INSPECTOR RICHARDS mentioned to several of the staff that, whilst he had
often taken part in the presentation of testimonials, he specially wished
that no tribute of a valuable nature should be paid to him on his
retirement, and the men, after private consideration, took him at his
word. The night of his departure was the occasion, nevertheless, for
many touching incidents. Inspector Richards made a point of shaking
hands with all those inferior to him in position; a compliment they
accepted shyly, after rubbing the palm down the side of trousers.
“Always been my desire,” he said benevolently, “to treat every one alike,
and I trust I’ve succeeded.”
“You’ve done it, sir. No mistake about that.”
“I hope I have never shown anything in the shape of favouritism.”
“There again, sir, you’re right.”
“I am anxious to express the desire that nothing but what I may call
kindly thoughts will be entertained concerning me when I leave the duties
I have so long carried out,” said Inspector Richards elaborately, “and
there’s no objection to you mentioning it, as freely as you like, that I
shall be glad to see old friends at any hour, and any time, from
half-past eight in the morning till eleven o’clock o’ night at
three-two-seven, Hampstead Road.”
A few of the junior members were under the impression that the words
suggested liberal and cheerful hospitality; those who knew Mr. Richards
better warned them not to expect too much from old T. R. T. R., they
said, had never yet given away a ha’porth of anything, and acquaintance
with human nature induced them to believe that he, at his age, was not
likely to begin. The one person who had known T. R. the longest found
herself swiftly disillusioned. Harriet was to live with her father over
the shop in Hampstead Road, and to keep house for him; her wedding was to
take place when Mr. Richards found it possible to make other
arrangements, and not until then.
“I shall look after the shop,” he said commandingly. “That’s my part of
the work. All you’ve got to do is to see to the cooking, and the
cleaning up, the washing on Mondays, the ironing later on, the boots, the
garden at the back, and so on and so forth. You sweep out the shop first
thing in the morning, but apart from that, you’re not to show your face
there. Understand?”
“Yes, father.”
“Don’t give me the trouble of speaking twice,” he went on in his official
manner. “I’ve been used to managing much bigger affairs, without any
trouble, and this will be mere child’s play. I look on it more as a
hobby than anything else. Worst thing that can happen to a man of my
industrious nature is to have nothing to occupy his mind. Go in now, and
don’t you ever dare come out ’less I call you.”
The shop opened promptly on the first morning, Mr. Richards wearing a
silk hat as he took down the shutters, to indicate that shirt-sleeves did
not mean inferiority. He nodded distantly to his neighbours, and when
they asked him a question concerning the weather of the day shook his
head reservedly to convey the idea that he had not yet decided the point.
Inside, he arranged the cash-drawer neatly and prepared change, blew a
speck of dust from the counter, and, replacing the silk hat with a grey
tweed cap, lighted a pipe and waited for the rush of custom. A drawback
of official life had consisted in the fact that one could not be seen
smoking within a certain distance of the terminus; it had been his duty
on many occasions to reprove the staff for indulging in a pipe at the
wrong moment, or at the inappropriate place; the match which he struck on
the sole of his slippers made a bright flaming signal of the inauguration
of liberty. During the morning Mr. Richards struck many matches and
smoked several pipes, so that at one o’clock when his daughter called out
respectfully, “Dinner’s ready, father!” his appetite was not so good as,
at this hour, it should have been.
“What sort of a morning has it been, father?” asked Harriet, with
deference.
“Mind your own business,” he retorted. “And pull the muslin curtain
aside so that I can see when any one comes in. I’ve told you before the
shop’s nothing to do with you.”
“There’s a lad rapping at the counter,” she remarked, disregarding his
orders.
Mr. Richards upset his chair in the anxiety to attend to his first
customer, and hurried in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“How do?” said the lad familiarly. “How you getting on at your new job?
Settling down all right?”
“What can I do for you, Jenkinson?” Richards rested the tips of his
fingers on the counter and beamed across. “Tobacco or cigarettes?”
“Last time me and you held conversation together,” remarked the lad—“I’m
speaking now of a matter of six weeks ago, or it might be a couple of
months—you distinctly told me, as far as I remember, that smoking at my
time of life was playing the deuce with my health.”
“Everything’s good if taken in moderation.”
“And, furthermore, you said that if you caught me with a fag again, you’d
report me to headquarters.”
“My humour is what they call dry,” urged Richards. “You have to go below
the surface to see what I’m really driving at. How are they managing at
the old place? What’s the new inspector like? Some of you will find a
difference, if I’m not greatly mistaken.”
“We have!”
“Ah!”
“General opinion,” said the lad, with marked emphasis, “seems to be that
this one is a gentleman.”
Mr. Richards eyed him across the counter; the other, almost quailing,
asked whether the establishment included matches amongst its stores. A
box being produced, he inquired how many it contained. Mr. Richards said
he did not know. The lad, opening the box, remarked that it appeared to
have been tampered with, and expressed a desire not to be swindled. The
proprietor imperatively ordered him to go out of the shop, and went back
to his meal. This had become cold; the circumstance that he himself was
considerably heated did not compensate.
“There’s another!” mentioned Harriet.
A lamp-boy, bearing on his features evidence of occupation, wished to
make an inquiry, and, accepting the reply, stayed to argue that tin-tacks
were a necessity to many people at many times and should therefore be
kept by those who desired to serve the public; he went on to give a brief
lecture on the laws of supply and demand, and, this finished, seemed
unwilling to leave without confessing something in the way of patronage,
and Mr. Richards found himself called upon to give two halfpennies in
exchange for a penny and to say “Thank you” to an individual whom he had
not, in official days, condescended to notice.
“You must put some brains into it,” counselled the boy, before going out
of the doorway. “That’s your only chance. Competition’s very keen at
the present time. And don’t forget civility. Civility goes a long way
with a lot of people.”
“Take your hand away from that new paint! I don’t want to identify
customers by finger-marks.”
“You won’t have any if you don’t treat ’em properly.”
“Go back to the station,” roared Mr. Richards, “and give them features of
yours a good wash!”
“Used soap and water just before I came away.”
“Then get them to turn the hose on you.”
The boy tried to think of a retort, but none came. He made a face and
went.
That evening, at half-past six, saw the real start of business. In less
than five minutes the shop filled with customers, all talking loudly, all
demanding to be served at once, but, in spite of this, making no attempt
to leave quickly. More than once in the flurry and bustle of taking
money—it was the night of pay-day, and much change therefore required—he
called upstairs to inquire whether Harriet’s young man had arrived; the
last answer received was to the effect that the youth in question had
been told not to come round that evening.
“Who told you to say that?”
“I thought it best, father.”
He made an appeal to the customers for sympathy on the grounds that he
had a fool for a daughter. They asked what else he had a right to
expect.
It was satisfactory to see the shop crowded, but he wished the deportment
had been of a more careful nature. Some called him Richards, quite
shortly; a porter, for whom it had been his painful duty to obtain three
days’ suspension, referred to him more familiarly; and the retired
inspector found, as many have discovered, that few of us in London,
however important, escape a nickname. A few in sportive mood endeavoured
to confuse him over the coins tendered, and when he had to beg one to go
out and obtain some small silver for a sovereign, the messenger prolonged
absence to such an extent that Mr. Richards became seriously alarmed,
refusing to consider the bets offered concerning the possibility of the
man never being heard of again. Temper was exhibited when the messenger
returned with eighty threepenny-pieces, obtained from a friend connected
with a chapel; and when it was pointed out that folk had a prejudice
against accepting these, prompt answer came to the effect that in future
Richards had better run errands for himself. A mouth-organ started a
tune in a corner, and a porter solicited the favour of a labeller’s hand
for a dance.
“I’m not going to have that noise.” They explained that it was not
noise, but music. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to have it. Put a stop
to it at once!”
“Look here, old man, you’re out of uniform now. None of your gold-braid
behaviour, if you please. That’s gone and done with. All change is the
motto.”
“But,” he pleaded, “I don’t want to be a nuisance to my neighbours.”
“You always have been.”
They gave up, with reluctance, the idea of frivolous entertainment, and
went on to the discussion of political matters. Richards had prided
himself on the definite nature of his opinions concerning affairs of the
nation, and even intimate colleagues rarely ventured to disagree; he
reminded himself now that a shopkeeper had to be extremely careful to
show impartiality, and to be cautious not to give offence. Consequently
he found that many cherished views had to go; appealed to when the debate
became warm, he said there was a good deal to be said on both sides; you
found good and bad in everybody; seemed to him you might say in general
of politicians that they were six of one and half-dozen of the other. In
preparing to go, the customers declared they would not give a brass
button for a man who was unable to make up his mind.
“Look in again soon,” he said, with a determined effort at cordiality.
“Come to-morrow evening, if you’re doing nothing else. Always glad to
see you. No friends like the old ones.”
He relaxed the usual attitude towards his daughter, and said that if she
felt certain hers was a case of genuine affection, and not a mere idle
fancy, he had no objection to the young man looking in any evening, every
evening in fact, at about half-past six. Harriet promised to convey the
permission, although she could not be sure that Arthur would take
advantage of it.
“Tell him he can stay on to supper,” recommended her father.
“That might influence him,” admitted Harriet. “Would you like me to give
a hand with the shop when you’re so busy as you were to-night?”
“How many more times am I to tell you that I can manage the business
myself? Besides, I don’t want a set of young men coming in just for the
sake of chatting and talking with you. What do you think your poor
mother would have said to such an idea?”
The young man on arriving the next night found a hearty hand-shake
awaiting him, and an American cigarette. He was ordered to sit inside
the counter and to have a good look around. Mr. Richards gave something
like a lesson in geography, pointing out that Log Cabin was bordered on
the east by Navy Cut, on the west by Honey Dew; that twopenny cigars were
situated on a peninsula, and wax matches formed a range of mountains.
Proceeding to the cash drawers, Arthur was instructed to observe that
four separate lakes existed, each with its own duty, and one was not on
any account to be confused with the rest. When he exhibited a desire to
go in and see Harriet, Mr. Richards upbraided him for want of attention,
and mentioned that all knowledge was worth acquiring, in that you never
knew when it might prove useful; to retain him until the rush of business
came many reminiscent anecdotes were told of railway life, incidents of
difficulty faced by Inspector Richards at various periods, and always
triumphantly overcome. Coming to more recent occurrences, a complaint
was made that Harriet that morning going out to shop in High Street had
been absent for no less than three-quarters of an hour.
“Don’t go in there!” said a voice at the doorway. “That’s old T. R.’s
show. Let’s go on higher up. He’ll only try to boss it over us.”
When Harriet sang out an announcement concerning the meal, the proprietor
of the tobacconist’s shop remarked brusquely that there was probably
enough for two, but not sufficient for three, and in these circumstances
he would not trouble Arthur to stay.
Mr. Richards was still watching the roadway, and wondering how it was
possible for so many folk to pass by an attractive shop-window without
stopping to give it the compliment of a glance, when he caught sight of
one of his fellow-inspectors on the opposite side. Anxious for congenial
company, he gave an invitation with a wave of the hand, and the other,
after a moment of thought, crossed over. Harriet made another
deferential announcement.
“Just in time!” he cried genially. “Come along inside, Wilkinson, and
share pot-luck.”
“What do you call pot-luck?” inquired Wilkinson, with caution. Mr.
Richards recited the brief menu, and the inspector decided to enter.
“Brought a friend,” said Richards to his daughter in the back parlour.
“Then we shall want a fourth chair, father.”
“No, we shan’t. Wilkinson, sit you down and make yourself thoroughly at
home. How are you muddling on without me?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“Let’s hear the worst.”
“We’re getting on first class,” announced Wilkinson, his eyes on Harriet,
but his words addressed to her father. “Some of them were saying only
this evening that it just proved how much could be done by kindness.
There hasn’t been a cross word since you left, and not a single member of
the staff has had to be reported.”
“You’ll all have a nice job later on,” he prophesied. “Let them get
slack and out of control, and it’ll take you months to get ’em well in
hand again.”
“How do you like the change, Miss?” asked Wilkinson, accepting the offer
of lettuce. “How does business life suit you, may I ask?”
“Nothing to do with her!” interrupted her father sharply. “All she’s
responsible for is household duties. I believe in women keeping to their
proper sphere. Once they come out of it—”
“The change hasn’t improved your temper, old man.”
He stopped in the act of helping himself to mustard, and stared at his
late colleague. “Me?” he said, in a dazed way. “Me, got a temper?
Well, upon my word, we live and learn. This is news!”
“Pretty stale to other people.”
“I venture to challenge that statement,” said Richards hotly. “I should
like to have a decision on the point by some independent authority.”
“Ask her!”
Harriet, appealed to and ordered to speak without fear or favour, said
she wanted to know why Arthur was sent away. The answer was to the
effect if she had finished gorging herself with food, she could go
upstairs and leave her father and his friend to discuss matters which her
youth and sex prevented her from understanding. Harriet had not
completed her share of the meal, but she obeyed at once.
“That’s the way to bring up a child,” said Richards, with a jerk of the
head. “I’ve only got to give her a hint. Wonderful control I exercise.
I give my orders; she carries ’em out.”
“You don’t seem overwhelmed with customers,” remarked the visitor,
looking through the glass portion of the door.
“They either come with a run,” he explained, “or not at all.”
“I only go,” went on Wilkinson, “by what I’ve heard at the station. They
came here once for the lark of the thing, but the notion seems to be that
once is plenty.”
“And that,” ejaculated the ex-inspector bitterly, “that, I suppose, is
what they call _esprit de corps_.”
“That’s what they call getting their own back. And I don’t want to
discourage you, and I should like you to believe that I’m saying it only
for your own good, but it’s pretty clear to my mind that, in regard to
this tobacconist’s business, you’re going to lose your little all. The
savings of a lifetime are going to vanish like smoke, or rather not like
smoke, but into thin air. Unless,” added Wilkinson impressively—“unless
you act wisely.”
“Don’t I always act wisely?”
Wilkinson shook his head. “The best of us are liable to make mistakes,”
he said diplomatically, “and consequently you’re more liable than most.”
Mr. Richards failed in the attempt to make a knife balance on a fork, and
sighed deeply.
“I’ve been here now for—how long?—and there hasn’t been a single,
solitary ring of the bell,” went on Wilkinson. “You’ve got to look the
facts squarely in the face.”
“If the worst comes to the worst,” announced the other grimly, “I shall
sell the business and the goodwill and stock and everything, and embark
on something entirely fresh—something where I shan’t be dependent on the
kindness of old friends.”
“You’ll get a big price for the goodwill,” mentioned the visitor, with
sarcasm. “And I suppose you’ve taken the premises on a lease?”
“Let me fetch you a cigar,” suggested Mr. Richards desperately, “and then
you give me the best advice that lays in your power.”
“Pick out one that I can smoke.”
Wilkinson’s counsel, given after he had submitted the cigar to a
sufficient test, was this. Competition, brisk and determined, existed in
the trade on the part of large firms who opened shops all over the place.
Small establishments could only exist by the possession of something in
the shape of what Wilkinson called a magnet—a magnet to draw the people
in.
“You mean a gramophone?”
Wilkinson meant nothing of the kind. What you had to bear in mind was,
first, that all your possible customers belonged to what was known as the
male persuasion; second, that by an old-established arrangement, which
you might argue against but you had to accept, the male was always
attracted by the female. Wilkinson added that in his opinion the
daughter upstairs was a dashed good-looking girl, and, the cigar being
near to its end, suggested that another might be presented to bear him
company on the way home. And went.
“Harriet, my girl,” said Mr. Richards, “I’ve thought of an idea that I
may as well mention at once before I forget it. No doubt you’ve heard
the remark about Satan and idle hands. And as there’s no good reason why
I should work my fingers to the bone, I shall want you to come into the
shop of an afternoon and evening, and serve customers, and smile at ’em,
and make yourself generally useful.”
“Afraid you’re too late, father,” she said. “If you had let Arthur stay
to supper, we were not going to tell you anything about it. As it is,
you’ve got to be told that we were married this morning at the
registrar’s, and that I’m going to leave you now.”
* * * * *
The shop is doing very well, and when you happen to pass that way, you
might step in and buy something. You will find Harriet at the counter
serving goods of excellent quality at current prices; in the evening her
husband is also there. Glancing through the windowed door of the shop
parlour, you may catch sight of ex-Inspector Richards, looking after the
baby.