by W. W. Jacobs
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Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
LOVE AND THE IRONMONGER
by
F. J. RANDALL
London: John Lane, The Bodley HeadNew York: John Lane Company. MCMVIII
William Clowes and Sons, Limited, London and Beccles.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. WHAT CAME TO GEORGE EARLY THROUGH A KEYHOLE 9
II. A YOUNG MAN IN SEARCH OF BAD HABITS 20
III. GEORGE EARLY PROVES THAT KNOWLEDGE IS POWER 30
IV. THREE WORMS THAT TURNED 45
V. A NEW LODGER IN LEYTONSTONE 56
VI. LAMB CHOPS AND TOMATO SAUCE 71
VII. AN ERRING HUSBAND IMPROVES AGAINST HIS WILL 86
VIII. GEORGE EARLY HOLDS FORTUNE IN HIS ARMS 97
IX. THE MAN WHO LAUGHED LAST AND LOUDEST 116
X. HERO WORSHIP 126
XI. CUPID TAKES A HAND 135
XII. AN IRONMONGER IN LOVE 144
XIII. A FORTNIGHT'S HOLIDAY 155
XIV. "TOMMY MORGAN" 165
XV. AUNT PHOEBE SURPRISES HER NEPHEW 180
XVI. GEORGE EARLY AND THE GIANT ALCOHOL 193
XVII. ADVICE GRATIS 204
XVIII. THE DISADVANTAGES OF TRYING TO BE GOOD 220
XIX. A SHOT THAT MISSED FIRE 230
XX. A DARK MAN OF FOREIGN APPEARANCE 240
XXI. FOLLOW MY LEADER 248
XXII. BLIND MAN'S BLUFF 265
XXIII. FIRST STOP, HASTINGS 279
XXIV. A STRAWBERRY MARK 299
XXV. NAME O' PHOEBE 307
_LOVE AND THE IRONMONGER_
_A PLAIN TALE OF UPPER THAMES STREET_
CHAPTER I--_What came to George Early through a Keyhole_
The offices of Fairbrother and Co. were in the full swing of businesswhen George Early sauntered in and took his accustomed place at a smalldesk.
"What time do you call this?" asked the head clerk severely, looking upfrom a ledger.
George looked at his watch.
"Half-past eight," he said intelligently; "that makes me half an hourlate, doesn't it? Matter of fact, old chap, I----"
"That'll do," said the head clerk; "just you keep your place. And keepyour time, too," he added warningly, "or else there'll be a vacancy inthis office."
He marched off with a ledger under his arm, and George, with a wink athis nearest colleague, pulled a morning paper from an inner pocket andconsulted the sporting column.
Fairbrothers' was an easy-going firm, that had the reputation of beinggood to its employees. If a man once got a seat on an office-stoolthere he was considered to have a berth for life, supposing of coursethat the iron trade and Upper Thames Street continued to exist.Fairbrothers' never dismissed a man unless he was a downright rogue,and in such a case it was believed that they secretly looked after himif he happened to be in a very bad way.
Nobody in the office minded much what was said unless Old JoeFairbrother, the venerable head of the concern, happened to say it. Ifthere was a threat of dismissal from anybody else the threatened manaffected contrition and laughed up his sleeve. And although thisgeneral air of safety was as soothing to Thomas Parrott, the headclerk, as to anybody else, that admirable man's sense of duty compelledhim to occasionally sound a warning note to his subordinates.
This morning the head clerk was in a bad temper, and found fault witheverybody, especially with George Early.
"Who's been upsetting Polly?" asked George, looking round; "seems tohave got 'em, doesn't he?"
"Wants a cracker," said the shorthand clerk; "got a bad attack of thepip."
"If he'd like his poll scratched," said George, impudently, "he's onlygot to say so."
A red-haired junior chimed in.
"It ain't that," he said; "Polly's looking for a new perch. Thinks OldJoe'll be wanting a manager soon."
Any reference to the head of the firm interested George.
"What's the matter with Old Joe?" he asked.
"Matter? What ain't the matter? you mean. Got one foot in the grave andthe other on the edge. The poor old chap's fairly breaking up."
George turned thoughtfully to his work, but his mind ran on otherthings; the decay of the head of the firm opened up possibilities ofpromotion. A manager would be wanted soon.
To jump from the position of clerk to manager was unusual, but unusualthings of that sort had a fascination for George Early. The work wouldjust suit him; he always felt he was born to command. Compared with theother men in the office, George was quite a new hand; but the other menhad less imagination and less confidence, and if they chose to followthe method of rising step by step it was their own affair.
The offices of Fairbrother and Co. were large and roomy, and occupiedthe lower part of an old-fashioned building in Upper Thames Street,adjoining a warehouse and a wharf. On the first floor facing the streetand next to the showrooms was a large, handsome room. This was theprivate office of old Joseph Fairbrother, and no robber's cave with itsglittering treasures had a greater fascination for any ambitious youngman than had this apartment for George Early. The large roomy armchairsand the big safe appealed to him strongly. He liked to picture himselfsitting in the biggest chair and sternly inquiring why certain ordershad not been despatched a week ago; and he never went inside the doorwithout the hope of coming out with an increase of salary.
The private office now became to George what the deserted wing of acountry mansion is to the family ghost. If there was anything to goupstairs, he got it by hook or crook, and became the envoy. He liked togo best when the old gentleman was there, and when he wasn't Georgewould look round the room, admire the handsome furniture, and stay aslong as he dared. Sometimes he would carry up two letters and find thatthe room was empty. Then he would bring one down to make a secondjourney.
One morning he went up without anything at all. On this occasion he hadseen Old Fairbrother in the lower office preparing to go out. Georgeglanced around quickly, hoping that an umbrella or something of thesort had been left behind, so that he might dash after the retreatingbrougham. There was nothing.
"Just my luck!" he murmured, crossing to the window.
He looked out into the street, and, seeing that the brougham haddeparted, selected the biggest armchair, and from its depthsthoughtfully perused the court column of a daily newspaper lying athand.
Unfortunately he became so absorbed that he did not hear the familiarrattle of his employer's brougham as it returned and drew up outside,and it was not till the head of the firm was half-way up the stairst
hat he scented danger.
With alacrity George looked for means of escape, and at once turned tothat which seemed easy and safe. This retreat was a private staircasewhich led direct from the room to the upper floors of the warehouse. Heskipped across and closed the door behind him quickly and softly.
A second later old Joseph Fairbrother entered the room, and, as he didso, George Early found himself in another fix, for instead of passingthrough the door of the private staircase he had entered a tiny,box-like room which stood beside it. This room had no other outlet, andthe venturesome clerk was a prisoner until his master chose to takehimself off.
The young man selected the keyhole as a means of learning what washappening. It was a large keyhole, and he had ample means of provingthat, so far as looks went, "Old Joe" had "one foot in the grave," ashad been affirmed. To-day he looked older and more decrepit than usual,and for five minutes he did nothing but sit and look at the fire.
At the end of that time somebody else entered the room. George waitedanxiously for the other party to come within range, and when he did soit proved to be Parrott.
"Sit down, Mr. Parrott," said Joseph Fairbrother; "one moment--hand mea cigar, please, and take one yourself."
The head clerk nervously helped himself to a cigar, and followed thelead of his chief as he lit up.
For another five minutes the old gentleman gazed abstractedly into thefire, finally shifting his gaze to the face of Parrott, who looked ateverything in the room except his employer.
"Mr. Parrott," said Old Fairbrother, solemnly, "do you know why I havebrought you here?"
The head clerk looked up with a start and coughed. He did not know whyhe had been brought there.
"Then I'll tell you," said his master. "I have made my will, Parrott,and I'm going to talk about a little legacy I have left you."
Parrott didn't know what to do, so he looked as bright as he could, andcleared his throat, as if to reply.
"Wait a minute," said the old gentleman, lifting a finger; "don't youthank me till you know what you're getting. I've had my eye on you,Parrott, for a good many years; I've watched you grow from a boyupwards, and I've noticed your good points and your bad ones. You'renot the only one I have watched, but you're the only one I'm going totalk about now. When I have had my little say with you, there areothers I shall talk to."
He took a long pull at his cigar, and allowed his eyes to rest on theuncomfortable Parrott, who seemed somewhat more doubtful of the issueof the interview than he had been a while ago.
"You're not my ideal of a man, Parrott," he continued; "but, of course,we all have our faults. You're a good man at your duty, and you believein others doing their duty, which is right enough. There are not manyin the office that love you, and I dare say you put it down to theirselfishness and ignorance, or perhaps to envy. It isn't that, Parrott;it is you they don't like. They like a man who's sociable and one ofthem, and who's affable and generous. They don't like you becauseyou're mean."
This home-thrust sent the colour rushing to the face of the head clerk,and the blood of his ancestors prompted him to get up and say--
"Really, sir, I----"
"All right, all right," interrupted his master, "this is just betweenourselves. I don't say that you are all to blame. These things aresometimes born in us, and we are not always able to root them out. Now,don't you interrupt me, but listen to what I've got to say.
"You are a mean man, Parrott; but I am of opinion that you are mean byhabit, and not by nature. Habits are things that we can get rid of ifwe choose. I want you to get rid of your habit.
"You know me, and you know that if I can use my wealth to reform a man,I will do it. I might leave a lot of money to societies, and still dolittle good with it; I might distribute it over a large surface so thatit benefited nobody. That's not my way. I should be doing more good bymaking sure of three or four men. You need reforming, Parrott, becausemeanness is a curse, and no man who has it badly, as you have, willever be the ideal of his fellow-creatures.
"I have made my will, and I have left you an income to begin on the dayof my death. You will not have long to wait. When I die you willreceive the sum of five hundred pounds yearly so long as you live."
Parrott nearly jumped out of his chair with joy.
"Stop a bit!" cried Old Fairbrother; "there are a few conditions tackedon to this. First and foremost is this: You will receive this income oncondition that you get rid of your habit of meanness. That is to say,if a man asks you for a loan of half a crown, or half a sovereign, or,in fact, wants to borrow anything from you, you shall lend it him. Mylawyer will have the matter in hand, Parrott, and if it can be provedthat you cling to your habit of meanness, and do not oblige a man whenasked to do so, your income ceases.
"I shall not interfere with your position here. It will be the samewhen my successor takes the management. And this contract will be knownto nobody but ourselves and my lawyer. Now, what do you say? Will fivehundred pounds a year help you to get rid of that habit of yours? Don'tbe afraid to say so if you would rather not have the legacy."
George Early listened in amazement, as the head clerk murmured histhanks; and his astonishment was further increased by the astoundingingenuity of "Old Joe," who laid bare the plan of the legacy in itsminutest detail. The lawyers were to follow their own methods inkeeping observation on the legatees, and in due course would warn themof a breach of agreement. Three warnings were accorded before thelegacy was lost.
"Not a word to any one, mind," said Joseph Fairbrother, as Parrottprepared to depart. "Just put yourself in training, that's all. SendMr. Busby to me."
The head clerk departed, and a few minutes later Busby came in.
Albert Busby was the firm's cashier, one of the oldest of the staff,yet still a young man, being under forty. In appearance he was the mostpious of black-haired Sunday School teachers; in reality it wasdifficult to get a word of truth from his lips. Lying was not part ofhis business, but distinctly a hobby, and it came as naturally to himas if he had been taught from birth.
Old Fairbrother offered Busby a cigar, then delineated his character inthe same way as he had done that of Parrott A legacy of L500 a yearawaited Busby if he chose to give up his habit of lying and stick tothe truth. Of course, Busby readily consented. He said for the futureno lie should ever pass his lips.
"You'll lose the money if it does," said "Old Joe," laconically.
The third and last man to be interviewed was Gray--Jimmy Gray, theaccountant. Gray's face told its own tale, and those who couldn't readit had only to note Gray's movements, which were too often in thedirection of a public-house.
The drink habit had Gray fairly in its toils, but he was willing togive it up for L500 a year, and he honestly believed he could.
When "Old Joe" stood alone once more, he took another long look at thefire. Then he gave a sigh, a smile, a shrug of the shoulders, and endedby putting on his hat and departing.
As soon as he was safely out of earshot, George Early stretched himselfand walked thoughtfully into the middle of the big room.
Having arrived there, he gave voice to three words, audibly anddistinctly: "Well, I'm hanged!"
Planting himself before the fire, he went musingly over the whole sceneagain. It was astounding. Three legacies of five hundred pounds a yeareach! George Early could scarcely realize the significance of it.
Presently, as he carefully thought over the matter, he began to smile,then to laugh; and when he finally returned to his office-stool, by wayof a tour through the warehouse, he was bubbling over with mirth.