SHOWING HOW MR. ROBINSON WAS EMPLOYED ON THE OPENING DAY.
"Et tu, Brute?" were the words with which Mr. Brown was greeted at
six o'clock in the morning on that eventful day, when, at early dawn,
he met his young partner at Magenta House. He had never studied the
history of Cæsar's death, but he understood the reproach as well as
any Roman ever did.
"It was your own doing, George," he said. "When she was swore at in
that way, and when you went away and left her--."
"It was she went away and left me."
"'Father,' said she when she came back, 'I shall put myself under the
protection of Mr. William Brisket.' What was I to do then? And when
he came himself, ten minutes afterwards, what was I to say to him? A
father is a father, George; and one's children is one's children."
"And they are to be married?"
"Not quite at once, George."
"No. The mercenary slaughterer will reject that fair hand at last,
unless it comes to him weighted with a money-bag. From whence are to
come those five hundred pounds without which William Brisket will not
allow your daughter to warm herself at his hearthstone?"
"As Jones has got the partnership, George, Maryanne's husband should
have something."
"Ah, yes! It is I, then,--I, as one of the partners of this house,
who am to bestow a dowry upon her who has injured me, and make happy
the avarice of my rival! Since the mimic stage first represented the
actions of humanity, no such fate as that has ever been exhibited as
the lot of man. Be it so. Bring hither the cheque-book. That hand
that was base enough to renounce her shall, with the same pen, write
the order for the money."
"No, George, no," said Mr. Brown. "I never meant to do that. Let him
have it--out of the profits."
"Ha!"
"I said in a month,--if things went well. Of course, I meant,--well
enough."
"But they'll lead you such a life as never man passed yet. Maryanne,
you know, can be bitter; very bitter."
"I must bear it, George. I've been a-bearing a long while, and I'm
partly used to it. But, George, it isn't a pleasure to me. It isn't a
pleasure to a poor old father to be nagged at by his daughters from
his very breakfast down to his very supper. And they comes to me
sometimes in bed, nagging at me worse than ever."
"My heart has often bled for you, Mr. Brown."
"I know it has, George; and that's why I've loved you and trusted
you. And now you won't quarrel with me, will you, though I have a
little thrown you over like?"
What was Robinson to say? Of course he forgave him. It was in his
nature to forgive; and he would even have forgiven Maryanne at that
moment, had she come to him and asked him. But she was asleep in her
bed, dreaming, perchance, of that big Philistine whom she had chosen
as her future lord. A young David, however, might even yet arise, who
should smite that huge giant with a stone between the eyes.
Then did Mr. Brown communicate to his partner those arrangements as
to grouping which his younger daughter had suggested for the opening
of the house. When Robinson first heard that Maryanne intended to be
there, he declared his intention of standing by her side, though he
would not deign even to look her in the face. "She shall see that she
has no power over me, to make me quail," he said. And then he was
told that Brisket also would be there; Maryanne had begged the favour
of him, and he had unwillingly consented. "It is hard to bear," said
Robinson, "very hard. But it shall be borne. I do not remember ever
to have heard of the like."
"He won't come often, George, you may be sure."
"That I should have planned these glories for him! Well, well; be it
so. What is the pageantry to me? It has been merely done to catch the
butterflies, and of these he is surely the largest. I will sit alone
above, and work there with my brain for the service of the firm,
while you below are satisfying the eyes of the crowd."
And so it had been, as was told in that chapter which was devoted to
the opening day of the house. Robinson had sat alone in the very room
in which he had encountered Brisket, and had barely left his seat
for one moment when the first rush of the public into the shop had
made his heart leap within him. There the braying of the horn in
the street, and the clatter of the armed horsemen on the pavement,
and the jokes of the young boys, and the angry threatenings of the
policemen, reached his ears. "It is well," said he; "the ball has
been set a-rolling, and the work that has been well begun is already
half completed. When once the steps of the unthinking crowd have
habituated themselves to move hither-ward, they will continue to come
with the constancy of the tide, which ever rolls itself on the same
strand." And then he tasked himself to think how that tide should
be made always to flow,--never to ebb. "They must be brought here,"
said he, "ever by new allurements. When once they come, it is only in
accordance with the laws of human nature that they should leave their
money behind them." Upon that, he prepared the words for another
card, in which he begged his friends, the public of the city, to
come to Magenta House, as friends should come. They were invited to
see, and not to buy. The firm did not care that purchases should be
made thus early in their career. Their great desire was that the
arrangements of the establishment should be witnessed before any
considerable portion of the immense stock had been moved for the
purpose of retail sale. And then the West End public were especially
requested to inspect the furs which were being collected for the
anticipated sale of the next winter. It was as he wrote these words
that he heard that demand for the African monkey muff, and heard also
Mr. Jones's discreet answer. "Yes," said he to himself; "before we
have done, ships shall come to us from all coasts; real ships. From
Tyre and Sidon, they shall come; from Ophir and Tarshish, from the
East and from the West, and from the balmy southern islands. How
sweet will it be to be named among the Merchant Princes of this great
commercial nation!" But he felt that Brown and Jones would never be
Merchant Princes, and he already looked forward to the day when he
would be able to emancipate himself from such thraldom.
It has been already said that a considerable amount of business was
done over the counter on the first day, but that the sum of money
taken was not as great as had been hoped. That this was caused by Mr.
Brown's injudicious mode of going to work, there could be no doubt.
He had filled the shelves of the shop with cheap articles for which
he had paid, and had hesitated in giving orders for heavy amounts
to the wholesale houses. Such orders had of course been given, and
in some cases had been given in vain; but quite enough of them had
been honoured to show what might have been done, had there been no
hesitation. "As a man of capital, I must object," he had said to Mr.
Robinson, only a week before the house was opened. "I wish I could
make you understand that you have no capital." "I would I could
divest you of the idea and the money too," said Robinson. But it was
all of no use. A domestic fowl that has passed all its days at a
barn-door can never soar on the eagle's wing. Now Mr. Brown was the
domestic fowl, while the eagle's pinion belonged to his youngest
partner. By whom in that firm the kite was personified, shall not
here be stated.
Brisket on that day soon left the shop; but as Maryanne Brown
remained there, Robinson did not descend among the throng. There was
no private door to the house, and therefore he was forced to walk out
between the counters when he went to his dinner. On that occasion,
he passed close by Miss Brown, and met that young lady's eye without
quailing. She looked full upon him: and then, turning her face round
to her sister, tittered with an air of scorn.
"I think he's been very badly used," said Sarah Jane.
"And who has he got to blame but his own want of spirit?" said the
other. This was spoken in the open shop, and many of the young men
and women heard it. Robinson, however, merely walked on, raising his
hat, and saluting the daughters of the senior partner. But it must be
acknowledged that such remarks as that greatly aggravated the misery
of his position.
It was on the evening of that day, when he was about to leave the
establishment for the night, that he heard a gentle creeping step on
the stairs, and presently Mrs. Jones presented herself in the room in
which he was sitting. Now if there was any human fellow-creature on
the face of this earth whom George Robinson had brought himself to
hate, that human fellow-creature was Sarah Jane Jones. Jones himself
he despised, but his feeling towards Mrs. Jones was stronger than
contempt. To him it was odious that she should be present in the
house at all, and he had obtained from her father a direct promise
that she should not be allowed to come behind the counters after this
their opening day.
"George," she said, coming up to him, "I have come upstairs because I
wish to have a few words with you private."
"Will you take a chair?" said he, placing one for her. One is bound
to be courteous to a lady, even though that lady be a harpy.
"George," she again began,--she had never called him "George" before,
and he felt himself sorely tempted to tell her that his name was Mr.
Robinson. "George, I've brought myself to look upon you quite as a
brother-in-law, you know."
"Have you?" said he. "Then you have done me an honour that does not
belong to me,--and never will."
"Now don't say that, George. If you'll only bring yourself to show a
little more spirit to Maryanne, all will be right yet."
What was she that she should talk to him about spirit? In these days
there was no subject which was more painful to him than that of
personal courage. He was well aware that he was no coward. He felt
within himself an impulse that would have carried him through any
danger of which the result would not have been ridiculous. He could
have led a forlorn hope, or rescued female weakness from the fangs of
devouring flames. But he had declined,--he acknowledged to himself
that he had declined,--to be mauled by the hands of an angry butcher,
who was twice his size. "One has to keep one's own path in the
world," he had said to himself; "but, nevertheless, one avoids a
chimney-sweeper. Should I have gained anything had I allowed that
huge monster to hammer at me?" So he had argued. But, though he had
thus argued, he had been angry with himself, and now he could not
bear to be told that he had lacked spirit.
"That is my affair," he replied to her. "But those about me will find
that I do not lack spirit when I find fitting occasion to use it."
"No; I'm sure they won't. And now's the time, George. You're not
going to let that fellow Brisket run off with Maryanne from before
your eyes."
"He's at liberty to run anywhere for me."
"Now, look here, George. I know you're fond of her."
"No. I was once; but I've torn her from my heart."
"That's nonsense, George. The fact is, the more she gives herself
airs and makes herself scarce and stiff to you, the more precious you
think her." Ignorant as the woman was of almost everything, she did
know something of human nature.
"I shall never trouble myself about her again," said he.
"Oh, yes, you will; and make her Mrs. Robinson before you've done.
Now, look here, George; that fellow Brisket won't have her, unless he
gets the money."
"It's nothing to me," said Robinson.
"And where's the money to come from, if not out of the house? Now,
you and Jones has your rights as partners, and I do hope you and he
won't let the old man make off with the capital of the firm in that
way. If he gives Brisket five hundred pounds,--and there isn't much
more left--"
"I'll tell you what, Mrs. Jones;--he may give Brisket five thousand
pounds as far as I am concerned. Whatever Mr. Brown may do in that
way, I shan't interfere to prevent him."
"You shan't!"
"It's his own money, and, as far as George Robinson is concerned--"
"His own money, and he in partnership with Jones! Not a penny of it
is his own, and so I'll make them understand. As for you, you are the
softest--"
"Never mind me, Mrs. Jones."
"No; I never will mind you again. Well, to be sure! And you'd stand
by and see the money given away in that way to enable the man you
hate to take away the girl you love! Well, I never--. They did say
you was faint-hearted, but I never thought to see the like of that in
a thing that called itself a man." And so saying, she took herself
off.
--"It cannot be,
But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall,
To make oppression bitter,"
said Robinson, rising from his seat, and slapping his forehead with
his hand; and then he stalked backwards and forwards through the
small room, driven almost to madness by the misery of his position.
"I am not splenetic and rash," he said; "yet have I something in me
dangerous. I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand Briskets could not, with
all their quantities of love, make up my sum."
At this time Mr. Brown still lived at the house in Smithfield. It was
intended that he should move to Bishopsgate Street as soon as the
upper rooms could be made ready for him, but the works had hitherto
been confined to the shop. On this, the night of the opening day,
he intended to give a little supper to his partners; and Robinson,
having promised to join it, felt himself bound to keep his word.
"Brisket will not be there?" he asked, as he walked across Finsbury
Square with the old man. "Certainly not," said Mr. Brown; "I never
thought of asking him." And yet, when they reached the house, Brisket
was already seated by the fire, superintending the toasting of the
cheese, as though he were one of the family. "It's not my doing,
George; indeed, it's not," whispered Mr. Brown, as they entered the
sitting-room of the family.
[Illustration: Brisket makes himself useful.]
That supper-party was terrible to Robinson, but he bore it all
without flinching. Jones and his wife were there, and so also, of
course, was Maryanne. Her he had seen at the moment of his entry,
sitting by with well-pleased face, while her huge lover put butter
and ale into the frying-pan. "Why, Sarah Jane," she said, "I declare
he's quite a man cook. How useful he would be about a house!"
"Oh, uncommon," said Sarah Jane. "And you mean to try before long,
don't you, Mr. Brisket?"
"You must ask Maryanne about that," said he, raising his great red
face from the fire, and putting on the airs and graces of a thriving
lover.
"Don't ask me anything," said Maryanne, "for I won't answer anything.
It's nothing to me what he means to try."
"Oh, ain't it, though," said Brisket. And then they all sat down
to supper. It may be imagined with what ease Robinson listened to
conversation such as this, and with what appetite he took his seat at
that table.
"Mr. Robinson, may I give you a little of this cheese?" said
Maryanne. What a story such a question told of the heartlessness,
audacity, and iron nerves of her who asked it! What power, and at
the same time what cruelty, there must have been within that laced
bodice, when she could bring herself to make such an offer!
"By all means," said Robinson, with equal courage. The morsel was
then put upon his plate, and he swallowed it. "I would he had
poisoned it," said he to himself. "With what delight would I then
partake of the dish, so that he and she partook of it with me!"
The misery of that supper-party will never be forgotten. Had Brisket
been Adonis himself, he could not have been treated with softer
courtesies by those two harpies; and yet, not an hour ago, Sarah
Jane Jones had been endeavouring to raise a conspiracy against his
hopes. What an ass will a man allow himself to become under such
circumstances! There sat the big butcher, smirking and smiling,
ever and again dipping his unlovely lips into a steaming beaker of
brandy-and-water, regarding himself as triumphant in the courts of
Venus. But that false woman who sat at his side would have sold him
piecemeal for money, as he would have sold the carcase of a sheep.
"You do not drink, George," said Mr. Brown.
"It does not need," said Robinson; and then he took his hat and went
his way.
On that night he swore to himself that he would abandon her for ever,
and devote himself to commerce and the Muses. It was then that he
composed the opening lines of a poem which may yet make his name
famous wherever the English language is spoken:--
The golden-eyed son of the Morning rushed down the wind
like a trumpet,
His azure locks adorning with emeralds fresh from the ocean.