THE red paint-pot, and a blue one from the same quarter, together with a
yellow one from the neighbours on the other side, a white one from an old
lighterman in the house behind, and a suitable collection of brushes
subscribed by all three, were Johnny's constant companions till the end
of that weary week. The shop-shutters grew to be red, with a blue
border. The window-frames were yellow, the wall beneath was white, so
was the cornice above; and the door and the door-posts were red
altogether, because the red paint went farthest, and the red pot had been
fullest to begin with. Not only did the length of the job work off
Johnny's first enthusiasm, but its publicity embarrassed him. Perched
conspicuously on a step-ladder, painting a shop in such stirring colours
as these, he was the cynosure of all wayfaring folk, the target of
whatever jibes their wits might compass. Three out of four warned him
that the paint was laid on wrong side out. Some, in unkindly allusion to
certain chance splashes, reminded him that he hadn't half painted the
window-panes; and facetious boys, in piteous pantomime, affected to be
reduced to instant blindness by sudden knowledge of Johnny's brilliant
performance. But he was most discomforted by those who merely stood and
stared, invisible behind him. If only he could have seen them it would
not have been so bad; the oppressive consciousness that some contemptuous
grown man behind and below--possibly a painter by trade--was narrowly
observing every stroke of the brush, shook his nerve and enfeebled his
execution. Most of these earnest spectators seemed to have no pressing
business of their own, and their inspections were prolonged. One critic
found speech to remark, as he turned to go his way: "Well, you _are_
makin' a bloomin' mess up there!" But most, as if at a loss for words by
mere amazement, sheered off with: "Well, blimy!" It was discouraging to
find that all these people could have done it so much better, and, long
before the job was finished, Johnny was sore depressed and very humble,
as well as tired. Only one of all his witnesses offered help, and he was
a surprising person: very tall, very thin, and very sooty from work; with
splay feet, sloping shoulders, a long face of exceeding diffidence, and
long arms, which seemed to swing and flap irresponsibly with the skirts
of his long overcoat, and to be a subject of mute apology. He saw Johnny
tip-toeing at the very top of the steps, making a bad shift to reach the
cornice. He stopped, looked about him, and then went on a step or two;
stopped again, and came back, with a timorous glance at the shop window;
and when Johnny turned and looked, he said, in a voice scarce above a
whisper: "Can'tcher reach it?"
"Not very well."
"Let's come." And when Johnny descended, the long man, with one more
glance about the street, went up three steps at a time and laid the paint
on rapidly, many feet at a sweep. He came down and shifted the steps
very easily with one hand--and they were heavy steps--went up again, and
in three minutes carried the paint to the very end of the cornice. Then
he came down, with a sheepish smile at Johnny's thanks, and shambled as
far as next door, where he let himself in with a latch-key. And on
Friday, at dinner-time, perceiving Johnny's progress from his window on
the upper floor--he was a lodger, it seemed--he came stealthily down and
gave the cornice another coat.
* * * * *
On Saturday morning the shop was opened in form, though Johnny's painting
was not finished till dusk. Very little happened. A few children
stopped on their way, and stared in at the door. The first customer was
a boy from among these, who came in to beg a piece of string; and
infested Harbour Lane for the rest of the day, swinging a dead rat on the
end of it. Hours passed, and Nan May's spirits fell steadily. A few
pounds, a very few--they could scarce be made to last three weeks--was
all her reserve, and most of her scanty stock was perishable. If it
spoiled it could never be replaced, and unless people bought it, spoil it
must. What more could she do? Industry, determination, and all the rest
were well enough, but when all was said and done, nothing could make
people come and buy.
Near noon the second customer came--a little girl this time. She wanted
a bottle of ink for a halfpenny. There were half-a dozen little bottles
of ink in a row in the window; but the price was a penny, so the little
girl went away. It was a dull dinner that day. Bessy invented ingenious
conjectures to account for the lack of trade, and prophesied a change in
the afternoon, or the evening, or perhaps next week, or at latest the
week after. Her mother could not understand. Customers came to other
shops; why not to this one?
She had seen nothing of Uncle Isaac since she had come to Harbour Lane,
though he knew where to find her. She had hoped he would lend a hand
with the painting, or with the display of the stock; but no doubt he had
been too busy. True, Johnny thought he had seen him once from the steps,
some way down the street, but that must have been a mistake; for Uncle
Isaac would not have come so near them without calling, nor would he have
bolted instantly round the nearest corner at sight of the boy and his
work, as Johnny had fancied he had.
The afternoon began no better than the morning. Nobody came but a child,
who asked for sixpenn'orth of coppers, till about four. Then a hurried
woman demanded a penn'orth of mixed pickles in a saucer, and grumbled at
the quantity. She wouldn't come into the shop again, at anyrate; a
threat so discomposing (for was not the woman the first paying customer?)
that for hours Nan May could not forgive herself for her illiberality;
though indeed she gained but a weak fraction of a farthing by the
transaction.
Half an hour more went, and then there came a truly noble customer. He
looked like a bricklayer, and he was far from sober: so far, indeed, that
Johnny, on the steps, spying the mazy sinuosity of his approach, got a
step lower and made ready to jump, in case of accidents. But the
bricklayer, conscious of the presence of many ladders, steered wide into
the roadway, and there stopped, fascinated by the brilliancy before him.
Some swaying moments of consideration resolved him that this was a shop:
and after many steps up the curb, and as many back in the gutter, he
picked a labyrinthine path among the myriad ladders, narrowly missing the
real one as he went, shouldered against the wet door-post, and stumbled
toward the counter. Here he regarded a bladder of lard with thoughtful
severity, till Nan May timorously asked what he wanted.
"Shumm for kidsh," he replied sternly, to the lard. "Shummforkidsh."
For some moments his scowl deepened; then he raised his hand and pointed.
"W--wha'sha'?" he demanded.
"Lard."
"Tharr'll do." He plunged his hand into his trousers pocket. "Tharr'll
do. 'Ow mush?"
"Sevenpence halfpenny a pound."
"Orrigh'? Gi's 'oldovit." He reached an unsteady hand, imperilling
bottles; but Nan May was quicker, and took the bladder of lard from its
perch.
"How much?" she asked.
"'Ow much? Thash wha' _I_ wan' know. You give it 'ere, go on." His
voice rose disputatively, and he fell on the bladder of lard with both
hands. "'Ow mush?"
Nan reflected that it weighed more than three pounds, and that she had
paid Mr. Dunkin eighteenpence for it. "Two shillings," she said.
"Two shillin'. Orrigh'," and instantly what remained of the new
customer's week's wages was scattered about the counter. Mrs. May took
two shillings and returned the rest; which with some difficulty was
thrust back into the pocket. And the new customer, after looking
narrowly about him in search of his purchase, and at last discovering it
under his arm, sallied forth with a wipe against the other door-post, and
continued his winding way: a solemn and portentous bricklayer, with red
paint on his shoulders and whiskers, and a bladder of lard that slipped
sometimes forward and sometimes backward from his embrace, and was a deal
of trouble to pick up again.
Here was a profit of sixpence at a stroke, unlikely as the chance was to
recur; and it raised Nan's spirits, unreasonably enough. Still, the
bricklayer brought luck of a sort. For there were three more customers
within the next hour, two bringing a halfpenny and one a penny. And in
the evening five or six came, one spending as much as fourpence. This
was better, perhaps, but poor enough. At ten that night Nan May reckoned
her profit for the day at ninepence farthing, including the bricklayer's
sixpence; and she was sick with waiting and faint with fear. At
half-past ten Uncle Isaac turned up.
"Ah hum," he said; "bin paintin'. Might 'a' laid it on a bit evener.
There's right ways o' layin' on paint, an' there's wrong ways, an' one
way ain't the same as the other." He raised his finger at Johnny
instructively. "Far from it and contrairy, there's a great difference."
Uncle Isaac paused, and no further amplification of his proposition
occurring to him, he turned to Mrs. May. "'Ow's trade?" he asked.
Nan May shook her head sadly. "Very bad, uncle," she said. "Hardly any
at all." And she felt nearer crying than ever since the funeral.
"Ah," said Uncle Isaac, sitting on a packing case--empty, but intended to
look full; "ah, what you want's Enterprise. Enterprise; that's what you
want. What is it as stimilates trade an' encourages prosperity to--to
the latest improvements? Enterprise. Why is commercial opulentness
took--at least, wafted--commercial opulentness wafted round the 'ole
world consekince o' what? Consekince o' Enterprise." Uncle Isaac tapped
the counter with his forefinger and gazed solemnly in Nan May's troubled
face. "Consekince o' Enterprise," he repeated slowly, with another tap.
Then he added briskly, with a glance at the inner door: "'Adjer supper?"
"No, uncle," Nan answered. "I never thought of it. But, now you're
here, p'raps you'll have a bit with us?"
"Ah--don't mind if I do," Uncle Isaac responded cheerfully. "That looks
a nice little bit o' bacon. Now a rasher auf that, an' a hegg--got a
hegg? O yus." He saw a dozen in a basin. "A rasher auf that, an' a
hegg or two, 'ud be just the thing, with a drop o' beer, wouldn't it?"
Johnny fetched the beer, and Uncle Isaac had two rashers and four eggs;
and he finished with a good solid piece of bread, and the first slice--a
large one--out of the Dutch cheese from the counter. Nan May made no
more than a pretence at eating a little bread and cheese.
When at last the jug was empty, and Uncle Isaac was full, he leaned back
in his chair, and for some minutes exercised his lips in strange workings
and twistings, with many incidental clicks and sucks and fizzes, while he
benignantly contemplated the angle of the ceiling. When at last the
display flagged, he brought his gaze gradually lower, till it rested on
the diminished piece of bacon. "None so bad, that bacon," he observed,
putting his head aside with a critical regard. "Though p'raps rayther
more of a breakfast specie than a supper." He laid his head to the other
side, as one anxious to be impartial. "Yus," he went on thoughtfully,
"more of a breakfast specie, as you might say." Then after a pause, he
added, with the air of one announcing a brilliant notion:--"I
b'lieve--yus, I do b'lieve I'll try a bit for breakfast to-morrer
mornin'!"
"If you like, uncle," Nan answered, a little faintly. "But--but-"
timidly--"I was thinking p'raps it'll make it look rather small to--to
put on the counter."
"So it would--so it would," Uncle Isaac admitted frankly; and indeed the
remaining piece was scarce of four rashers' capacity. "Pity to cut it,
as you say, Nan. Thanks--I'll just wrop it up as it is. It'll come in
for Monday too; an' that large bit o' streaky'll look a deal more nobler
on the counter."
Uncle Isaac's visit swept away the day's profits and a trifle more. But
certainly, Uncle Isaac must not be offended now that things looked so
gloomy ahead.
Bessy lay, and strained her wits far into the night, inventing
comfortable theories and assurances, and exchanging them with her mother
for others as hopeful. But in the morning each pillow had its wet spot.