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A HUMBLE ENTERPRISE
BY ADA CAMBRIDGE
AUTHOR OF
"THE THREE MISS KINGS," "FIDELIS,"
"A LITTLE MINX," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ST. CLAIR SIMMONS_
Second Edition
LONDON
WARD, LOCK, & BOWDEN, LIMITED
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE
1896
[_All rights reserved_]
[Illustration: "Pinned the fragrant morsel to her throat."
_A Humble Enterprise._ _Page 97._]
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL 9
II. HER FIRST FRIEND 24
III. AFLOAT 33
IV. THE HERO 45
V. HE MEETS THE HEROINE 56
VI. THE INEVITABLE ENSUES 69
VII. THERE ARE SUCH WOMEN IN THE WORLD 82
VIII. ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW 92
IX. THE POTENTIAL HUSBAND 105
X. AS THE WIND BLOWS 115
XI. NATURE SPEAKS 125
XII. TWO WISE MEN 138
XIII. TWO UNWISE WOMEN 150
XIV. A WEAK FATHER 159
XV. A STRAW AGAINST THE TIDE 171
XVI. A STAR IN TWILIGHT 184
XVII. "YOU NEED NOT EXPECT ME BACK" 193
XVIII. JENNY IS TREATED LIKE A LADY 204
XIX. WOMAN'S RIGHTS REFUSED 216
XX. SHE CARES NOT 228
XXI. THE BEST AVAILABLE 236
A HUMBLE ENTERPRISE
CHAPTER I
THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL
Joseph Liddon was deaf, and one day, when he was having a holiday in the
country, he crossed a curving railway line, and a train, sweeping round
the corner when he was looking another way, swept him out of existence.
On his shoulder he was carrying the infrequent and delightful
gun--reminiscent of happy days in English coverts and stubble
fields--and in his hand he held a dangling hare, about the cooking of
which he was dreaming pleasantly, wondering whether his wife would have
it jugged or baked. When they stopped the train and gathered him up, he
was as dead as the hare, dissolved into mere formless tatters, and his
women-folk were not allowed to see him afterwards. They came up from
town to the inquest and funeral--wife and two daughters, escorted by a
downy-lipped son--all dazed and bewildered in their suddenly transformed
world; and a gun and a broken watch and a few studs, that had been
carefully washed and polished, were the only "remains" on which they
could expend the valedictory kiss and tear. Their last memory of him was
full of the gay bustle of farewell at Spencer Street when he set forth
upon his trip. It was such an event for him to have a holiday, and to go
away by himself, that the whole family had to see him off. Even young
Joe was on the platform to carry his father's bag, and buy him the
evening papers, his train being the Sydney express, which did not leave
till after office hours. When they knew how the holiday had ended, their
bitter regrets for not having accompanied him further were greatly
soothed by the knowledge that they had gone with him so far--had closed
their life together with an act of love that had made him happy.
He had been born a gentleman in the technical sense, and had lived a
true man in every sense. In spite of this--to a great extent, probably,
because of it--he had not been very successful in the world; that is to
say, he had not made himself important or rich. Money had not come to
him with his gentle blood, and he had not had the art to command it, nor
ever would have had. It is a pursuit that requires the whole energies of
one's mind, and his mind had been distributed a good deal. He was fond
of books, which was a fatal weakness; he was fond of little scientific
experiments, which was worse; he was indifferent to the sovereign rule
of public opinion and the advantages enjoyed by those who can cut a
dash, which was worst of all. And, besides, he was deaf. He had begun to
grow deaf when quite a young man, after having a fever, and by the time
he was fifty one had to shout at him.
So, when at fifty-six he met his untimely end, because he could not hear
the train behind him, he was in the position of a clerk in a merchant's
office, highly valued and trusted indeed, but worth no more than L370
per annum, which salary he had received for sixteen years. The L70 had
paid the rent of the little house in which he had dwelt with his family
for the greater part of that time, and on the remainder they had lived
quite comfortably, in a small way, by dint of good management, without
owing a penny to anybody. Mrs. Liddon, otherwise a comparatively
uncultured person, was an accomplished cook and domestic administrator;
Jenny, the eldest daughter, in whom the qualities of both parents
blended, got up early in the morning to buy provisions at the market,
and did all the dressmaking for the family; Joe, a junior in his
father's office, paid something for his board, and otherwise kept and
clothed himself; and Sarah, the youngest, who had a bent spine, was
literary, like her father, in whose intellectual pursuits she had had
the largest share, and morally indispensable, though not practically
supporting, in the economy of the household.
When the father was gone, the income was gone too, and the home as it
had been. Mother and children found themselves possessed of L500, paid
by an insurance office, and their little family belongings, and a few
pounds that had been kept in store for the casual rainy day. To this the
firm who had employed him would have added a gift of L100 had the pride
of these humble folks allowed it; and their relatives were also
prepared to "do something" in the way of what seemed necessary help. But
the first resolution come to by the bereaved ones, when resolutions had
to be taken, was to decline all such help and depend upon themselves.
That being settled, they sat down to consult together as to how they
might invest their capital to the best advantage, so as to make it the
foundation of their future livelihood. Jenny called the meeting a few
days after their return from the funeral, and insisted that all should
rouse themselves to a sense of the extreme seriousness of the situation.
"We must at once set to work," she said impressively; "and we must not
shilly-shally about it either. Make your suggestions first, and then, if
I don't like them, I will make mine. What is your notion, mother?"
"Oh, my dear, I'm sure I don't know," quavered Mrs. Liddon, as she drew
forth the constant handkerchief; "I have no heart to think of anything
yet." She sobbed. "I suppose a boarding-house--that's the usual thing.
We _must_ have our own house and keep together; I could never bear to
part with any of you--all I've got now!" The handkerchief went to her
eyes, "Certainly we will all keep together," the children declared,
extending arms towards her. "That's understood, of course. That's what
we are planning for, first of all."
"And seeing that I can _cook_," whimpered the widow, "if I can't do
anything else----"
"Yes, dear," Jenny broke in. "But I don't think a boarding-house would
do, somehow. We haven't enough to make a good one, and to make it safe.
You see Melbourne simply swarms with them already."
"And you'd have to take men--women are no good, and, besides, there
aren't any--and I won't have all sorts of clerks and cads making free in
the house with my sisters," said young Joe severely.
"We needn't let them make free," said Jenny, smiling.
"And you're only a clerk yourself," said Sarah.
"And I don't think there's a boarding-house in the town that would have
a table like mine for the money," said his mother, with spirit, and with
the air of having considered the subject.
Jenny thought for a minute or two, rapidly; then she shook her head.
"Too much outlay," she objected, "and the result too uncertain."
"Everything is uncertain in this world," sighed Mrs. Liddon,
disappointed and discouraged. "Then what do you propose yourself, my
dear? A school?"
Jenny shook her head again. "The place is literally _stiff_ with them,"
she replied. "And, even if there were room for us, we are not
qualified."
"Let us have a four-roomed cottage," said Sarah, "and keep ourselves to
ourselves; have no servant, and take in sewing or type-writing."
"We should be insolvent in a couple of years or so," her sister replied,
"and we should cripple Joey."
"As to that," said Joey, "I'm not afraid. I _want_ to take care of you,
and I _ought_. I am the only man in the family, and women have no
business to work and slave while they have a man to do for them."
"My poor boy! On a hundred and thirty pounds a year!"
"It won't always be a hundred and thirty."
"No, Joe. We can do better than that. Thank you all the same, old
fellow."
"Well, tell us how you can do better."
He squared his arms on the table and looked at her. Her mother and
sister also looked at her, for it was evident that she was about to
bring forth her scheme, and that she expected it to impress them.
"What I should have _liked_," she began, "if there had been money enough
for a fair start--which there isn't--is a--quite a peculiar and
particular--not in any way a conventional--_shop_."
"Oh!"
"Good gracious!"
"Go _on_!"
"You needn't all look so shocked. A shop such as _I_ should have would
be a different kind of thing from the common, I assure you. I have often
thought of it. I have always felt"--with a smile of confidence--"that I
had it in me to conduct a good business--that I could give the
traditional shopkeeper 'points,' as Joey would say. However, like the
boarding-house, it would swallow up all the money at one gulp, so it
can't be done."
"A good job too," said Joey with a rough laugh.
"Don't say that without thinking," rejoined the girl, whose intelligent
face had brightened with the mention of her scheme. "I daresay you would
rather be a millionaire--so would I; but you must remember we have to
earn our bread, without much choice as to ways of doing it. It would
have been nice, after a day's work"--she looked persuadingly at
Sarah--"to have had tea in our own back parlour, all alone by ourselves,
free and comfortable; and in the evening to have totted up our takings
for the day--all cash, of course--and seen them getting steadily bigger
and bigger; and by-and-by--because I _know_ that, with a good start, I
should have succeeded--to have become well enough off to sell out, and
go to travel in Europe, and do things."
"Ah--_that_!" sighed Sarah, who had a thin, large-eyed, eager face that
betokened romantic aspirations.
"If I had only myself to consider, I would do it now," said Jenny. "But
there are you three--_your_ money must not be risked."
Joey thought of an elegant little cousin up country, the daughter of a
bank manager, who naturally turned up her nose at retail trade; and he
said that, as the present head of the family--he was afraid Jenny was
over-looking the fact that he held this position by divine right of
sex--he should certainly withhold his sanction from any such absurd
project, risk or no risk. "Thank the Lord," he blustered angrily, "we
have not come down to _that_--not yet!"
She laughed in his face. "You talked about cads just now," she said;
"take care you don't get tainted with their ideas yourself. And don't
forget that you are only nineteen, while I am twenty-four, and mother is
just twice as old as that; and that what little we have is hers; and
that women in these days are as good as men, and much better than boys;
and that you are expected to allow us to know what is best for a few
years more."
She was a diminutive creature, barely five feet high; but she had the
moral powers of a giantess, and was really a remarkable little person,
though her family was not aware of it. Joey loved her dearly in an
easy-going brotherly way, but maintained that she "bossed the show"
unduly at times, and on such occasions he was apt to kick against her
pretensions. Lest he should do so now, and an unseemly squabble ensue,
Mrs. Liddon interposed with the remark that it was useless to discuss
what was impracticable, and begged her daughter to come to business.
"Well," said Jenny then, fixing her bright eyes on the boy's sulky but
otherwise handsome face, "this is my proposal--that we open a
tea-room--a sort of refined little restaurant for quiet people, don't
you know; a kind of----"
Joey rose ostentatiously from his chair.
"Sit down, Joey, and listen to me," commanded Jenny.
"I'm not going to sit down and listen to a lot of tommy-rot," was Joey's
scornful reply.
"Very well--go away, then; we can talk a great deal better without you.
Take a walk. And when you come back we will tell you what we have
decided on."
This advice had its natural effect. Joey sat down again, stretched out
his legs, and thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets. Jenny
proceeded to unfold her plan to her mother and sister, taking no notice
of his sarcastic criticisms.
"Now, dears," she said earnestly, "you know we _must_ do something to
keep ourselves, and at the same time to keep a home; don't you?"
They sighed acquiescence.
"And that isn't playwork--we don't expect it to be all pleasure; and we
can't afford to have fine-lady fancies, can we?"
They agreed to this, reluctantly.
"Well, then, if we can't do what we would like, we must do what we can.
And I can't think of anything more promising than this. I would have
quite a small place to begin with--one room, and some sort of kitchen to
prepare things in--because rent is the only serious matter, and we must
make the thing self-supporting from the first; that is the attraction of
my plan, if it has an attraction--the thing I have been specially
scheming for. Because, you see, then, if we fail, there won't be any
great harm done."
"The publicity!" murmured Mrs. Liddon; and Joey took up the word, and
drew offensive pictures of rowdy men invading the establishment, calling
for food and drink, and addressing these born ladies as "my dear."
"There will be nothing of that sort," said Jenny calmly. "The place
will have no attractions for that class. We must not prohibit men, for
that would discourage general custom----"
"Oh--custom!" sneered Joey, with an air of loathing.
"But it will be a woman's place, that men would not think of coming to
except to bring women. Just a quiet room, mother; not all rows of chairs
and tables, like a common restaurant--the best of our own furniture,
with some wicker chairs added, and a few small tables, like a
comfortable private sitting-room, only not so crowded; and floored with
linoleum, so that we can wash it easily. Then just tea and coffee and
scones--perhaps some little cakes--nothing perishable or messy; perhaps
some delicate sandwiches, so that ladies can make a lunch. Only these
simple things, but _they_ as perfectly good as it is possible to make
them. Mother, _your_ scones----"
Mrs. Liddon smiled. She saw at once that her scones alone would make the
tea-room famous.
"We must do everything ourselves," said Jenny, "_everything_; no
out-goings except for rent and our few superfine groceries.
Consequently we must not undertake too much. Say we open at eleven
o'clock and close at eight--no, at seven. That will give us time to
prepare in the morning, and our evenings for rest. Mother, dear, you
must cook. I will wait. We cannot accommodate more than twenty or so at
first, and I can manage that. Sarah can get ready the tea and coffee,
and perhaps take the money when we are busy. A few dozen of nice white
cups and saucers and a lot of plates--I could get them wholesale. I wish
we could afford nice table covers, but I am afraid they, and the
washing, would cost too much; we must have American cloth, I suppose.
And butter--we must be very careful what arrangements we make for
butter, to be sure of having it new every morning; and we must keep it
cold--_that_, above all things. Though we only give tea and scones, let
everybody say that they never bought such tea and scones before. Eh,
mother?"
"They won't buy better, if I have anything to do with it," said Mrs.
Liddon, putting her handkerchief in her pocket.
Thus Jenny unfolded her scheme, and gradually talked her family into a
conditional agreement with it. Only Joey was persistently hostile, and
he, when she begged him to suggest a better, was fain to acknowledge
that no better occurred to him. All he hoped and trusted was that his
sister would not drag the family name into the mire--that was to say,
not more so than the wretched state of things necessitated. "The
Liddons," said the boy, as he rose from the interview, "have never been
in trade before."
"And wouldn't you rather be a proprietor in Churchill & Son's than a
junior clerk?" was Jenny's quick retort, as he left the room.
The only possible rejoinder was to bang the door, and Joey banged it
heartily.