JOB’S COMFORT.
I DID not want any pot of money. And even if I had been filled with
that general desire, Henderson’s suggestion would have had no charm
for me. But I resolved to do a much wiser thing—to stick to my work,
with head and hands, and let the heart come after them, if it could,
as it grew wiser. The police had made nothing of my case, although
they had done their best, no doubt. Whoever had compassed my wife’s
departure—for I would not call it “flight”—had managed it with much
craft; and luck (according to the ancient proverb) had shown a
kinsman’s love for craft. The lane, at the back of our lonely cottage,
was little frequented, except on Sundays, and then in the evening
only, for that study of mutual tastes and feelings, which is known as
“keeping company.” For this it was a popular resort, and therefore (as
usual) called “Love Lane,” by blushing youth and maiden. At other times
its chief use was to give access to some meadow-land, and its chief
wayfarers were four cows, a donkey, and a nanny-goat, belonging to
Farmer Osborne. But it wound into divers other lanes, towards Hampton,
Tangley Park, and Bedfont, and through some of them to Feltham Station,
on the London and South-Western line. That was one of the places where
I had made first inquiry; but Sergeant Biggs had been before me, and so
he had at Twickenham. And in fact he had sought far and near, and been
put upon false scent sometimes, but had hit on nothing genuine.
Whatever any man may say, or even think, or dream of, the opinions of
his fellow-men go into his mind, and work there. No one is certain what
he believes; or at any rate how he believes it. And the harder he toils
to establish his faith, the more apt he is to undermine it. His best
plan is never to argue about whatever he longs to trust in; or if his
good friends will not let him alone, he should choose for his disputant
the sceptic. This will build him up a good deal; not because he has
convinced the other man, but because he knows that he must have done
so, if the other had been gifted with reason.
And now I was more convinced than ever, by the firm convictions of
my uncle, and Sam, that they both were quite wrong, and that I was
quite right. If they had only said that there might be some mistake,
something that admitted of a simple explanation, and with patience on
our part must receive it, in that case the chances are that I should
have been doubtful whether they had any grounds for putting it in that
way. But when they came and put it—without asking my opinion—in the
very opposite way to that, and the opposite one to what I wanted to
believe, their conclusion was a spring-board to send me heels over head
to the counter one.
My good Aunt Parslow had been over twice, and held very long talks with
Uncle Corny; but I had simply refused to take part in them. To go into
all the pros and cons, and hear one say this, and the other say that;
all assuming in the calmest manner that they knew at least ten times as
much about my poor self, and my richer self, as both of us put together
knew, in our most conscientious moments—grateful as I was, I offered
them that view of gratitude, which alone can make a slow shot at her
fleeting speed—the instantaneous process. In the twenty-four millionth
part of a moment, all her legs have spurned the wind, and the fool who
thought to chronicle her, finds her dust upon his glass.
Herein I was not just, or fair; and I have lived to be ashamed of it.
But up to this present time of search, I have not come across the man,
who continued to be just and fair, while a wrong that went to the
bottom of his soul was fresh, and hot, and turbid. Such men there may
be, of vast philosophy, or profound religion; but I have never met
them yet; and if I do, I shall be afraid of them.
Thus I waited, day by day, slowly quitting hold of hope, hardening
myself to do without her, by incessant work of hand. In this I took no
pride or pleasure, as a mill finds none in perpetual grind; but from
morning twilight till evening dusk, I laboured among the lonely trees.
My uncle begged me to go to London, if only for a little change and
stir, as the strawberry season came, and he began to use his stand
again. But I felt myself unfit for this, and knew that in my present
vein, I should only do a mischief to him, among his ancient customers.
For a happy face and a cheerful spirit do best among the buyers; and
a bit of chaff, or a turn of slang, will sometimes help a lame market
through. I knew a man once, a mere carter he was, who had never been
near “Common Garden” before, but was sent up by a neighbouring grower,
as a last resource, when his salesman fell ill. A mere bumpkin he was,
and he wore a smock-frock, and cord trousers tied below the knee; but
his round, merry face, and broad country brogue, and native simplicity
and twinkling eyes, took the humour of the crowd; and he sold out all
his lot at top prices, by looking as fresh as his fruit, before anybody
else had got rid of a dozen.
“Well, if you won’t go up, you won’t,” my uncle said to me one day;
“but you will break down, going on like this. I like a young fellow to
work; but I can’t abide for him to do nothing else, and never think
twice of his victuals. And you are spoiling your own chance altogether,
in another and a very important affair. Your Aunt Parslow took a great
fancy to you, and she meant to come down handsome when she dies. She
told me that, almost in so many words. And now you are setting her
quite against you. You know how you behaved, the last time she came
over.”
“I could not endure her perpetual talk. You can’t say that I was rude
to her. But I don’t want her money. What good is it to me? I wish she
had never given us a farthing.”
“It is nasty rubbish to talk like that, Kit; and every one will turn
against you. You used to have such a lot of common sense. Well, perhaps
you were not exactly rude to her; or at least you did not mean to be.
But there is nothing ruder, as women look at it, than to let them have
all the talk to themselves; although they insist upon it, if you don’t.
You must not interrupt them, of course; but still you must say enough
to show that you are listening, and that you think highly of what
they are saying; though of course you knew it all, before they began.
Instead of that, what did you do? You crossed your legs; women never
like that, when they are talking to you, any more than a lap-dog who
wants to jump up. I don’t know why it is; but they never can bear it.
And you did worse than that. The clock struck five, and you began to
count it. You young fellows never behave well to ladies.”
“I am sure I did not mean to offend her, uncle. I never thought twice
of what I was doing.”
“Exactly. And you should have thought of nothing else, while you seemed
to think only of what she was saying. But I want you to do me a favour,
Kit. I suppose you don’t wish to offend me too?”
“Certainly not. Because you are reasonable, and have always been so
good to me. I will do anything to oblige you, Uncle Corny.”
“And by doing it, you will oblige yourself. You are wearing your
fingers to the bone, and all the flesh off your other bones, by this
confounded stubbornness. I hate to hear the tap of your hammer almost,
much as I used to like it. Now, just take old Spanker to-morrow
afternoon, and drive over to your aunt’s at Leatherhead, with a basket
of strawberries I promised her. She doesn’t know what a good strawberry
is; eleven people out of a dozen don’t; any more than a babe that just
opens his mouth. She has plenty of her own, I know; but none worth
the trouble of eating. To-morrow will be Saturday. You can stop till
Monday; and it will do you a lot of good, and set you up again almost.
There is nothing like a woman in a case like yours. You let her talk
on, and you never contradict her, and she says to herself—‘Well, I have
done him good!’ And so she has; not the way she meant it; but by making
you think that they are all alike, and not a bit of solid sense among
them. And it is not only that, but you are pleased to think how much
better you know things than they do; though you don’t say one word to
their fifty. Whenever I am bothered, or cheated, or insulted, I get
a nice woman to talk to me; and it is as good as a pipe of the best
birdseye; which you can have at the same time, if you know how to do
it.”
“You seem to look at things for your own advantage only,” I answered,
because I thought these views low; “however I will do as you wish; and
Sunday is a dreadful day for me here, without any work. I thought last
Sunday would never end; and not being a woman, I could not come and
comfort you.”
I was pleased with this rap at him; because I could not see what
business he had with nice women, and so on; whether they came to his
house to talk with him, or whether he went to have his pipe at theirs,
as he had almost let out by his last words. For there never was a
woman who could stop him of a pipe in his own house—that was certain.
But that he should talk of my being stubborn, amused me, every time I
thought of it. Verily if I had a splinter of that substance in me, he
was the oak from which it came; and he might have spared enough to roof
a church, without anybody asking how he was.
Now he wrote to my aunt that I was coming, according to her proposal,
and he made Tabby Tapscott come up to the cottage, and pack up a few
things for me, inasmuch as I had no one now to do it. And he had his
best strawberries picked in the morning, before the sun margarined
them, and kept in a cold place till I was ready, and then packed so
that no heat could get at them. And as _Spanker_ had not been to London
for three days, he was sure to strike out at a merry pace, when he
found himself free of the country. For I never saw a horse that liked
to go to London; any more than a man loves a cemetery.
_Spanker_ was as gay as May, as soon as he knew where he was going; and
he roused up each hill with a rush from the other, which showed a deep
sense of Mechanics. Nobody would have believed his age, even if he had
told it truly; which he had strong human reason for not attempting,
having found his teeth filed quite early.
What with the brisk air of those hills, and the soft turn of the
valleys, and the gaiety of the time of year, a quantity of heaviness
went from me, and a vein of health flowed in. Not that I ever said to
myself—as people of inconstant nature do,—“There are better fish in the
sea,” etc.; or, “If she be not fair to me;” or even so much as, “Care
killed the cat.” My mood was neither independent nor defiant, and I
felt as respectful towards women as ever. It was only that more hope
came inside me, from seeing so much in the world outside; and perhaps
more faith in the Lord, because He was doing His best so largely.
However, I never thought twice about that, and must claim no credit for
it.
Aunt Parslow was not very gracious at first, though she could not find
fault with the strawberries. She pretended that she had some quite as
good; though she declared herself to be most grateful. But as soon
as I said, “Send for some of your own; that will be the true proof
of the pudding, aunt,” she discovered that her own were not quite at
their best just now, and in fact they had been so good, that the slugs
and the blackbirds could not resist them. This showed very little
self-command on their part; for there was not a good fruit among them,
as I found out on Sunday, the beds being a mixture of some twenty
kinds, growing in great tussocks, and for the most part barren, which
was just as well.
I let my aunt have her own way, as a man should let all women
do, except those of his own household; and by-and-by she became
more pleasant, especially when she had discovered—as she did at
dinner-time—that my present state of health required a bottle of
her dry champagne. Being compelled myself, I thought it just to use
coercion too, and had the satisfaction soon of finding her much more
ladylike. Her coldness towards me passed away, and when we had clinked
our glasses twice, we resumed our proper footing.
“You don’t fill up,” she said more than once, and I found the same
fault with her; and when that error had been removed, we could enter
into one another’s feelings.
“The great thing you want is nourishment,” she said, when I had made
a noble dinner; “people in the present age never attach sufficient
importance to that point. They indulge too much in stimulants—no more,
Kit, no more, or at the outside, only half fill your own, for you
require it—while they scarcely allow themselves time to take the proper
amount of substance. Through a very old and deeply respected friend of
our family in the City, a man of the loftiest principles, I am enabled
to get the real turtle at half-price; and it has been instrumental,
under Providence, in the restoration of your health. I have sent him a
telegram; and to-morrow, although it is the Sabbath-day, we shall find
a tin here, when we return from church. It is better than Grove’s, or
any that you see in the windows going down Cheapside. A turtle should
never be allowed to sprawl about barbarously in the sun. It is against
his nature, and it does him harm. He becomes demoralized, and looses
firmness. They say that we all spring from turtles now; but I cannot
believe it; for cannibalism is never nice, and turtle is. What a turtle
your Uncle Cornelius would have made!”
“I am glad that you find him so nice,” I replied; “but he would always
have tasted of tobacco.”
“Well, we must allow for one another; and there is no accounting for
tastes. _Jupiter_ likes turtle; but the other dogs won’t touch it. I
had a dog once who would eat cigars. If he found a stump in the road,
it was quite as good as a bone to him; but he did not live very long,
poor fellow! Now let them take away the things; and when you have
had your glass of port, come to me in the drawing-room. Don’t hurry,
because I mean to have my nap.”
As yet, she had never mentioned Kitty’s name, which surprised me not a
little; but I thought it likely that she was still rather sore at my
behaviour. For when she had come to see us lately, it had been more
than I could bear to listen calmly while everybody offered any sort of
guess; just as they might discuss a case of abduction in the papers, or
the theft of a female dog, who “answered to the name of Kitty.”