man may marry a silly fretful
woman, and may be triumphant in his counting-house though he be
bankrupt in his drawing-room. But a woman has but the one chance.
She must choose her life's companion because she loves him; but she
knows how great is the ruin of loving one who cannot win for her that
worldly success which all in the world desire to win.
With Maryanne Brown these considerations had become frightfully
momentous. She had in her way felt the desire for some romance in
life, but she had felt more strongly still how needful it was that
she should attain by her feminine charms a position which would put
her above want. "As long as I have a morsel, you shall have half of
it," her father had said to her more than once. And she had answered
him with terrible harshness, "But what am I to do when you have no
longer a morsel to share with me? When you are ruined, or dead, where
must I then look for support and shelter?" The words were harsh, and
she was a very Regan to utter them. But, nevertheless, they were
natural. It was manifest enough that her father would not provide
for her, and for her there was nothing but Eve's lot of finding an
Adam who would dig for her support. She was hard, coarse,--almost
heartless; but it may perhaps be urged in her favour, that she was
not wilfully dishonest. She had been promised to one man, and though
she did not love him she would have married him, intending to do her
duty. But to this he would not consent, except under certain money
circumstances which she could not command. Then she learned to love
another man, and him she would have married; but prudence told her
that she should not do so until he had a home in which to place her.
And thus she fell to the ground between two stools, and, falling,
perceived that there was nothing before her on which her eye could
rest with satisfaction.
There are women, very many women, who could bear this, if with
sadness, still without bitterness. It is a lot which many women have
to bear; but Maryanne Brown was one within whose bosom all feelings
were turned to gall by the prospect of such a destiny. What had she
done to deserve such degradation and misfortune? She would have been
an honest wife to either husband! That it could be her own fault in
any degree she did not for a moment admit. It was the fault of those
around her, and she was not the woman to allow such a fault to pass
unavenged.
"Father," she would say, "you will be in the workhouse before this
new year is ended."
"I hope not, my child."
"Hope! What's the good of hoping? You will. And where am I to go
then? Mother left a handsome fortune behind her, and this is what
you've brought us to."
"I've done everything for the best, Maryanne."
"Why didn't you give that man the money when you had it? You'd have
had a home then when you'd ruined yourself. Now you'll have no home;
neither shall I."
All this was very hard to be borne. "She nags at me that dreadful,
George," he once said, as he sat in his old arm-chair, with his head
hanging wearily on his chest, "that I don't know where I am or what
I'm doing. As for the workhouse, I almost wish I was there."
She would go also to Poppins' lodgings, and there quarrel with her
old friend Polly. It may be that at this time she did not receive
all the respect that had been paid to her some months back, and this
reverse was, to her proud spirit, unendurable. "Polly," she said, "if
you wish to turn your back upon me, you can do so. But I won't put up
with your airs."
"There's nobody turning their back upon you, only yourself,"
Polly replied; "but it's frightful to hear the way you're always
a-grumbling;--as if other people hadn't had their ups and downs
besides you."
Robinson also was taught by the manner of his friend Poppins that he
could not now expect to receive that high deference which was paid
to him about the time that Johnson of Manchester had been in the
ascendant. Those had been the halcyon days of the firm, and Robinson
had then been happy. Men at that time would point him out as he
passed, as one worthy of notice; his companions felt proud when
he would join them; and they would hint to him, with a mysterious
reverence that was very gratifying, their assurance that he was so
deeply occupied as to make it impossible that he should give his time
to the ordinary slow courtesies of life. All this was over now, and
he felt that he was pulled down with rough hands from the high place
which he had occupied.
"It's all very well," Poppins would say to him, "but the fact is,
you're a-doing of nothing."
"If fourteen hours a day--" began Robinson. But Poppins instantly
stopped him.
"Fourteen hours' work a day is nothing, if you don't do anything. A
man may sweat hard digging holes and filling them up again. But what
I say is, he does not do any good. You've been making out all these
long stories about things that never existed, but what's the world
the better for it;--that's what I want to know. When a man makes
a pair of shoes--." And so he went on. Coming from such a man as
Poppins, this was hard to be borne. But nevertheless Robinson did
bear it. Men at the "Goose and Gridiron" also would shoulder him
now-a-days, rather than make way for him. Geese whose names had never
been heard beyond the walls of that room would presume to occupy his
place. And on one occasion, when he rose to address the chamber, the
Grand omitted the courtesy that had ever been paid to him, and forgot
to lay down his pipe. This also he bore without flinching.
It was about the middle of February when a catastrophe happened which
was the immediate forerunner of the fall of the house. Robinson had
been at his desk early in the morning,--for, though his efforts were
now useless, he was always there; and had been struck with dismay by
the loudness of Maryanne's tone as she rebuked her father. Then Mrs.
Jones had joined them, and the battle had raged still more furiously.
The voice of the old man, too, was heard from time to time. When
roused by suffering to anger he would forget to speak in his usual
falsetto treble, and break out in a few natural words of rough
impassioned wrath. At about ten, Mr. Brown came down into Robinson's
room, and, seating himself on a low chair, remained there for awhile
without moving, and almost without speaking. "Is she gone, George?"
he asked at last. "Which of them?" said Robinson.
"Sarah Jane. I'm not so used to her, and it's very bad." Then
Robinson looked out and said that Mrs. Jones was gone. Whereupon Mr.
Brown returned to his own room.
Again and again throughout the day Robinson heard the voices; but
he did not go up to the room. He never did go there now, unless
specially called upon to do so by business. At about noon, however,
there came a sudden silence,--a silence so sudden that he noticed it.
And then he heard a quick step across the floor. It was nothing to
him, and he did not move from his seat; but still he kept his ears
open, and sat thoughtless of other matters, as though he expected
that something was about to happen. The room above was perfectly
still, and for a minute or two nothing was done. But then there came
the fall of a quicker step across the room, and the door was opened,
and Maryanne, descending the four stairs which led to his own closet,
was with him in an instant. "George," she said, forgetting all
propriety of demeanour, "father's in a fit!"
It is not necessary that the scene which followed should be described
with minuteness in these pages. Robinson, of course, went up to Mr.
Brown's room, and a doctor was soon there in attendance upon the sick
man. He had been struck by paralysis, and thus for a time had been
put beyond the reach of his daughters' anger. Sarah Jane was very
soon there, but the wretched state in which the old man was lying
quieted even her tongue. She did not dare to carry on the combat as
she looked on the contorted features and motionless limbs of the poor
wretch as he lay on his bed. On her mind came the conviction that
this was partly her work, and that if she now spoke above her breath,
those around her would accuse her of her cruelty. So she slunk about
into corners, whispering now and again with her husband, and quickly
took herself off, leaving the task of nursing the old man to the
higher courage of her sister.
And Maryanne's courage sufficed for the work. Now that she had a task
before her she did it;--as she would have done her household tasks
had she become the wife of Brisket or of Robinson. To the former
she would have been a good wife, for he would have required no
softness. She would have been true to him, tending him and his
children;--scolding them from morning to night, and laying not
unfrequently a rough hand upon them. But for this Brisket would not
have cared. He would have been satisfied, and all would have been
well. It is a thousand pities that, in that matter, Brisket could not
have seen his way.
And now that her woman's services were really needed, she gave them
to her father readily. It cannot be said that she was a cheerful
nurse. Had he been in a state in which cheerfulness would have
relieved him, her words would have again been sharp and pointed. She
was silent and sullen, thinking always of the bad days that were
coming to her. But, nevertheless, she was attentive to him,--and
during the time of his terrible necessity even good to him. It is so
natural to women to be so, that I think even Regan would have nursed
Lear had Lear's body become impotent instead of his mind. There she
sat close to his bed, and there from time to time Robinson would
visit her. In those days they always called each other George and
Maryanne, and were courteous to each other, speaking solely of the
poor old sick man, who was so near to them both. Of their former
joint hopes, no word was spoken then; nor, at any rate as regards the
lady, was there even a thought of love. As to Jones, he very rarely
came there. He remained in the shop below; where the presence of some
member of the firm was very necessary, for, in these days, the number
of hands employed had become low.
"I suppose it's all up down there," she said one day, and as she
spoke she pointed towards the shop. At this time her father had
regained his consciousness, and had recovered partially the use of
his limbs. But even yet he could not speak so as to be understood,
and was absolutely helpless. The door of his bedroom was open, and
Robinson was sitting in the front room, to which it opened.
"I'm afraid so," said he. "There are creditors who are pressing us;
and now that they have been frightened about Mr. Brown, we shall be
sold up."
"You mean the advertising people?"
"Yes; the stationer and printer, and one or two of the agents. The
fact is, that the money, which should have satisfied them, has been
frittered away uselessly."
"It's gone at any rate," said she. "He hasn't got it," and she
pointed to her father.
"Nor have I," said Robinson. "I came into it empty-handed, and I
shall go out as empty. No one shall say that I cared more for myself
than for the firm. I've done my best, and we have failed. That's
all."
"I am not going to blame you, George. My look-out is bad enough, but
I will not say that you did it. It is worse for a woman than for a
man. And what am I to do with him?" And again she pointed towards
the inner room. In answer to this Robinson said something as to
the wind being tempered for the shorn lamb. "As far as I can see,"
she continued, "the sheep is best off that knows how to keep its
own wool. It's always such cold comfort as that one gets, when the
world means to thrust one to the wall. It's only the sheep that lets
themselves be shorn. The lions and the tigers know how to keep their
own coats on their own backs. I believe the wind blows colder on poor
naked wretches than it does on those as have their carriages to ride
in. Providence is very good to them that know how to provide for
themselves."
"You are young," said he, "and beautiful--"
"Psha!"
"You will always find a home if you require one."
"Yes; and sell myself! I'll tell you what it is, George Robinson; I
wish to enter no man's home unless I can earn my meat there by my
work. No man shall tell me that I am eating his bread for nothing. As
for love, I don't believe in it. It's all very well for them as have
nothing to do and nothing to think of,--for young ladies who get up
at ten in the morning, and ride about with young gentlemen, and spend
half their time before their looking-glasses. It's like those poetry
books you're so fond of. But it's not meant for them as must earn
their bread by their own sweat. You talk about love, but it's only
madness for the like of you."
"I shall talk about it no more."
"You can't afford it, George; nor yet can't I. What a man wants in a
wife is some one to see to his cooking and his clothes; and what a
woman wants is a man who can put a house over her head. Of course, if
she have something of her own, she'll have so much the better house.
As for me, I've got nothing now."
"That would have made no difference with me." Robinson knew that he
was wrong to say this, but he could not help it. He knew that he
would be a madman if he again gave way to any feeling of tenderness
for this girl, who could be so hard in her manner, so harsh in her
speech, and whose temperament was so utterly unsuited to his own. But
as she was hard and harsh, so was he in all respects the reverse. As
she had told him over and over again, he was tender-hearted even to
softness.
"No; it wouldn't," she replied. "And, therefore, with all your
cleverness, you are little better than a fool. You have been working
hard and living poor these two years back, and what better are you?
When that old man was weak enough to give you the last of his money,
you didn't keep a penny."
"Not a penny," said Robinson, with some feeling of pride at his
heart.
"And what the better are you for that? Look at them Joneses; they
have got money. When the crash comes, they won't have to walk out
into the street. They'll start somewhere in a little way, and will do
very well."
"And would you have had me become a thief?"
"A thief! You needn't have been a thief. You needn't have taken it
out of the drawers as some of them did. I couldn't do that myself.
I've been sore tempted, but I could never bring myself to that." Then
she got up, and went to her father, and Robinson returned again to
the figures that were before him.
"What am I to do with him?" she again said, when she returned. "When
he is able to move, and the house is taken away from us, what am I to
do with him? He's been bad to me, but I won't leave him."
"Neither will I leave him, Maryanne."
"That's nonsense. You've got nothing, no more than he has; and he's
not your flesh and blood. Where would you have been now, if we'd been
married on that day."
"I should have been nearer to him in blood, but not truer to him as a
partner."
"It's lucky for you that your sort of partnership needn't last for
ever. You've got your hands and your brain, and at any rate you can
work. But who can say what must become of us? Looking at it all
through, George, I have been treated hard;--haven't I, now?"
He could only say that of such hard treatment none of it rested on
his conscience. At such a moment as this he could not explain to
her that had she herself been more willing to trust in others, more
prone to believe in Providence, less hard and worldly, things would
have been better with her. Even now, could she have relaxed into
tenderness for half-an-hour, there was one at her elbow who would
have taken her at once, with all that burden of a worn-out pauper
parent, and have poured into her lap all the earnings of his life.
But Maryanne Brown could not relax into tenderness, nor would she
ever deign to pretend that she could do so.
The first day on which Mr. Brown was able to come out into the
sitting-room was the very day on which Brown, Jones, and Robinson
were declared bankrupts. Craddock and Giles, the stationers of St.
Mary Axe, held bills of theirs, as to which they would not,--or
probably could not,--wait; and the City and West End Commercial and
Agricultural Joint-Stock Bank refused to make any further advances.
It was a sad day; but one, at least, of the partners felt relieved
when the blow had absolutely fallen, and the management of the
affairs of the shop was taken out of the hands of the firm.
"And will we be took to prison?" asked Mr. Brown. They were almost
the first articulate words which he had been heard to utter since the
fit had fallen on him; and Robinson was quick to assure him that no
such misfortune would befall him.
"They are not at all bitter against us," said Robinson. "They know we
have done our best."
"And what will they do with us?" again asked Mr. Brown.
"We shall have a sale, and clear out everything, and pay a
dividend;--and then the world will be open to us for further
efforts."
"The world will never be open to me again," said Mr. Brown. "And if
I had only have kept the money when I had it--"
"Mr. Brown," said Robinson, taking him by the hand, "you are ill
now, and seen through the sickly hue of weakness and infirmity,
affairs look bad and distressing; but ere long you will regain your
strength."
"No, George, I shall never do that."
On this day the business of the shop still went on, but the proceeds
of such sales as were made were carried to the credit of the
assignees. Mr. Jones was there throughout the day, doing nothing, and
hardly speaking to any one. He would walk slowly from the front of
the shop to the back, and then returning would stand in the doorway,
rubbing his hands one over the other. When any female of specially
smart appearance entered the shop, he would hand to her a chair,
and whisper a few words of oily courtesy; but to those behind the
counter he did not speak a word. In the afternoon Mrs. Jones made her
appearance, and when she had been there a few minutes, was about to
raise the counter door and go behind; but her husband took her almost
roughly by the arm, and muttering something to her, caused her to
leave the shop. "Ah, I knew what such dishonest doings must come to,"
she said, as she went her way. "And, what's more, I know who's to
blame." And yet it was she and her husband who had brought this ruin
on the firm.
"George," said Mr. Brown, that evening, "I have intended for the
best,--I have indeed."
"Nobody blames you, sir."
"You blame me about Maryanne."
"No, by heaven; not now."
"And she blames me about the money; but I've meant it for the
best;--I have indeed."
All this occurred on a Saturday, and on that same evening Robinson
attended at his debating club, for the express purpose of explaining
to the members the state of his own firm. "It shall never be thrown
in my teeth," said he, "that I became a bankrupt and was ashamed to
own it." So he got up and made a speech, in which he stated that
Brown, Jones, and Robinson had failed, but that he could not lay
it to his own charge that he had been guilty of any omission or
commission of which he had reason to be ashamed as a British
merchant. This is mentioned here, in order that a fitting record may
be made of the very high compliment which was paid to him on the
occasion by old Pancabinet.
"Most worthy Grand," said old Pan, and as he spoke he looked first at
the chairman and then down the long table of the room, "I am sure I
may truly say that we have all of us heard the statement made by the
enterprising and worthy Goose with sentiments of regret and pain; but
I am equally sure that we have none of us heard it with any idea that
either dishonour or disgrace can attach itself in the matter to the
name of--" (Order, order, order.) "Worthy Geese are a little too
quick," continued the veteran debater with a smile--"to the name
of--one whom we all so highly value." (Hear, hear, hear.) And then
old Pancabinet moved that the enterprising and worthy Goose was
entitled to the full confidence of the chamber. Crowdy magnanimously
seconded the motion, and the resolution, when carried, was
communicated to Robinson by the worthy Grand. Having thanked them in
a few words, which were almost inaudible from his emotion, he left
the chamber, and immediately afterwards the meeting was adjourned.
CHAPTER XXII.
WASTEFUL AND IMPETUOUS SALE.
There is no position in life in which a man receives so much
distinguished attention as when he is a bankrupt,--a bankrupt,
that is, of celebrity. It seems as though he had then realized the
legitimate ends of trade, and was brought forth in order that those
men might do him honour with whom he had been good enough to have
dealings on a large scale. Robinson was at first cowed when he
was called upon to see men who were now becoming aware that they
would not receive more than 2_s._ 9_d._ in the pound out of all the
hundreds that were owed to them. But this feeling very soon wore off,
and he found himself laughing and talking with Giles the stationer,
and Burrows the printer, and Sloman the official assignee, as though
a bankruptcy were an excellent joke; and as though he, as one of the
bankrupts, had by far the best of it. These men were about to lose,
or rather had lost, large sums of money; but, nevertheless, they took
it all as a matter of course, and were perfectly good-humoured. No
word of reproach fell from their lips, and when they asked George
Robinson to give them the advantage of his recognized talents in
drawing up the bills for the sale, they put it to him quite as a
favour; and Sloman, the assignee, went so far as to suggest that he
should be remunerated for his work.
"If I can only be of any service to you," said Robinson, modestly.
"Of the greatest service," said Mr. Giles. "A tremendous sacrifice,
you know,--enormous liabilities,--unreserved sale,--regardless of
cost; and all that sort of thing."
"Lord bless you!" said Mr. Burrows. "Do you think he doesn't
understand how to do all that better than you can tell him? You'll
draw out the headings of the posters; won't you, Mr. Robinson?"
"And put the numbers and figures into the catalogue," suggested Mr.
Sloman. "The best way is to put 'em down at about cost price. We find
we can generally do 'em at that, if we can only get the people to
come sharp enough." And then, as the evening had fallen upon them,
at their labours, they adjourned to the "Four Swans" opposite, and
Robinson was treated to his supper at the expense of his victims.
On the next day the house was closed. This was done in order that the
goods might be catalogued and prepared for the final sale. The shop
would then be again opened for a week, and, after that, there would
be an end of Brown, Jones, and Robinson. In spite of the good-humour
which was shown by those from whom ill-humour on such an occasion
might have been expected, there was a melancholy about this which was
inexpressible. It has been said that there is nothing so exciting in
trade as a grand final sacrificial sale. But it is like the last act
of a tragedy. It is very good while it lasts, but what is to come
after it? Robinson, as he descended into the darkened shop, and
walked about amidst the lumber that was being dragged forth from
the shelves and drawers, felt that he was like Marius on the ruins
of Carthage. Here had been the scene of his glory! And then he
remembered with what ecstasy he had walked down the shop, when
the crowd without were anxiously inquiring the fate of Johnson of
Manchester. That had been a great triumph! But to what had such
triumphs led him?
The men and women had gone away to their breakfast, and he was
standing there alone, leaning against one of the counters; he heard a
slight noise behind him, and, turning round, saw Mr. Brown, who had
crept down from his own room without assistance. It was the first
time since his illness that he had left the floor on which he lived,
and it had been intended that he should never go into the shop again.
"Oh, Mr. Brown, is this prudent?" said he, going up to him that he
might give him the assistance of his arm.
"I wished to see it all once more, George."
"There it is, then. There isn't much to see."
"But a deal to feel; isn't there, George?--a deal to feel! It did
look very pretty that day we opened it,--very pretty. The colours
seem to have got dirty now."
"Bright colours will become dull and dirty, Mr. Brown. It's the way
of the world. The brighter they are in their brightness, the more
dull will they look when the tinsel and gloss are gone."
"But we should have painted it again this spring, if we'd stopped
here."
"There are things, Mr. Brown, which one cannot paint again."
"Iron and wood you can, or anything of the like of that."
"Yes, Mr. Brown; you may repaint iron and wood; but who can restore
the faded colours to broken hopes and a bankrupt ambition? You see
these arches here which with so light a span bear the burden of the
house above them. So was the span of my heart on that opening day. No
weight of labour then seemed to be too much for me. The arches remain
and will remain; but as for the human heart--"
"Don't, George,--don't. It will kill me if I see you down in the
mouth."
"These will be repainted," continued Robinson, "and other breasts
will glow beneath them with hopes as high as those we felt when you
and the others stood here to welcome the public. But what artist can
ever repaint our aspirations? The soiled columns of these windows
will be regilded, and all here will be bright and young again; but
for man, when he loses his glory, there is no regilding. Come, Mr.
Brown, we will go upstairs. They will be here soon, and this is no
place now for you." Then he took him by the hand and led him tenderly
to his apartment.
There is something inexpressibly melancholy in the idea of bankruptcy
in trade;--unless, indeed, when it may have been produced by absolute
fraud, and in such a form as to allow of the bankrupts going forth
with their pockets full. But in an ordinary way, I know nothing more
sad than the fate of men who have embarked all in a trade venture and
have failed. It may be, and probably is, the fact, that in almost all
such cases the failure is the fault of the bankrupts; but the fault
is so generally hidden from their own eyes, that they cannot see the
justice of their punishment; and is often so occult in its causes
that the justice cannot be discerned by any without deep scrutiny.
They who have struggled and lost all feel only that they have worked
hard, and worked in vain; that they have thrown away their money and
their energy; and that there is an end, now and for ever, to those
sweet hopes of independence with which they embarked their small
boats upon the wide ocean of commerce. The fate of such men is
very sad. Of course we hear of bankrupts who come forth again with
renewed glories, and who shine all the brighter in consequence of
their temporary obscurity. These are the men who can manage to have
themselves repainted and regilded; but their number is not great. One
hears of such because they are in their way memorable; and one does
not hear of the poor wretches who sink down out of the world--back
behind counters, and to menial work in warehouses. Of ordinary
bankrupts one hears nothing. They are generally men who, having saved
a little with long patience, embark it all and lose it with rapid
impotence. They come forward once in their lives with their little
ventures, and then retire never more to be seen or noticed. Of all
the shops that are opened year after year in London, not above a half
remain in existence for a period of twelve months; and not a half
ever afford a livelihood to those who open them. Is not that a matter
which ought to fill one with melancholy? On the establishment of
every new shop there are the same high hopes,--those very hopes with
which Brown, Jones, and Robinson commenced their career. It is not
that all expect to shine forth upon the world as merchant princes,
but all do expect to live upon the fruit of their labour and to put
by that which will make their old age respectable. Alas! alas! Of
those who thus hope how much the larger proportion are doomed to
disappointment. The little lots of goods that are bought and brought
together with so much pride turn themselves into dust and rubbish.
The gloss and gilding wear away, as they wear away also from the
heart of the adventurer, and then the small aspirant sinks back
into the mass of nothings from whom he had thought to rise. When
one thinks of it, it is very sad; but the sadness is not confined
to commerce. It is the same at the bar, with the army, and in the
Church. We see only the few who rise above the waves, and know
nothing of the many who are drowned beneath the waters.
Perhaps something of all this was in the heart of our friend Robinson
as he placed himself at his desk in his little room. Now, for this
next day or two he would still be somebody in the career of Magenta
House. His services were wanted; and therefore, though he was ruined,
men smiled on him. But how would it be with him when that sale should
be over, and when he would be called upon to leave the premises and
walk forth into the street? He was aware now, though he had never so
thought of himself before, that in the short days of his prosperity
he had taken much upon himself, as the member of a prosperous firm.
It had never then occurred to him that he had given himself airs
because he was Robinson, of the house in Bishopsgate Street; but
now he bethought himself that he had perhaps done so. How would men
treat him when he should no longer be the same Robinson? How had he
condescended to Poppins! how had he domineered at the "Goose and
Gridiron!" how had he patronized those who served him in the shop!
Men remember these things of themselves quite as quickly as others
remember them. Robinson thought of all this now, and almost wished
that those visits to Blackfriars Bridge had not been in vain.
But nevertheless it behoved him to work. He had promised that he
would use his own peculiar skill for the benefit of the creditors,
and therefore, shaking himself as it were out of his despondency, he
buckled himself to his desk. "It is a grand opportunity," he said, as
he thought of the task before him, "but my work will be no longer for
myself and partners.
The lofty rhyme I still must make,
Though other hands shall touch the money.
So do the bees for others' sake
Fill their waxen combs with honey."
Then, when he had thus solaced himself with verse, he sat down to his
work.
There was a mine of wealth before him from which to choose. A
tradesman in preparing the ordinary advertisements of his business is
obliged to remember the morrow. He must not risk everything on one
cast of the die. He must be in some degree modest and circumspect,
lest he shut himself out from all possibility of rising to a higher
note on any future opportunity. But in preparing for a final
sacrifice the artist may give the reins to his imagination, and
plunge at once into all the luxuries of the superlative. But to this
pleasure there was one drawback. The thing had been done so often
that superlatives had lost their value, and it had come to pass that
the strongest language sounded impotently in the palled ears of the
public. What idea can, in its own nature, be more harrowing to the
soul than that of a TREMENDOUS SACRIFICE? but what effect would arise
now-a-days from advertising a sale under such a heading? Every little
milliner about Tottenham Court Road has her "Tremendous Sacrifice!"
when she desires to rid her shelves of ends of ribbons and bits of
soiled flowers. No; some other language than this must be devised. A
phraseology not only startling but new must be invented in preparing
the final sale of the house of Brown, Jones, and Robinson.
He threw himself back in his chair, and sat for awhile silent, with
his finger fixed upon his brow. The first words were everything, and
what should be the first words? At last, in a moment, they came to
him, and he wrote as follows:--
RUIN! RUIN!! RUIN!!!
WASTEFUL AND IMPETUOUS SALE.
At Magenta House, 81, Bishopsgate Street, on March the
5th, and three following days, the Stock in Trade of
the bankrupts, Brown, Jones, and Robinson, valued at
209,657_l._ 15_s._ 3_d._, will be thrown broadcast before
the public at the frightful reduction of 75 per Cent. on
the cost price.
To acquire the impetus and force necessary for the
realization of so vast a property, all goods are quoted for
TRUE, HONEST, BONA-FIDE SALE at One-Quarter the Cost Price.
This is a Solemn Fact, and one which well merits the
earnest attention of every mother of a family in England.
The goods are of the first class. And as no attempt in
trade has ever hitherto been made of equal magnitude to
that of the bankrupts', it may with absolute truth be said
that no such opportunity as this has ever yet been afforded
to the public of supplying themselves with the richest
articles of luxury at prices which are all but nominal. How
will any lady hereafter forgive herself, who shall fail
to profit by such an opportunity as this?
Such was the heading of his bills, and he read and re-read the words,
not without a glow of pleasure. One can be in love with ruin so long
as the excitement lasts. "A Solemn Fact!" he repeated to himself; "or
shall I say a Glorious Fact? Glorious would do well for the public
view of the matter; but as it touches the firm, Solemn, perhaps, is
more appropriate. Mother of a Family! Shall I say, also, of every
Father? I should like to include all; but then the fathers never
come, and it would sound loaded." Again he looked at the bill, again
read it, and then proceeded to describe with great accuracy, on a
fly-leaf, the dimensions of the paper to be used, the size of the
different types, and the adaptation of various colours. "That will
do," said he; "I think that will do."
But this which he had now done, though, perhaps, the most important
part of his task, was by no means the most laborious. He had before
him various catalogues of the goods, and it remained for him to affix
the prices, to describe the qualities, and to put down the amount of
each on hand. This was no light task, and he worked hard at it into
the middle of the night. But long before that time came he had thrust
away from him the inefficient lists with which he had been supplied,
and trusted himself wholly to his imagination. So may be seen the
inspired schoolmaster who has beneath his hands the wretched verses
of a dull pupil. For awhile he attempts to reduce to reason and
prosody the futile efforts of the scholar, but anon he lays aside in
disgust the distasteful task, and turning his eyes upwards to the
Muse who has ever been faithful, he dashes off a few genial lines of
warm poetry. The happy juvenile, with wondering pen, copies the work,
and the parent's heart rejoices over the prize which his child has
won. So was it now with Robinson. What could he do with a poor gross
of hose, numbered 7 to 10? or what with a score or two of middling
kids? There were five dozen and nine left of the Katakairions. Was he
to put down such numbers as those in his sacrificial catalogue? For
awhile he kept these entries before him as a guide--as a guide which
in some sort he might follow at a wide distance. But he found that
it was impossible for him to be so guided, even at any distance, and
at last he thrust the poor figures from him altogether and trampled
them under his feet. "Tablecloths, seven dozen and a half, different
sizes." That was the last item he read, and as he pushed it away, the
following were the words which his fertile pen produced:--
The renowned Flemish Treble Table Damasks, of argentine
brightness and snow-like purity, with designs of absolute
grandeur and artistic perfection of outline. To dine eight
persons, worth 1_l,_ 8_s._ 6_d._, for 7_s._ 3_d._; to dine
twelve, worth 1_l._ 18_s._ 6_d._, for 10_s._ 11½_d._; to
dine sixteen, worth 3_l._ 19_s._ 6_d._, for 19_s._ 9¼_d._;
and so on, at the same rate, to any size which the
epicurean habits of this convivial age can possibly
require.
Space will not permit us here to give the bill entire, but after this
fashion was it framed. And then the final note was as follows:--
N.B.--Many tons weight of First-Class Table Damasks and
Sheetings, soiled but not otherwise impaired; also of
Ribbons, Gloves, Hose, Shirts, Crinolines, Paletots,
Mantles, Shawls, Prints, Towels, Blankets, Quilts, and
Flouncings, will be sold on the first two days at BUYERS'
OWN PRICES.
"There," said he, as he closed down his ink-bottle at three o'clock
in the morning, "that, I suppose, is my last day's work in the house
of Brown, Jones, and Robinson. I have worked, not for myself, but
others, and I have worked honestly." Then he went home, and slept as
though he had no trouble on his mind.
On the following morning he again was there, and Messrs. Giles,
Burrows, and Sloman attended with him. Mr. Brown, also, and Mr. Jones
were present. On this occasion the meeting was held in Mr. Brown's
sitting-room, and they were all assembled in order that Robinson
might read over the sale list as he had prepared it. Poor Mr. Brown
sat in a corner of his old sofa, very silent. Now and again, as some
long number or specially magniloquent phrase would strike his ear, he
expressed his surprise by a sort of gasp; but throughout the whole
morning he did not speak a word as to the business on hand. Jones for
the first few minutes attempted to criticize; but the authority of
Mr. Sloman and the burly aspect of Mr. Giles the paper-dealer, were
soon too much for his courage, and he also collapsed into silence.
But the three gentlemen who were most concerned did not show all that
silent acquiescence which George Robinson's painful exertions on
their behalf so richly deserved.
"Impetuous!" said Mr. Sloman. "What does 'impetuous' mean? I never
heard tell before of an impetuous sacrifice. Tremendous is the proper
word, Mr. Robinson."
"Tremendous is not my word," answered Robinson; "and as to the
meaning of impetuous--"
"It sounds well, I think," said Mr. Burrows; and then they went on.
"Broadcast--broadcast!" said Mr. Giles. "That means sowing, don't
it?"
"Exactly," said Robinson. "Have not I sown, and are not you to reap?
If you will allow me I will go on." He did go on, and by degrees got
through the whole heading; but there was hardly a word which was not
contested. It is all very well for a man to write, when he himself is
the sole judge of what shall be written; but it is a terrible thing
to have to draw up any document for the approval of others. One's
choicest words are torn away, one's figures of speech are maltreated,
one's stops are misunderstood, and one's very syntax is put to
confusion; and then, at last, whole paragraphs are cashiered as
unnecessary. First comes the torture and then the execution. "Come,
Wilkins, you have the pen of a ready writer; prepare for us this
document." In such words is the victim addressed by his colleagues.
Unhappy Wilkins! he little dreams of the misery before him, as he
proudly applies himself to his work.
But it is beautiful to hear and see, when two scribes have been
appointed, how at first they praise each other's words, as did
Trissotin and Vadius; how gradually each objects to this comma
or to that epithet; how from moment to moment their courage will
arise,--till at last every word that the other has written is foul
nonsense and flat blasphemy;--till Vadius at last will defy his
friend in prose and verse, in Greek and Latin.
Robinson on this occasion had no rival, but not the less were his
torments very great. "Argentine brightness!" said Mr. Giles. "What's
'argentine?' I don't like 'argentine.' You'd better put that out, Mr.
Robinson."
"It's the most effective word in the whole notice," said Robinson,
and then he passed on.
"Tons weight of towelling!" said Mr. Sloman. "That's coming it a
little too strong, Mr. Robinson."
This was the end of the catalogue. "Gentlemen," said Robinson, rising
from his chair, "what little I have been able to do for you in this
matter I have done willingly. There is the notice of your sale, drawn
out in such language as seems suitable to me. If it answers your
purpose, I pray that you will use it. If you can frame one that will
do so better, I beg that no regard for my feelings may stand in your
way. My only request to you is this,--that if my words be used, they
may not be changed or garbled." Then, bowing to them all, he left the
room.
They knew the genius of the man, and the notice afterwards appeared
exactly in the form in which Robinson had framed it.
CHAPTER XXIII.
FAREWELL.
For the four appointed days the sale was continued, and it was
wondrous to see with what animation the things went off. It seemed as
though ladies were desirous of having a souvenir from Magenta House,
and that goods could be sold at a higher price under the name of a
sacrifice than they would fetch in the ordinary way of trade. "If
only we could have done as well," Robinson said to his partner Jones,
wishing that, if possible, there might be good humour between them in
these last days.
"We did do quite as well, and better," said Jones, "only the money
was thrown away in them horrid advertisements." After that, George
Robinson made no further effort to maintain friendly relations with
Mr. Jones.
"George," said Mr. Brown, "I hope they'll allow me something. They
ought; oughtn't they? There wouldn't have been nothing, only for my
four thousand pounds." Robinson did not take the trouble to explain
to him that had he kept his four thousand pounds out of the way,
the creditors would not now have any lost money to lament. Robinson
was careful to raise no hopes by his answer; but, nevertheless, he
resolved that when the sale was over, he would do his best.
On the fifth day, when the shop had been well nigh cleared of all the
goods, the premises themselves were sold. Brown, Jones, and Robinson
had taken them on a term of years, and the lease with all the
improvements was put up to auction. When we say that the price which
the property fetched exceeded the whole sum spent for external
and internal decorations, including the Magenta paint and the
plate-glass, we feel that the highest possible testimony is given to
the taste and talent displayed by the firm.
It was immediately after this that application was made to the
creditors on behalf of Mr. Brown.
"He brought four thousand pounds into the business," said Robinson,
"and now he hasn't a penny of his own."
"And we have none of us got a penny," whined out Mr. Jones, who was
standing by.
"Mr. Jones and I are young, and can earn our bread," said Robinson;
"but that old man must go into the workhouse, if you do not feel it
possible to do something for him."
"And so must my poor babbies," said Jones. "As to work, I ain't fit
for it."
But he was soon interrupted, and made to understand that he might
think himself lucky if he were not made to disgorge that which
he already possessed. As to Mr. Brown, the creditors with much
generosity agreed that an annuity of 20_s._ a week should be
purchased for him out of the proceeds of the sale. "I ain't long for
this world, George," he said, when he was told; "and they ought to
get it cheap. Put 'em up to that, George; do now." Twenty shillings a
week was not much for all his wants; but, nevertheless, he might be
more comfortable with that than he had been for many a year, if only
his daughter would be kind to him. Alas, alas! was it within the
nature of things that his daughters should be kind?
It was on this occasion, when the charitable intention of the
creditors was communicated to Mr. Brown by Robinson, that that
conversation took place to which allusion has been made in the
opening chapter of these memoirs. Of course, it was necessary that
each member of the firm should provide in some way for his future
necessities. Mr. Jones had signified his intention of opening a small
hairdresser's shop in Gray's Inn Lane. "I was brought up to it once,"
he said, "and it don't require much ready money." Both Mr. Brown and
Robinson knew that he was in possession of money, but it was not now
worth their while to say more about this. The fox had made good his
prey, and who could say where it was hidden?
"And what will you do, George?" asked Mr. Brown.
Then it was that Robinson communicated to them the fact that
application had been made to him by the Editor of a first class
Magazine for a written account of the doings of the firm. "I think it
may be of advantage to commerce in general," the Editor had said with
his customary dignity of expression and propriety of demeanour. "I
quite agree with you," Robinson had replied, "if only the commercial
world of Great Britain can be induced to read the lesson." The Editor
seemed to think that the commercial world of Great Britain did read
the CORNHILL MAGAZINE, and an arrangement was quickly made between
them. Those who have perused the chapter in question will remember
how Robinson yielded when the senior partner pleaded that as they had
been partners so long, they should still be partners to the end; and
how he had yielded again when it was suggested to him that he should
receive some assistance in the literary portion of the work. That
assistance has been given, and George Robinson hopes that it may have
been of advantage.
"I suppose we shall see each other sometimes, George," Maryanne said
to him, when she came down to his little room to bid him farewell.
"I hope we shall, Maryanne."
"I don't suppose we shall ever dance together again at the Hall of
Harmony."
"No, Maryanne, never. That phase of life is for me over. Neither with
you nor with any other fair girl shall I again wanton away the flying
hours. Life is too precious for that; and the work which falls upon a
man's shoulders is too exacting. The Hall of Harmony is for children,
Maryanne;--for grown children, perhaps, but still for children."
"You used to like it, George."
"I did; and could again. So could I again stop with longing mouth at
the window of that pastrycook, whose tarts in early life attracted
all my desires. I could again be a boy in everything, did I not
recognize the stern necessity which calls me to be a man. I could
dance with you still, whirling swiftly round the room to the sweet
sound of the music, stretching the hours of delight out to the very
dawn, were it not for Adam's doom. In the sweat of my brow must I eat
my bread. There is a time for all things, Maryanne; but with me the
time for such pastimes as those is gone."
"You'll keep company with some other young woman before long, George,
and then you'll be less gloomy."
"Never! That phase of life is also over. Why should I? To what
purpose?"
"To be married, of course."
"Yes; and become a woman's slave, like poor Poppins; or else have
my heart torn again with racking jealousy, as it was with you. No,
Maryanne! Let those plodding creatures link themselves with women
whose bodies require comforting but whose minds never soar. The world
must be populated, and therefore let the Briskets marry."
"I suppose you've heard of him, George?"
"Not a word."
"La, now! I declare you've no curiosity to inquire about any one. If
I was dead and buried to-morrow, I believe you'd never ask a word
about me."
"I would go to your grave, Maryanne, and sit there in silence."
"Would you, now? I hope you won't, all the same. But about Brisket.
You remember when that row was, and you were so nigh choking him?"
"Do I remember? Ay, Maryanne; when shall I forget it? It was the last
hour of my madness."
"I never admired you so much as I did then, George. But never mind.
That's all done and over now;--isn't it?"
"All done and over," said Robinson, mournfully repeating her words.
"Of course it is. But about Brisket. Immediately after that, the very
next day, he went out to Gogham,--where he was always going, you
know, with that cart of his, to buy sheep. Sheep, indeed!"
"And wasn't it for sheep?"
"No, George. Brisket was the sheep, and there was there a little
she-wolf that has got him at last into her claws. Brisket is married,
George."
"What! another Poppins! Ha! ha! ha! We shall not want for children."
"He has seen his way at last. She was a drover's daughter; and now
he's married her and brought her home."
"A drover's daughter?"
"Well, he says a grazier's; but it's all the same. He never would
have done for me, George; never. And I'll tell you more; I don't
think I ever saw the man as would. I should have taken either of
you,--I was so knocked about among 'em. But I should have made you
miserable, whichever it was. It's a consolation to me when I think of
that."
And it was a consolation also to him. He had loved her,--had loved
her very dearly. He had been almost mad for love of her. But yet
he had always known, that had he won her she would have made him
miserable. There was consolation in that when he thought of his loss.
Then, at last, he wished her good-by. "And now farewell, Maryanne. Be
gentle with that old man."
"George," she said, "as long as he wants me, I'll stick to him. He's
never been a good father to me; but if he wants me, I'll stick to
him. As to being gentle, it's not in me. I wasn't brought up gentle,
and you can't teach an old dog new tricks." Those were the last words
she spoke to him, and they had, at any rate, the merit of truth.
And then, before he walked out for the last time from the portals of
Magenta House, he bade adieu to his old partner Mr. Brown. "God bless
you, George!" said the old man; "God bless you!"
"Mr. Brown," said he, "I cannot part from you without acknowledging
that the loss of all your money sits very heavy on my heart."
"Never think of it, George."
"But I shall think of it. You were an old man, Mr. Brown, and the
money was enough for you; or, if you did go into trade again, the old
way would have suited you best."
"Well, George, now you mention it, I think it would."
"It was the same mistake, Mr. Brown, that we have so often heard
of,--putting old wine into a new bottle. The bottle is broken and the
wine is spilt. For myself, I've learned a lesson, and I am a wiser
man; but I'm sorry for you, Mr. Brown.
"I shall never say a word to blame you, George."
"As to my principles,--that system of commerce which I have
advocated,--as to that, I am still without a doubt. I am certain
of the correctness of my views. Look at Barlywig and his colossal
fortune, and 40,000_l._ a year spent in advertising."
"But then you should have your 40,000_l._ a year."
"By no means! But the subject is a long one, Mr. Brown, and cannot
now be discussed with advantage. This, however, I do feel,--that I
should not have embarked your little all in such an enterprise. It
was enough for you; but to me, with my views, it was nothing,--less
than nothing. I will begin again with unimpeded wings, and you shall
hear of my success. But for your sake, Mr. Brown, I regret what is
past." Then he pressed the old man's hand and went forth from Magenta
House. From that day to this present one he has never again entered
the door.
"And so Brisket is married. Brisket is right. Brisket is a happy
man," he said to himself, as he walked slowly down the passage by
St. Botolph's Church. "Brisket is certainly right; I will go and see
Brisket." So he did; and continuing his way along the back of the
Bank and the narrow street which used to be called Lad Lane,--I wish
they would not alter the names of the streets; was it not enough
that the "Swan with Two Necks" should be pulled down, foreshadowing,
perhaps, in its ruin the fate of another bird with two necks, from
which this one took its emblematic character?--and so making his way
out into Aldersgate Street. He had never before visited the Lares of
Brisket, for Brisket had been his enemy. But Brisket was his enemy no
longer, and he walked into the shop with a light foot and a pleasant
smile. There, standing at some little distance behind the block,
looking with large, wondering eyes at the carcases of the sheep which
hung around her, stood a wee little woman, very pretty, with red
cheeks, and red lips, and short, thick, clustering curls. This was
the daughter of the grazier from Gogham. "The shopman will be back
in a minute," said she. "I ought to be able to do it myself, but I'm
rather astray about the things yet awhile." Then George Robinson told
her who he was.
She knew his name well, and gave him her little plump hand in token
of greeting. "Laws a mercy! are you George Robinson? I've heard such
a deal about you. He's inside, just tidying hisself a bit for dinner.
Who do you think there is here, Bill?" and she opened the door
leading to the back premises. "Here's George Robinson, that you're
always so full of." Then he followed her out into a little yard,
where he found Brisket in the neighbourhood of a pump, smelling
strongly of yellow soap, with his sleeves tucked up, and hard at work
with a rough towel.
"Robinson, my boy," cried he, "I'm glad to see you; and so is Mrs.
B. Ain't you, Em'ly?" Whereupon Em'ly said that she was delighted
to see Mr. Robinson. "And you're just in time for as tidy a bit of
roast veal as you won't see again in a hurry,--fed down at Gogham
by Em'ly's mother. I killed it myself, with my own hands. Didn't I,
Em'ly?"
Robinson stopped and partook of the viands which were so strongly
recommended to him; and then, after dinner, he and Brisket and the
bride became very intimate and confidential over a glass of hot
brandy-and-water.
"I don't do this kind of thing, only when I've got a friend," said
Brisket, tapping the tumbler with his spoon. "But I really am glad to
see you. I've took a fancy to you now, ever since you went so nigh
throttling me. By Jove! though, I began to think it was all up with
me,--only for Sarah Jane."
"But he didn't!" said Emily, looking first at her great husband and
then at Robinson's slender proportions.
"Didn't he though? But he just did. And what do you think, Em'ly? He
wanted me once to sit with him on a barrel of gunpowder."
"A barrel of gunpowder!"
"And smoke our pipes there,--quite comfortable. And then he wanted me
to go and fling ourselves into the river. That was uncommon civil,
wasn't it? And then he well nigh choked me."
"It was all about that young woman," said Emily, with a toss of her
head. "And from all I can hear tell, she wasn't worth fighting for.
As for you, Bill, I wonder at you; so I do."
"I thought I saw my way," said Brisket.
"It's well for you that you've got somebody near you that will see
better now. And as for you, Mr. Robinson; I hope you won't be long in
the dumps, neither." Whereupon he explained to her that he was by no
means in the dumps. He had failed in trade, no doubt, but he was now
engaged upon a literary work, as to which considerable expectation
had been raised, and he fully hoped to provide for his humble wants
in this way till he should be able to settle himself again to some
new commercial enterprise.
"It isn't that as she means," said Brisket. "She means about taking a
wife. That's all the women ever thinks of."
"What I was saying is, that as you and Bill were both after her,
and as you are both broke with her, and seeing that Bill's provided
himself like--"
"And a charming provision he has made," said Robinson.
"I did see my way," said Brisket, with much self-content.
"So you ought to look elsewhere as well as he," continued Emily.
"According to all accounts, you've neither of you lost so very much
in not getting Maryanne Brown."
"Maryanne Brown is a handsome young woman," said Robinson.
"Why, she's as red as red," said Mrs. Brisket; "quite carroty, they
tell me. And as for handsome, Mr. Robinson;--handsome is as handsome
does; that's what I say. If I had two sweethearts going about talking
of gunpowder, and throwing themselves into rivers along of me,
I'd--I'd--I'd never forgive myself. So, Mr. Robinson, I hope you'll
suit yourself soon. Bill, don't you take any more of that brandy.
Don't now, when I tell you not."
Then Robinson rose and took his leave, promising to make future
visits to Aldersgate Street. And as Brisket squeezed his hand at
parting, all the circumstances of that marriage were explained in a
very few words. "She had three hundred, down, you know;--really down.
So I said done and done, when I found the money wasn't there with
Maryanne. And I think that I've seen my way."
Robinson congratulated him, and assured him that he thought he had
seen it very clearly.
CHAPTER XXIV.
GEORGE ROBINSON'S DREAM.
George Robinson, though his present wants were provided for by his
pen, was by no means disposed to sink into a literary hack. It was by
commerce that he desired to shine. It was to trade,--trade, in the
highest sense of the word,--that his ambition led him. Down at the
Crystal Palace he had stood by the hour together before the statue
of the great Cheetham,--ominous name!--of him who three centuries
ago had made money by dealing in Manchester goods. Why should not
he also have his statue? But then how was he to begin? He had begun,
and failed. With hopeful words he had declared to Mr. Brown that not
on that account was he daunted; but still there was before him the
burden of another commencement. Many of us know what it is to have
high hopes, and yet to feel from time to time a terrible despondency
when the labours come by which those hopes should be realized.
Robinson had complained that he was impeded in his flight by Brown
and Jones. Those impediments had dropped from him now; and yet he
knew not how to proceed upon his course.
He walked forth one evening, after his daily task, pondering these
things as he went. He made his solitary way along the Kingsland Road,
through Tottenham, and on to Edmonton, thinking deeply of his future
career. What had John Gilpin done that had made him a citizen of
renown? Had he advertised? Or had he contented himself simply with
standing behind his counter till customers should come to him? In
John Gilpin's time the science of advertisement was not born;--or, if
born, was in its earliest infancy. And yet he had achieved renown.
And Cheetham;--but probably Cheetham had commenced with a capital.
Thus he walked on till he found himself among the fields,--those
first fields which greet the eyes of a Londoner, in which wheat is
not grown, but cabbages and carrots for the London market; and here
seating himself upon a gate, he gave his mind up to a close study
of the subject. First he took from his pocket a short list which he
always carried, and once more read over the names and figures which
it bore.
Barlywig, £40,000 per annum.
How did Barlywig begin such an outlay as that? He knew that Barlywig
had, as a boy, walked up to town with twopence in his pocket, and in
his early days, had swept out the shop of a shoemaker. The giants of
trade all have done that. Then he went on with the list:--
Holloway . . . . £30,000 per annum.
Moses . . . . 10,000 "
Macassar Oil . . 10,000 "
Dr. De Jongh . . 10,000 "
What a glorious fraternity! There were many others that followed with
figures almost equally stupendous. Revalenta Arabica! Bedsteads!
Paletots! Food for Cattle! But then how did these great men begin?
He himself had begun with some money in his hand, and had failed.
As to them, he believed that they had all begun with twopence. As
for genius and special talent, it was admitted on all sides that
he possessed it. Of that he could feel no doubt, as other men were
willing to employ him.
"Shall I never enjoy the fruits of my own labour?" said he to
himself. "Must I still be as the bee, whose honey is robbed from him
as soon as made?
The lofty rhyme I still must build,
Though other hands shall touch the money.
Will this be my fate for ever?--
The patient oxen till the furrows,
But never eat the generous corn.
Shall the corn itself never be my own?"
And as he sat there the words of Poppins came upon his memory. "You
advertising chaps never do anything. All that printing never makes
the world any richer." At the moment he had laughed down Poppins with
absolute scorn; but now, at this solitary moment he began to reflect
whether there might be any wisdom in his young friend's words. "The
question has been argued," he continued in his soliloquy, "by the
greatest philosopher of the age. A man goes into hats, and in order
to force a sale, he builds a large cart in the shape of a hat, paints
it blue, and has it drawn through the streets. He still finds that
his sale is not rapid; and with a view of increasing it, what shall
he do? Shall he make his felt hats better, or shall he make his
wooden hat bigger? Poppins and the philosopher say that the former
plan will make the world the richer, but they do not say that it will
sell the greater number of hats. Am I to look after the world? Am I
not to look to myself? Is not the world a collection of individuals,
all of whom are doing so? Has anything been done for the world by the
Quixotic aspirations of general philanthropy, at all equal to that
which individual enterprise has achieved? Poppins and the philosopher
would spend their energies on a good hat. But why? Not that they love
the head that is to wear it. The sale would still be their object.
They would sell hats, not that the heads of men may be well covered,
but that they themselves might live and become rich. To force a sale
must be the first duty of a man in trade, and a man's first duty
should be all in all to him.
"If the hats sold from the different marts be not good enough, with
whom does the fault rest? Is it not with the customers who purchase
them? Am I to protect the man who demands from me a cheap hat? Am I
to say, 'Sir, here is a cheap hat. It is made of brown paper, and the
gum will run from it in the first shower. It will come to pieces when
worn and disgrace you among your female acquaintances by becoming
dinged and bulged?' Should I do him good? He would buy his cheap
hat elsewhere, and tell pleasant stories of the madman he had met.
The world of purchasers will have cheap articles, and the world of
commerce must supply them. The world of purchasers will have their
ears tickled, and the world of commerce must tickle them. Of what use
is all this about adulteration? If Mrs. Jones will buy her sausages
at a lower price per pound than pork fetches in the market, has she
a right to complain when some curious doctor makes her understand
that her viands have not been supplied exclusively from the pig?
She insists on milk at three halfpence a quart; but the cow will
not produce it. The cow cannot produce it at that price, unless
she be aided by the pump; and therefore the pump aids her. If there
be dishonesty in this, it is with the purchaser, not with the
vendor,--with the public, not with the tradesman."
But still as he sat upon the gate, thus arguing with himself, a
dream came over him, a mist of thought as it were, whispering to him
strangely that even yet he might be wrong. He endeavoured to throw it
off, shaking himself as it were, and striving to fix his mind firmly
upon his old principles. But it was of no avail. He knew he was
awake; but yet he dreamed; and his dream was to him as a terrible
nightmare.
What if he were wrong! What if those two philosophers had on their
side some truth! He would fain be honest if he knew the way. What if
those names upon his list were the names of false gods, whose worship
would lead him to a hell of swindlers instead of the bright heaven of
commercial nobility! "Barlywig is in Parliament," he said to himself,
over and over again, in loud tones, striving to answer the spirit
of his dream. "In Parliament! He sits upon committees; men jostle
to speak to him; and he talks loud among the big ones of the earth.
He spends forty thousand a year in his advertisements, and grows
incredibly rich by the expenditure. Men and women flock in crowds to
his shop. He lives at Albert Gate in a house big enough for a royal
duke, and is the lord of ten thousand acres in Yorkshire. Barlywig
cannot have been wrong, let that philosopher philosophize as he
will!" But still the dream was there, crushing him like a nightmare.
"Why don't you produce something, so as to make the world richer?"
Poppins had said. He knew well what Poppins had meant by making the
world richer. If a man invent a Katakairion shirt, he does make the
world richer; if it be a good one, he makes it much richer. But the
man who simply says that he has done so adds nothing to the world's
wealth. His answer had been that it was his work to sell the shirts,
and that of the purchaser to buy them. Let each look to his own work.
If he could be successful in his selling, then he would have a right
to be proud of his success. The world would be best served by close
attention on the part of each to his own business. Such had been
the arguments with which he had silenced his friend and contented
himself, while the excitement of the shop in Bishopsgate Street was
continued; but now, as he sat there upon the gate, this dream came
upon him, and he began to doubt. Could it be that a man had a double
duty, each separate from the other;--a duty domestic and private,
requiring his devotion and loyalty to his wife, his children, his
partners, and himself; and another duty, widely extended in all its
bearings and due to the world in which he lived? Could Poppins have
seen this, while he was blind? Was a man bound to produce true shirts
for the world's benefit even though he should make no money by so
doing;--either true shirts or none at all?
The evening light fell upon him as he still sat there on the gate,
and he became very melancholy. "If I have been wrong," he said to
himself, "I must give up the fight. I cannot begin again now and
learn new precepts. After all that I have done with that old man's
money, I cannot now own that I have been wrong, and commence again
on a theory taught to me by Poppins. If this be so, then farewell to
Commerce!" And as he said so, he dropped from his seat, and, leaning
over the rail, hid his face within his hands.
As he stood there, suddenly a sound struck his ears, and he knew
that the bells of Edmonton were ringing. The church was distant, but
nevertheless the tones came sharp upon him with their clear music.
They rang on quickly, loudly, and with articulate voice. Surely there
were words within those sounds. What was it they were saying to him?
He listened for a few seconds, for a minute or two, for five minutes;
and then his ear and senses had recognized the language--"Turn again,
Robinson, Member of Parliament." He heard it so distinctly that his
ear would not for a moment abandon the promise. The words could not
be mistaken. "Turn again, Robinson, Member of Parliament."
Then he did turn, and walked back to London with a trusting heart.
London: Printed by Smith, Elder and Co., Old Bailey, E.C.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Chapter VIII, paragraph 56. Previously Fame was attributed
masculine gender. The reader might note the sentence in
this paragraph: On that morrow he was more enterprising
than ever, and it was then that he originated the idea of
the four men in armour, and of Fame with HER classical
horn and gilded car.
Specific changes in wording of the text are listed below.
Chapter XII, paragraph 25. The word "partners" was changed
to "partner" in the sentence: And might it not be well for
her to forget that other Samson, and once more to trust
herself to her father's PARTNER?
Chapter XVI, paragraph 44. The order of the words "was it"
was inverted in the sentence: Why WAS IT, that at this
eventful period of Robinson's existence Mrs. Poppins
should have turned against him?
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