REVISITS GOSPORT.
The years that followed until Ruth was grown to womanhood and Joseph
was a young man were eventful years for Aaron Cohen and his family. He
returned to England the possessor of a moderate fortune, but he had no
idea of retiring from the active duties of life. To such a man
idleness would have been little less than a living death, and taking
up his residence in London, he embarked very soon in enterprises of
magnitude. The knowledge he had gained during his partnership in
France was of immense value to him, and in conjunction with other men
of technical resource he contracted for public works in various parts
of the country. His fortune grew, and he gradually became wealthy. He
moved from one house to another, and each move was a step up the
ladder. A house in Prince's Gate came into the market, and Aaron
purchased it, and furnished it with taste and elegance. There he
entertained liberally, but not lavishly, for his judgment led him
always to the happy mean, and the house became the resort of men and
women of intellect and culture. Mr. Moss, who was wedded to
Portsmouth, and continued to flourish there, paid periodical visits to
London, and was always welcome in the home. He was as musically
inclined as ever, and opportunities were afforded him of hearing the
finest singers and players at Prince's Gate. On two or three occasions
Aaron readily consented to give an introduction through a concert held
in his house to a young aspirant in whom Mr. Moss took an interest,
and to other budding talent in the same direction Aaron's rooms were
always open. The only conversation between Mr. Moss and Aaron in
relation to their intimacy in Gosport occurred some three years after
the latter had taken up his residence in London. Aaron had just
completed a successful contract, and business had called Mr. Moss to
the metropolis.
"I heard to-day," said Mr. Moss, "that you had cleared six or seven
thousand pounds by the contract."
"The balance on the right side," replied Aaron, "is a little over
seven thousand."
"I congratulate you. The gentleman I spoke with said that if he had
had the contract he would have made a profit of three times as much."
"It is likely."
"Then why didn't you do it, Cohen?"
Aaron smiled and shook his head.
"Let us speak of another subject."
"But I want to get at the bottom of this. I should like you to know
what the gentleman said about it. His view is that you are ruining the
labor market."
"In what way?"
"By high wages and short hours."
"That is a new view."
"You do pay high wages, Cohen, according to what everybody says."
"Oh! it's everybody now as well as your gentleman friend. I pay good
wages, and I don't consider them high."
"And the hours are not as long as they might be."
"They are reasonably long enough. If I am satisfied and my workmen are
satisfied I give offense to no man."
"You are wrong, Cohen; you give offense to the capitalist."
"I regret to hear it."
"The idea is that you are ruining the capitalist."
"Oh! I am ruining the capitalist now. But if that is the case he is no
longer a capitalist."
"You know what I mean. I don't pretend to understand these things as
you do, because I have not studied political economy."
"I have, and believe me it is a horse that has been ridden too hard.
Mischief will come of it. Apply your common sense. In what way would
your friend have made twenty-one thousand pounds out of the contract
instead of seven thousand?"
"By getting his labor cheaper and by making his own men work longer
hours."
"Exactly. And the difference of fourteen thousand pounds would have
gone into his pocket instead of the pockets of his workmen?"
"Yes, of course."
"Ask yourself if that is fair. The wages I pay my men are sufficient
to enable them to maintain a home decently, to bring up their families
decently, and perhaps, if they are wise and thrifty--only, mind you,
if they are wise and thrifty--to make a small provision for old age,
when they are no longer able to work. Their hours are long enough to
give them just a little leisure, which they can employ partly in
reasonable amusement and partly in intellectual improvement. I have
gone thoroughly into these matters, and know what I am talking
about. Men who do their work honestly--and I employ and will keep no
others--have a right to fair wages and a little leisure, and I decline
to grind my men down after the fashion of the extreme political
economist. The contract I have just completed was tendered for in an
open market. My tender was the lowest and was accepted. I make a
considerable sum of money out of it, and each of my men contributes a
mickle toward it. They believe I have treated them fairly, and I am
certain they have treated me fairly. Upon those lines I intend to make
my way. Your sweater is a political economist. I am not a sweater. It
is the course I pursued in France, and by it I laid the foundation of
what may prove to be a great fortune. I am tendering now for other
contracts, and I shall obtain my share, and shall pursue precisely the
same course. Mr. Moss, you and I are Jews. At a great disadvantage
because of the nature of your business, which I myself once intended
to follow, you have made yourself respected in the town in which you
reside. I, on my part, wish to make myself respected here. Surely
there is no race in the world to which it is greater honor, and should
be a greater pride, to belong than the Jewish race; and by my conduct
through life I trust I shall do nothing to tarnish that honor or lower
that pride. It may or may not be for that reason that I decline to
follow the political economist to the depths into which he has
fallen."
Mr. Moss' eyes gleamed; Aaron had touched a sympathetic chord; the men
shook hands and smiled cordially at each other.
"When you were in Gosport," said Mr. Moss, "I ought to have asked you
to go into partnership with me."
"If you had made me the offer," responded Aaron, "I'm afraid I should
have accepted it."
"Lucky for you that I missed my opportunity. It is a fortunate thing
that you went to France when you did."
"Very fortunate. It opened up a new career for me; it restored my dear
wife to health; my son was born there."
"About the poor child I brought to you in Gosport, Cohen; we have
never spoken of it."
"That is true."
"Did the lawyers ever write to you again?"
"Never."
"And I have heard nothing. The iron box I gave you--you have it still,
I suppose?"
"I have it still."
"I have often wondered what it contains, and whether the mother will
ever call for it."
"If she does it shall be handed to her in the same condition as you
handed it to me. But she does not know in whose possession it is?"
"No, she does not know, and she can only obtain the information from
Mr. Gordon's lawyers. My lips are sealed."
Aaron considered a moment. This opening up of the dreaded subject made
him feel as if a sword were hanging over his head, but his sense of
justice impelled him to say, "It may happen that the mother will wish
to have the box restored to her, and that the lawyers may refuse to
give her the information that it is in my possession. She may seek
elsewhere for a clew, and may be directed to you."
"I shall not enlighten her," said Mr. Moss.
"My desire is that you do enlighten her. It is her property, and I
have no right to retain it."
"Very well, Cohen, if you wish it; but nothing is more unlikely than
your ever being troubled with her, or ever seeing her. She has
forgotten all about it long ago."
"You are mistaken. A mother never forgets."
"And now, Cohen, I have a message for you from Mrs. Moss. She is
burning to see you and cannot come to London. We are about to have an
addition to our family; that will be the sixteenth. Upon my word, I
don't know when we are going to stop. Is it too much to ask you to pay
us a visit?"
"Not at all; it will give me great pleasure. When?"
"It will give Mrs. Moss greater pleasure, Cohen," said Mr. Moss,
rubbing his hands joyously. "I am going back the day after to-morrow.
Will that time suit you?"
"Yes, I will accompany you."
The visit was paid, and lasted three days. Before he returned to
London Aaron went to Gosport. Nothing was changed in the ancient town.
The house he had occupied had been rebuilt; the streets were the same,
the names over the shops were unaltered. He saw Mr. Whimpole in his
shop attending to a customer, and saw other men and women whom he
recognized, but to whom he did not speak. He made his way to the
churchyard where his child was buried, and he stood and prayed over
the grave.
"Forgive me, O Lord of Hosts," he said audibly, "that I should have
laid my child to rest in a Christian churchyard. It was to save my
beloved. Forgive me! Have mercy upon me!"