LITMIR.BIZ

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for that piece o’ net,—if I was to tell y’ anything else I should be tellin’ you fibs,—an’ five-an’-eightpence I shall ask of it, not a penny more, for it’s a woman’s article, an’ I like to ’commodate the women. Five-an’-eightpence for six yards,—as cheap as if it was only the dirt on it as was paid for.’”

      “I don’t mind having three yards of it,’” said Mrs. Glegg.

      “Why, there’s but six altogether,” said Bob. “No, mum, it isn’t worth your while; you can go to the shop to-morrow an’ get the same pattern ready whitened. It’s on’y three times the money; what’s that to a lady like you?” He gave an emphatic tie to his bundle.

      “Come, lay me out that muslin,” said Mrs. Glegg. “Here’s eight shilling for it.”

      “You will be jokin’,” said Bob, looking up with a laughing face; “I see’d you was a pleasant lady when I fust come to the winder.”

      “Well, put it me out,” said Mrs. Glegg, peremptorily.

      “But if I let you have it for ten shillin’, mum, you’ll be so good as not tell nobody. I should be a laughin’-stock; the trade ’ud hoot me, if they knowed it. I’m obliged to make believe as I ask more nor I do for my goods, else they’d find out I was a flat. I’m glad you don’t insist upo’ buyin’ the net, for then I should ha’ lost my two best bargains for Mrs. Pepper o’ Fibb’s End, an’ she’s a rare customer.”

      “Let me look at the net again,” said Mrs. Glegg, yearning after the cheap spots and sprigs, now they were vanishing.

      “Well, I can’t deny you, mum,” said Bob handing it out.

      “Eh!, see what a pattern now! Real Laceham goods. Now, this is the sort o’ article I’m recommendin’ Mr. Tom to send out. Lors, it’s a fine thing for anybody as has got a bit o’ money; these Laceham goods ’ud make it breed like maggits. If I was a lady wi’ a bit o’ money!—why, I know one as put thirty pounds into them goods,—a lady wi’ a cork leg, but as sharp,—you wouldn’t catch her runnin’ her head into a sack; she’d see her way clear out o’ anything afore she’d be in a hurry to start. Well, she let out thirty pound to a young man in the drapering line, and he laid it out i’ Laceham goods, an’ a shupercargo o’ my acquinetance (not Salt) took ’em out, an’ she got her eight per zent fust go off; an’ now you can’t hold her but she must be sendin’ out carguies wi’ every ship, till she’s gettin’ as rich as a Jew. Bucks her name is, she doesn’t live i’ this town. Now then, mum, if you’ll please to give me the net——”

      “Here’s fifteen shilling, then, for the two,” said Mrs. Glegg. “But it’s a shameful price.”

      “Nay, mum, you’ll niver say that when you’re upo’ your knees i’ church i’ five years’ time. I’m makin’ you a present o’ th’ articles; I am, indeed. That eightpence shaves off my profits as clean as a razor. Now then, sir,” continued Bob, shouldering his pack, “if you please, I’ll be glad to go and see about makin’ Mr. Tom’s fortin. Eh, I wish I’d got another twenty pound to lay out mysen; I shouldn’t stay to say my Catechism afore I knowed what to do wi’t.”

      “Stop a bit, Mr. Glegg,” said the lady, as her husband took his hat, “you never will give me the chance o’ speaking. You’ll go away now, and finish everything about this business, and come back and tell me it’s too late for me to speak. As if I wasn’t my nephey’s own aunt, and the head o’ the family on his mother’s side! and laid by guineas, all full weight, for him, as he’ll know who to respect when I’m laid in my coffin.”

      “Well, Mrs. G., say what you mean,” said Mr. G., hastily.

      “Well, then, I desire as nothing may be done without my knowing. I don’t say as I sha’n’t venture twenty pounds, if you make out as everything’s right and safe. And if I do, Tom,” concluded Mrs. Glegg, turning impressively to her nephew, “I hope you’ll allays bear it in mind and be grateful for such an aunt. I mean you to pay me interest, you know; I don’t approve o’ giving; we niver looked for that in my family.”

      “Thank you, aunt,” said Tom, rather proudly. “I prefer having the money only lent to me.”

      “Very well; that’s the Dodson sperrit,” said Mrs. Glegg, rising to get her knitting with the sense that any further remark after this would be bathos.

      Salt—that eminently “briny chap”—having been discovered in a cloud of tobacco-smoke at the Anchor Tavern, Mr. Glegg commenced inquiries which turned out satisfactorily enough to warrant the advance of the “nest-egg,” to which aunt Glegg contributed twenty pounds; and in this modest beginning you see the ground of a fact which might otherwise surprise you; namely, Tom’s accumulation of a fund, unknown to his father, that promised in no very long time to meet the more tardy process of saving, and quite cover the deficit. When once his attention had been turned to this source of gain, Tom determined to make the most of it, and lost on opportunity of obtaining information and extending his small enterprises. In not telling his father, he was influenced by that strange mixture of opposite feelings which often gives equal truth to those who blame an action and those who admire it,—partly, it was that disinclination to confidence which is seen between near kindred, that family repulsion which spoils the most sacred relations of our lives; partly, it was the desire to surprise his father with a great joy. He did not see that it would have been better to soothe the interval with a new hope, and prevent the delirium of a too sudden elation.

      At the time of Maggie’s first meeting with Philip, Tom had already nearly a hundred and fifty pounds of his own capital; and while they were walking by the evening light in the Red Deeps, he, by the same evening light, was riding into Laceham, proud of being on his first journey on behalf of Guest & Co., and revolving in his mind all the chances that by the end of another year he should have doubled his gains, lifted off the obloquy of debt from his father’s name, and perhaps—for he should be twenty-one—have got a new start for himself, on a higher platform of employment. Did he not desire it? He was quite sure that he did.

Chapter III.

       The Wavering Balance.

       Table of Contents

      I said that Maggie went home that evening from the Red Deeps with a mental conflict already begun. You have seen clearly enough, in her interview with Philip, what that conflict was. Here suddenly was an opening in the rocky wall which shut in the narrow valley of humiliation, where all her prospect was the remote, unfathomed sky; and some of the memory-haunting earthly delights were no longer out of her reach. She might have books, converse, affection; she might hear tidings of the world from which her mind had not yet lost its sense of exile; and it would be a kindness to Philip too, who was pitiable,—clearly not happy. And perhaps here was an opportunity indicated for making her mind more worthy of its highest service; perhaps the noblest, completest devoutness could hardly exist without some width of knowledge; must she always live in this resigned imprisonment? It was so blameless, so good a thing that there should be friendship between her and Philip; the motives that forbade it were so unreasonable, so unchristian! But the severe monotonous warning came again and again,—that she was losing the simplicity and clearness of her life by admitting a ground of concealment; and that, by forsaking the simple rule of renunciation, she was throwing herself under the seductive guidance of illimitable wants. She thought she had won strength to obey the warning before she allowed herself the next week to turn her steps in the evening to the Red Deeps. But while she was resolved to say an affectionate farewell to Philip, how she looked forward to that evening walk in the still, fleckered shade of the hollows, away from all that was harsh and unlovely; to the affectionate, admiring looks that would meet her; to the sense of comradeship that childish memories would give to wiser, older talk; to the certainty that Philip would care to hear everything she said, which no one else cared for! It was a half-hour that it would be very hard to turn her back upon,

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