HOUSE AND HOME
Jack Rattenbury found that a good many bills descended on him after his
father's funeral. He had no means of checking them, as he had not come
on any account-book, but he had little doubt that the debts had really
been contracted, for they revealed that the captain had been engaged
in an extensive business as 'freighter'; not for some years taking
any part in the active carriage of goods, but providing the cargoes
and negotiating the sales. To the French ports he had despatched West
Indian groceries procured in England, and from France he had received
consignments of brandy. And in both transactions the goods had been run
without regard to Customs duties.
So long as sugar was at famine prices in France, and large profits
could be made on spirits and tea in England, the contraband trade
attracted to it the most adventurous on the coasts.
Neither the vessel built for Captain Job nor the stores last ordered
had been paid for. Jack had made up his mind not to follow his father's
business, which, though it might be very profitable at times, was also
liable to great losses. He liked the sea, but saw clearly that if he
took to it he would be more or less brought into relations with the
men who had acted with, under and for his father, and that it would be
difficult for him to keep clear of 'free trading.' He liked books, and
his inclination turned to some occupation on land where what he had
acquired would prove serviceable.
The day of the auction came on speedily. It were well, thought Jack, to
have the sale at once, that he might be free to go where he would find
work, and have money wherewith to meet his father's debts.
Happily the day was bright, and although a cold wind blew from the
north-east, the sun shone――a November sun, pale and without warmth.
Yet, at that time of the year, the very sight of the luminary is
cheering.
A country auction is a curious sight. It was even more so at the
beginning of the century.
Auctions, like funerals, are wet or dry, and a dry auction, like a dry
funeral, attracts few assistants and provokes little enthusiasm.
A dry auction is colourless, cold, sordid. Emulation among would-be
purchasers is languid, and the sums realised are inconsiderable.
It is otherwise at a wet auction, so entitled because spirits are
freely provided and distributed: at that faces glow, hearts warm,
competition waxes keen, the humour of the auctioneer sparkles, and
the prices fetched by the articles offered are often altogether
disproportioned to their intrinsic value. Messrs. Hawkes and Squire
were in good repute as capable men who understood how to play upon the
tempers of a circle of hesitating purchasers, how to pit one against
another, to cover a defect, and enhance the value of an article exposed
to sale.
'No,' said Mr. Hawkes, 'that won't do. We must not begin with the
'ouse. We must not bring it in late, with this here drivin' and
freezin' wind. We'll do as Mr. Rattenbury proposed, and very sensible
it was of him. We'll have out the cloam and the glass and the jugs and
togs first, and get 'em up to a lively 'eat, and then run the 'ouse
afore they get cold again. There's a rick of firewood, and an old set
of harness without an 'oss to wear it, that I can see, and some garding
tools, a chopper and a block, and the clinkum clankums as we can bring
out. Mr. Squire, you get the liquor well in, ply 'em freely, ripen 'em
up before we put up the 'ouse. The order ain't professional, but in
such a wind and such a season, and when the space within is limited――it
can't be helped. Folks'll be goin' when they get cold.'
'I think we will begin,' said Mr. Squire. 'They have got through a
gallon of gin already.'
'Right you are,' responded Mr. Hawkes, and mounted a chair set against
the outside of the house near the window, where there was some shelter
against the wind. He was a florid man, with very large, white whiskers,
and a white hat with a black band round it, all the lower part of his
face large and heavy, small dark eyes and dark brows.
Before him were benches, and a table crowded with crockery and sundries
grouped into lots.
'Now then, gentlemen and ladies, by your leave, and if you please.
Time is up, and the trump of duty calls. I may say, though it may be
unprofessional to say it, that in all my career it has never been
my good fortune to have had come into my hands the disposal of so
eligible and desirable a collection of articles as those which it is
my privilege and pleasure to submit to you to-day, together with one
of the most desirable and convenient residences ever offered on the
south coast of England. Ladies and gentlemen, I will just read over
the conditions of sale, so that later on no dispute and difficulty may
arise.'
Mr. Hawkes proceeded to do as proposed, but in so hurried a manner that
nothing he read could be understood.
That formality concluded, he took his hammer in one hand and received a
basin from his assistant in the other.
'The first lot, gentlemen and ladies, that I submit to you is of
the highest desirability. It is a washing basin, the jug has been
mislaid――but that is of no real importance. The basin is the thing; and
washing is also the thing. The man or woman who does not value a basin
is a man or woman who don't wash, and it is washing that differentiates
the civilised man from the savage. If any one here be setting up house,
here is an opportunity that may not occur again. I see several young
men present hovering on the verge of matrimony, or contemplating it as
a possibility in the near future. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and
if there be one of them who would desire to enjoy an 'appy 'ome and a
beautiful wife, let him buy this basin.'
'Thickey basin is cracken,' shouted some one from the crowd.
'Cracked, is it? Possibly――but still eminently serviceable. Let me tell
you, Mrs. Bunce――it was you who made that observation――that many a
head is also cracken, as you term it, but is nevertheless an eminently
serviceable head. With this basin goes a soap-dish and――thank you, Mr.
Squire――an eligible teapot. A most desirable lot.'
He waved the last-named article, holding it by the spout adroitly,
concealing in his hand the broken nozzle.
'This teapot, you will observe, has a sound handle, and has its lid
attached. Many a teapot is rendered useless by the loss of its lid.
This one not only possesses its lid, but also the flower or knob at the
top. This pot'――his face became withering in its scornfulness――'this
teapot, I hope, Mrs. Bunce, you will not pronounce cracken,' and he
tapped the sides. 'Ah! Mrs. Bunce, come round, I thought as much――Two
shillings. Two shillings offered for the basin, soap-dish, and teapot.'
The woman called Bunce vainly protested that she had made no offer.
She was unheard. 'Two shillings for this lot. The price is ridiculous.
If Mrs. Hawkes were here she would not allow the chance to slide. Ah!
I thought as much, Mrs. Jose, two and six. With those cheeks like
ribstone pippins, and at so high a polish――she is the lady who simply
ravens after soap. Thank you, ma'am, three shillings. Every gentleman
and lady must possess a soap-dish. That is right, three and six. Again,
Mrs. Jose. I admire your judgment. Some know a good thing when they
see it, others don't. Another sixpence. Some one bid another sixpence?
Going for three and six, going, going, gone for three and six――given
away.'
And Mrs. Jose of Bindon became the possessor of a cracked basin, a
soap-dish without a strainer, and a teapot with broken spout.
After this start the auctioneer knew that he would do fairly well.
'Mr. Squire, lot number two, if you please. I thank you kindly. A pair
of bellows and a nautical almanack. Very good, very. Wind and tide. Who
will offer?'
'What year?' shouted a seaman, with reference to the date of the
almanack.
Mr. Hawkes did not answer. He was occasionally deaf.
'Now then,' said he hastily, 'a pair of bellows, without which no wife
can manage, and a nautical almanack indispensable to every sailor or
boatman. Such a combination is most appropriate; the husband and the
wife each has a share in this lot. One shilling! I misunderstood;
surely no one offered so paltry a sum. Come――another sixpence. That
is right. One and six. Anyone bid further? Right! Two shillings. Two
and six, and dirt cheap. Take it, young man. Your name, I believe, is
Temple.'
After a pause, 'It is fresh out here, ladies and gentlemen. If you will
pass round the glasses you will obtain a little warmth applied in the
right place. Stoke where the fuel ought to go: under the boiler. Lot
number three.' He held up a picture.
Then a sailor called out, 'Where is the Paycock?'
'The Paycock? What does he mean?' asked the auctioneer of his assistant.
A whispered communication ensued.
'Oh! the Paycock, a study in wools, is withdrawn. Filial feelings,
which we all respect, et cetera. But what have we here? Daniel in the
Lions' Den, with crimson velvet curtains fringed with gold bullion,
hanging down in the den, and the prophet depicted, very properly,
in adoration. Light streaming from above. In the remote distance
aloft――King Ahasuerus, wasn't it?――gazing on the sublime scene with
emotion. A scriptural subject――Daniel in the Lions' Den――one shilling.
Yes, ma'am, eighteen pence――sir――two shillings. The velvet curtains
are alone worth that. Half-a-crown. So good for your children, help to
make them realise the sacred narrative. Three shillings. Give pleasure
and instruction combined to little Tommy, and make him say, "Mammy, I
have read about Daniel in my Bible"――give――thank you, three and six.
Right――four shillings. Going, going, gone.'
Thus went on the sale, briskly, each article fetching more than it was
actually worth, as is generally the case in small sales to which the
Jew dealers do not think it worth their while to go. At a large auction
they combine against the public, and control the sale in their own
interest, running up an article only when bid for by some one outside
the ring. In a small sale the profits go into the pocket of the seller,
in a large one into those of the dealers.
When the sale was in full swing, the bidders were warm, and rivalry
had been excited, some bidding out of mere wantonness, some out
of ostentation, some to prevent others from possessing what they
themselves did not want. Then Mr. Hawkes put up the little house and
scrap of land on which it stood.
Considerable hesitation at once manifested itself, and there was a
long pause before an offer was made. The Undercliff was a snug spot
for a man to live at who had no business, and could afford to be
idle; it was unsuitable for any one else. However, the agent for the
owner of the Bindon estate offered thirty pounds. It might serve as a
labourer's cottage. It would not let for above four pounds, and would
require some outlay in repairs. But the main objection against it lay
in its situation near the cliff, as it was uncertain how long it would
continue habitable. It might last a lifetime or go to pieces like Jane
Marley's cottage on the morrow.
Then a retired tradesman of Seaton held up his hand. The agent again
offered; a third bid; then an old maid from Lyme. The sale moved but
sluggishly.
Mr. Hawkes looked towards the agent. But he shook his head; he had
been instructed not to go above a certain specified sum.
Jane Marley stood by the window. She had thrust her way to the front,
and was near the auctioneer; she leaned one elbow on the sill and
looked up into his face.
He held the hammer aloft, gazing about him, with an encouraging word
cast at one, then another, but without response.
'Seventy,' said Jane.
He turned sharply about. 'Seventy pounds offered for this desirable
residence, worth a hundred and seventy――a freehold, mind you. Who says
eighty? Come. Going for seventy. You could not build it under two
hundred. Now, Mr. Frank. The fruits of life are, in your ripe and green
old age, to sit under your own vine and fig-tree――――'
'And possibly have the ground fall away under one,' said the tradesman,
and shook his head.
'Seventy. Going, going! I am really ashamed. Stay a moment. Madam, we
shall expect caution money.'
'Here is the entire sum.'
'Gone!' said the auctioneer. 'And now we will proceed with the rest of
the furniture. Step inside. Ladies and gentlemen, oblige me, and step
within.' Silence among the crowd. Those assembled looked at one another
with astonishment.
A woman who a few weeks ago had in vain sought shelter for herself and
child, one who had been regarded as the poorest of the poor, suddenly
put down seventy pounds and became owner of a house and freehold
property.
'Upon my life,' whispered one to a neighbour, 'hawking must be a paying
trade.'
Mrs. Jose worked her way with her elbows to Jane and shook her hand.
'I am rejoiced,' she said, with her face bright with smiles. 'You have
a house of your own now; the rest will follow.'
A friend whispered in her ear, 'Where did the peddling creature get the
money?'
'The little maid's father has come down handsome,' answered Mrs. Jose
in an undertone.
'How can that woman have got hold of such a sum of money?' asked a
seaman of Olver Dench.
'Hist you!' answered the ferryman. 'By robbing the captain.'
Though he said it in a whisper, he spoke sufficiently audibly to be
overheard by those around, and those who heard repeated it to such
as had not. Jane saw eyes fixed on her full of mistrust. But she threw
up her head; and as the sale proceeded bought the wardrobe that had not
been disturbed, beds, tables, and most of the furniture.
'Mother!'
Jane saw Winefred beside her.
'My child! my child! We have been wanderers. Now we have of our own a
house and home.'
[Illustration: JANE MARLEY HAD THRUST HER WAY TO THE FRONT AND WAS NEAR
THE AUCTIONEER.]