"I'm always glad to get out of this place," said Mrs Jared; and she
hurried her steps as they turned out of Brownjohn Street, where they had
left Janet in safety, Monsieur Canau being absent at his theatrical
duties; but they had seen D. Wragg, who had insisted upon Jared taking
back a couple of unfortunate sparrows in a paper-bag. "Just to please
the children," the dealer had said. They had also seen Mrs Winks, and
made an appointment with that lady concerning soap and soda: and now the
providing had to be attended to in the busy street to which they made
their way.
It was sharp work that providing, now at the butcher's, now at the
greengrocer's, and now at the grocer's that was not green; then they
went to get a piece of the very fine prime old Cheshire from the next
shop, with five eggs for sixpence, and butter and lard. Then the big
basket began to grow heavy, and there was no more room in Jared's
pockets, nor yet under Mrs Jared's shawl; and their steps were directed,
as Jared supposed, homewards, as he groaned beneath his load.
For Jared Pellet always was loaded. No sooner did he take a weight off
his shoulders than one asserted itself upon his mind. But it did not
matter, he said, so long as he did not get so much more than his share.
Upon the present occasion he felt like a man carrying a sheet of
plate-glass down Fleet Street; for he had apples in the same pocket with
the eggs, and that pocket being disposed to bulge, people would keep
coming in contact, even though he used a market bunch of greens as the
"ease-her-stop-her" boys do the fenders on the "Citizen" steamers to
soften collision or contact with pier.
Then, too, there was Mrs Jared to protect in the crowd, for she was a
very little woman; and though she would not own to it, that big basket
bothered her sadly, being a regular tyrant, and, in spite of the
coolness of the night, keeping her in a profuse perspiration.
It really was a brute of a basket--one of those wicker enormities with a
cross handle, two flaps, and a large interior. Plenty of room when you
could get anything inside; but an abomination of obstinacy, which seemed
to like to have goods carried half in and half out, top-heavy fashion,
with the flap lids cocked up and in the way of the handle.
And so it was upon the night in question; nothing would pack in as it
should. The potatoes certainly did dive in properly when the scale was
turned up; but the beef would not enter in spite of all the coaxing and
contriving bestowed. No; it would not go in, but broke the wedge of
fine old Cheshire all to crumbs; and there it was being carried home
with the rough, red, freshly-sawed bone sticking out, and anointing with
wet marrow Mrs Jared's second-best shawl. Even the tea-paper was
broken, and "Timson's fine old family mixture" escaping in secret
amongst the potatoes. However the moist sugar was safe, for it was
being carried is a brown paper cone, balanced inside Jared's hat, to the
serious alarm of the two sparrows, till Jared stopped for a moment at a
street corner and let them fly.
Any one with sympathetic feelings will easily understand that homely
shopping under such circumstances was rather trying to the temper. Mrs
Jared's temper was tried, but it only displayed itself in slight
compressions of her lips; and even this outward and visible sign of
something wrong soon passed off, giving place to an air of anxiety as
they passed through a by-street, where she suddenly arrested her
husband.
The stopping-place was at a liberally painted shoemaker's shop, over
which, in large letters, shone the golden words, "Purkis's Boot and Shoe
Emporium," while the gilt flourishes and bands upon the board seemed to
remind the beholder strangely of the beadle's uniform and wand of
office.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Jared, waking up from a dream of Farmer's _Gloria in
Excelsis_, "What do you want here?"
"Only to tell Mr Purkis to send for Totty's little boots," said Mrs
Jared.
Jared was satisfied, and they entered, sending a small bell hung upon
the half door into a very rage of ringing, to summon attendance,
although the owner of the establishment was ponderously taking the
measure of a customer's foot, by means of a long slip of paper and a
sliding rule, slowly the while making entries upon the said white slip,
and afterwards smearing them out and re-writing them. The next minute,
though, he had fallen into a state of doubt, and measured again, till,
in his confusion, he not only made himself extremely inky, but blotted
his customer's white stockings.
But at last Mr Purkis had finished, sighed relief, dismissed the
measured lady, with a promise very doubtful of fulfilment, taken off his
glasses, and then turned to welcome his visitors, Mr Jared Pellet,
organist of his (Mr Purkis's) church, being a customer held by him in
some reverence.
A very warm, moist man was Mr Purkis in all weathers, and during
conversation he was always busy dabbing his forehead, or wiping his neck
or hands, even continuing the desiccating process sometimes within his
shirt-collar; but his broad face was wreathed with smiles, and a
Chesterfield could not have been more polite to his visitors as he
responded to Jared's inquiries about his health.
"Not very well, sir," said Mr Purkis, taking up a huge clump-soled boot.
"I've been a deal worried to-day, sir, over this boot. Mr D. Wragg's,
sir, as you recommended to come to me, and that leg of his as is shorter
than the other never seems to keep the same length two days together,
and I can't get the sole thick enough, even now. But he's a good
customer all the same, and I thank you ever so much for recommending me
to him. Make that dark gi--young lady's boots too, I do, sir; her as
comes with the little Frenchman; but where he picks up _his_ boots, I
don't know."
Here Mrs Jared cut a long story short by speaking about Totty's shoes.
He would send for those little shoes first thing in the morning, without
fail; but would not Mr and Mrs Pellet step in.
Jared thought not, but Mrs Jared took the opposite, for she had other
thoughts than shoes upon her mind; so declaring herself to be tired, she
followed Mr Purkis into the back room, where Mrs Purkis left off ironing
to dust a couple of chairs, and drew a small black saucepan, simmering
upon the hob, a little farther from the cheery blaze.
"Poor Mrs Nimmer's dead and gone, sir," said Mr Purkis.
"Indeed!" said Jared and his wife together.
"Yes, sir--went very suddenly--only this very afternoon, sir. Forty
year had she been pew-opener at St Runnles--twenty year before I took
the beadleship."
The conversation had taken the very turn Mrs Jared desired; in fact, she
had dragged Jared round in order to enlist Mr Purkis upon their side--at
all events, to prevent him from trying to run a friend of his own. She
was somewhat shocked at the suddenness of the beadle's announcement, yet
she felt that, for the sake of a family friend, so good an opportunity
must not be lost.
"Who is to be the new pew-opener, Mr Purkis?" she said, after a while.
"Who, mum?" said Purkis, after a good wipe; "I don't know, mum, I'm
sure. I should like the Missus there to try, but she says she won't."
"Not if I know it, Joseph," exclaimed his lady, as if in doubt whether
she might commence the undertaking in ignorance. "Not if I know it,
Joseph," she exclaimed, polishing an iron with a duster, after giving it
a vicious rub in the ashes. "If a married woman hasn't enough to do to
mind her own house and bits of things, it's a pity. The church has got
you, and has you a deal away from the business with weddings and such;
and besides, I never opened pews, and I'm too old to learn now."
"Perhaps Mrs Purkis will think better of it," said Mrs Jared.
"Better of it! No, ma'am; nor worse, neither. I shall never commit
myself by doing of it, as I've told Joseph a score of times."
"Then, under those circumstances, perhaps Mr Purkis would not mind
helping a friend of ours to obtain that post?"
"Friend of yours, mum?" said Purkis, eagerly; "I'd do all I could in my
way, mum, though that wouldn't be much. But," he exclaimed, as a bright
thought seemed to strike him, "I could keep other people away."
"But that would hardly be fair," observed Mrs Jared.
"Perhaps we had better not go into that part of the business, mum," said
Mr Purkis, with dignity. "Elections is things as ladies don't
understand; and those in elections have to serve their own friends, and
serve out their enemies. What we want to do is to remember Mr Pellet's
kindness."
"Which we shall never forget," chimed in Mrs Purkis, looking up from her
ironing in support of her husband's allusion to Jared's "donus," and a
timely loan supplied at a time when Mr Purkis had got himself into what
he termed "a mess" by obliging a friend in a bill transaction.
"'Taint every one as will put himself to inconvenience and help them as
is pushed," said Mr Purkis.
"Which it's well enough we know that, Joseph," chimed in Mrs Purkis,
halting in her task, and burning the mark of the flat-iron into the
garment being smoothed.
"There! I must go, if you are going to keep this on," exclaimed Jared,
rising from the chair in which he had been fidgeting about until it
scraped upon the floor. "I can't stand this, you know," and he glanced
from Purkis to his wife, who was wiping her eye upon the corner of her
apron.
"Don't go, sir, please," exclaimed Purkis; "for I was going to say--to
ask, you know--that is, if you wouldn't mind--"
Here he made a telegraphic signal with one arm to his wife, and in one
sweep indicated "Clear away and lay the cloth." The signal having the
effect upon Mrs Purkis of making her dab down an iron and raise the
saucepan lid.
"We're very homely, Mr Pellet, sir," she said, as she diffused a savoury
odour through the little room; "but if you wouldn't mind?"
Jared did not wish to stay, but Mrs Jared did, and she had her way,
when, over a snug little supper, the pew-opening business was discussed
in all its bearings, though frequently during his stay Jared was ready
to get up and leave the place in consequence of the beadle's allusions
to his kindness.
It was very plain, though, that Purkis and his wife looked up to their
visitors as people far above the ordinary run; and after their
departure, Mr Purkis dabbed himself for five minutes, and then, bringing
his hand down upon his counter with a loud spang, he exclaimed, like a
monarch bestowing dignities--
"She shall have it, that she shall."
"But, Joseph," exclaimed his wife, deprecatingly, "whatever you do,
don't commit yourself."
"Don't talk stuff," exclaimed Purkis, fiercely.
"But it wouldn't be stuff, Joseph, if you was to commit yourself,"
whimpered Mrs Purkis.
"Mrs Purkis, ma'am," said the beadle, donning imaginary robes, "Mr
Pellet has asked for the post for a humble friend of his. Mr Pellet's
humble friend shall have it, ma'am, or I'll know the reason why. Mr
Pellet, ma'am, is our friend; and what's more, or what isn't more--I
won't say as to that--Mr Pellet, ma'am, is an ornament to my church, for
he's the finest organist in London."
Volume 1, Chapter XVII.