I.

The shop was not at all in a good part of Evesham. The street was narrow

and dirty, the shop the same. Over the door might be seen written

"Tobias Jellico, Linen-draper and Huckster." One Monday--which is

market-day at Evesham, as the world knows--in going past it with Tod and

little Hugh, the child trod on his bootlace and broke it, and we turned

in to get another. It was a stuffy shop, filled with bundles as well as

wares, and behind the counter stood Mr. Jellico himself, a good-looking,

dark man of forty, with deep-set blue eyes, that seemed to meet at the

nose, so close were they together.

The lace was a penny, he said, and Tod laid down sixpence. Jellico

handed the sixpence to a younger man who was serving lower down, and

began showing us all kinds of articles--neckties, handkerchiefs,

fishing-lines, cigar-lights, for he seemed to deal in varieties. Hugh

had put in his bootlace, but we could not get away.

"I tell you we don't want anything of this," said Tod, in his haughty

way, for the persistent fellow had tired him out. "Give me my change."

The other man brought the change wrapped up in paper, and we went on to

the inn. Tod had ordered the pony to be put in the chaise, and it stood

ready in the yard. Just then a white-haired, feeble old man came into

the yard, and begged. Tod opened the paper of half-pence.

"The miserable cheat," he called out. "If you'll believe me, Johnny,

that fellow has only given me fourpence in change. If I had time I'd go

back to him. Sam, do you know anything of one Jellico, who keeps a fancy

shop?" asked he of the ostler.

"A fancy shop, sir?" echoed Sam, considering.

"Sells calico and lucifer-matches."

"Oh, I know Mr. Jellico!" broke forth Sam, his recollection coming to

him. "He has got a cousin with him, sir."

"No doubt. It was the cousin that cheated me. Mistakes are mistakes, and

the best of us are liable to them; but if that was a mistake, I'll eat

the lot."

"It's as much of a leaving-shop as a draper's, sir. Leastways, it's said

that women can take things in and borrow money on them."

"Oh!" said Tod. "Borrow a shilling on a Dutch oven to-day, and pay two

shillings to-morrow to get it out."

"Anyway, Mr. Jellico does a fine trade, for he gives credit," concluded

Sam.

But the wrong change might have been a mistake.

In driving home, Tod pulled up at George Reed's cottage. Every one must

remember hearing where that was, and of Reed's being put into prison by

Major Parrifer. "Get down, Johnny," said he, "and see if Reed's there.

He must have left work."

I went up the path where Reed's children were playing, and opened the

cottage door. Mrs. Reed and two neighbours stood holding out something

that looked like a gown-piece. With a start and a grab, Mrs. Reed caught

the stuff, and hid it under her apron, and the two others looked round

at me with scared faces.

"Reed here? No, sir," she answered, in a sort of flurry. "He had to go

over to Alcester after work. I don't expect him home much afore ten

to-night."

I shut the door, thinking nothing. Reed was a handy man at many things,

and Tod wanted him to help with some alteration in the pheasantry at the

Manor. It was Tod who had set it up--a long, narrow place enclosed with

green trellised work, and some gold and silver pheasants running about

in it. The Squire had been against it at first, and told Tod he wouldn't

have workmen bothering about the place. So Tod got Reed to come in of an

evening after his day's work, and in a fortnight the thing was up. Now

he wanted him again to alter it: he had found out it was too narrow.

That was one of Tod's failings. If he took a thing into his head it

must be done off-hand. The Squire railed at him for his hot-headed

impatience: but in point of fact he was of just the same impatient turn

himself. Tod had been over to Bill Whitney's and found their pheasantry

was twice as wide as his.

"Confound Alcester," cried Tod in his vexation, as he drove on home. "If

Reed could have come up now and seen what it is I want done, he might

have begun upon it to-morrow evening."

"The pater says it is quite wide enough as it is, Tod."

"You shut up, Johnny. If I pay Reed out of my own pocket, it's nothing

to anybody."

On Tuesday he sent me to Reed's again. It was a nice spring afternoon,

but I'm not sure that I thanked him for giving me that walk. Especially

when upon lifting the latch of the cottage door, I found it fastened.

Down I sat on the low bench outside the open window to wait--where Cathy

had sat many a time in the days gone by, making believe to nurse the

children, and that foolish young Parrifer would be leaning against the

pear-tree on the other side the path. I had to leave my message with

Mrs. Reed; I supposed she had only stepped into a neighbour's, and might

be back directly, for the two little girls were playing at "shop" in the

garden.

Buzz, buzz: hum, hum. Why, those voices were in the kitchen! The lower

part of the casement was level with the top of my head; I turned round

and raised my eyes to look.

Well! surprises, it is said, are the lot of man. It _was_ his face,

unless my sight deceived itself. The same blue eyes that were in the

shop at Evesham the day before, were inside Mrs. Reed's kitchen now: Mr.

Tobias Jellico's. The place seemed to be crowded with women. He was

smiling and talking to them in the most persuasive manner imaginable,

his hands waving an accompaniment, on one of which glittered a ring with

a yellow stone in it, a persuasive look on his rather well-featured

face.

They were a great deal too agreeably engrossed to see me, and I looked

on at leisure. A sort of pack, open, rested on the floor; the table was

covered with all kinds of things for women's dress; silks, cottons,

ribbons, mantles; which Mrs. Reed and the others were leaning over and

fingering.

"Silks ain't for the like of us; I'd never have the cheek to put one

on," cried a voice that I knew at once for shrill Peggy Dickon's. Next

to her stood Ann Dovey, the blacksmith's wife; who was very pretty, and

vain accordingly.

"What kind o' stuff d'ye call this, master?" Ann Dovey asked.

"That's called laine," answered Jellico. "It's all pure wool."

"It's a'most as shiny as silk. I say, Mrs. Reed, d'ye think this 'ud

wear?"

"It would wear for ever," put in Jellico. "Ten yards of it would make as

good a gown as ever went on a lady's back; and the cost is but two

shillings a yard."

"Two shillings! Let's see--what 'ud that come to? Why, twenty, wouldn't

it? My patience, I shouldn't never dare to run up that score for one

gownd."

Jellico laughed pleasantly. "You take it, Mrs. Dovey. It just suits your

bright cheeks. Pay me when you can, and how you can: sixpence a-week, or

a shilling a-week, or two shillings, as you can make it easy. It's like

getting a gown for nothing."

"So it is," cried Ann Dovey, in a glow of delight. And by the tone, Mr.

Jellico no doubt knew that she had as good as yielded to the temptation.

He got out his yard measure.

"Ten yards?" said he.

"I'm a'most afeard. Will you promise, sir, not to bother me for the

money faster than I can pay it?"

"You needn't fear no bothering from me; only just keep up the trifle

you've got to pay off weekly."

He measured off the necessary length. "You'll want some ribbon to trim

it with, won't you?" said he.

"Ribbin--well, I dun know. Dovey might say ribbin were too smart for

me."

"Not a bit on't, Ann Dovey," spoke up another woman--and _she_ was our

carter's wife, Susan Potter. "It wouldn't look nothing without some

ribbin. That there narrer grass-green satin 'ud be nice upon't."

"And that grass-green ribbon's dirt cheap," said Jellico. "You'd get

four or five yards of it for a shilling or two. Won't _you_ be tempted

now?" he added to Susan Potter. She laughed.

"Not with them things. I shouldn't never hear the last on't if Potter

found out I went on tick for finery. He's rough, sir, and might beat me.

I'd like a check apron, and a yard o' calico."

"Perhaps I might take a apron or two, sir, if you made it easy," said

Mrs. Dickon.

"Of course I'll make it easy; and a gown too if you'll have it. Let me

cut you off the fellow to this of Mrs. Dovey's."

Peggy Dickon shook her head. "It ain't o' no good asking me, Mr.

Jellico. Ann Dovey can buy gownds; she haven't got no children; I've

a bushel on 'em. No; I don't dare. I wish I might! Last year, up at

Cookhill Wake, I see a sweet gownd, not unlike this, what had got green

ribbins upon it," added the woman longingly.

Being (I suppose) a kind of Mephistopheles in his line, Mr. Tobias

Jellico accomplished his wish and cut off a gown against her judgment.

He sold other gowns, and "ribbins," and trumpery; the yard measure had

nearly as little rest as the women's tongues. Mrs. Reed's turn to be

served seemed to come last; after the manner of her betters, she yielded

precedence to her guests.

"Now for me, sir," she said. "You've done a good stroke o' business here

to-day, Mr. Jellico, and I hope you won't objec' to change that there

gownd piece as I bought last Monday for some'at a trifle stronger. Me

and some others have been a-looking at it, and we don't think it'll

wear."

"Oh, I'll change it," readily answered Jellico. "You should put a few

more shillings on, Mrs. Reed: better have a good thing when you're about

it. It's always cheaper in the end."

"Well, I suppose it is," she said. "But I'm a'most frightened at the

score that'll be running up."

"It's easily wiped off," answered the man, pleasantly. "Just a shilling

or two weekly."

There was more chaffering and talking; and after that came the chink of

money. The women had each a book, and Jellico had his book, and they

were compared with his, and made straight. As he came out with the pack

on his back, he saw me sitting on the bench, and looked hard at me:

whether he knew me again, I can't say.

Just then Frank Stirling ran by, turning down Piefinch Lane. I went

after him: the women's tongues inside were working like so many

steam-engines, and it was as well to let them run down before speaking

to Mrs. Reed.

Half-way down Piefinch Lane on the left, there was a turning, called

Piefinch Cut. It had grown into a street. All kinds of shops had been

opened, dealing in small wares: and two public-houses. A pawnbroker from

Alcester had opened a branch establishment here--which had set the world

gaping more than they would at a wild-beast show. It was managed by a

Mr. Figg. The three gilt balls stood out in the middle of the Cut; and

the blacksmith's forge, to which Stirling was bound, was next door. He

wanted something done to a piece of iron. While we were standing amidst

the sparks, who should go into the house the other side the way but

Jellico and his pack!

"Yes, he should come into mine, he should, that fellow," ironically

observed John Dovey: who was a good-natured, dark-eyed little man, with

a tolerable share of sense. "I'd be after trundling him out again, feet

foremost."

"Is he a travelling hawker?" asked Stirling.

"He's a sight worse, sir," answered Dovey. "If you buy wares off a

hawker you must pay for 'em at the time: no money, no goods. But this

fellow seduces the women to buy his things on tick, he does: Tuesday

arter Tuesday he comes prowling into this here Cut, and does a roaring

trade. His pack'll walk out o' that house a bit lighter nor it goes in.

Stubbs's wife lives over there; Tanken's wife, she lives there; and

there be others. If I hadn't learnt that nobody gets no good by

interfering atween men and their wives, I'd ha' telled Stubbs and Tanken

long ago what was going on."

It had been on the tip of my tongue to say where I had just seen

Jellico, and the trade he was doing. Remembering in time that Mrs. Dovey

had been one of the larger purchasers, I kept the news in.

"His name's Jellico," continued Dovey, as he hammered away at Stirling's

iron. "He have got a fine shop somewhere over at Evesham. It's twelve or

fifteen months now, Master Johnny, since he took to come here. When

first I see him I wondered where the deuce the hawker's round could be,

appearing in the Cut so quick and reg'lar; but I soon found he was no

reg'lar hawker. Says I to my wife, 'Don't you go and have no dealings

with that there pest, for I'll not stand it, and I might be tempted to

stop it summary.' 'All right, Jack,' says she; 'when I want things I'll

deal at the old shop at Alcester.' But there's other wives round about

us doing strokes and strokes o' trade with him; 'tain't all of 'em,

Master Ludlow, as is so sensible as our Ann."

Considering the stroke of trade I had just seen done by Ann Dovey, it

was as well not to hear this.

"If he's not a hawker, what is he?" asked Stirling, swaying himself on

a beam in the roof; and I'm sure I did not know either.

"It's a cursed system," hotly returned John Dovey; "and I say that afore

your faces, young gents. It may do for the towns, if they chooses to

have it--that's their business; but it don't do for us. What do our

women here want o' fine shawls and gay gownds?--decking theirselves out

as if they was so many Jezebels? But 'tain't that. Let 'em deck, if

they've got no sense to see how ill it looks on their sun-freckled faces

and hands hard wi' work; it's the ruin it brings. Just you move on

t'other side, Master Ludlow, sir; you be right in the way o' the sparks.

There's a iron pot over there as does for sitting on."

"I'm all right, Dovey. Tell us about Jellico."

Jellico's system, to give Dovey's explanation in brief, was this: He

brought over a huge pack of goods every Tuesday afternoon in a pony-gig

from his shop at Evesham. He put up the pony, and carried the pack on

his round, tempting the women right and left to buy. Husbands away at

work, and children at school, the field was open. _He asked for no

ready money down._ The purchases were entered in a book, to be paid off

by weekly instalments. The payments had to be kept up; Jellico saw to

that. However short the household had to run of the weekly necessaries,

Jellico's money had to be ready for him. It was an awful tax, just as

Dovey described it, and drifted into at first by the women without

thought of ill. The debt in itself was bad enough; but the fear lest it

should come to their husbands' ears was almost worse. As Dovey described

all this in his homely, but rather flowery language, it put me in

mind of those pleasure-seekers that sail too far over a sunny sea in

thoughtlessness, and suspect no danger till their vessel is right upon

the breakers.

"There haven't been no blow-ups yet to speak of," said the blacksmith.

"But they be coming. I could just put my finger upon half-a-dozen women

at this blessed minute what's wearing theirselves to shadders with the

trouble. They come here to Figg's in the dusk o' evening wi' things hid

under their aprons. The longer Jellico lets it go on, the worse it gets,

for they _will_ be tempted, the she-creatures, buying made flowers for

their best bonnets to-day, and ribbuns for their Sunday caps to-morrow.

If Jellico lets 'em, that is. He knows pretty sure where he may trust

and where he mayn't. 'Tain't he as will let his pocket suffer in the

long run. He knows another thing--that the further he staves off any big

noise the profitabler it'll be for him. Once let that come, and Master

Jellico might get hunted out o' the Cut, and his pack and its finery

kicked to shreds."

"But why are the women such simpletons, Dovey?" asked Frank Stirling.

"You might as well ask why folks eats and drinks, sir," retorted Dovey,

his begrimed eyes lighted with the flame. "A love o' their faces is just

born with the women, and it goes with 'em to the grave. Set a parcel o'

finery before 'em and the best'll find their eyes a-longing, and their

mouths a-watering. It's said Eve used to do up her hair looking into a

clear pool."

"Putting it in that light, Dovey, I wonder all the women here don't go

in for Mr. Jellico's temptations."

"Some on 'em has better sense; and some has husbands what's up to the

thing, and keeps the reins tight in their own hands," complacently

answered the unconscious Dovey.

"Up to the thing!" repeated Stirling; "I should think all the men are up

to it, if Jellico is here so constantly."

"No, sir, they're not. Most of 'em are at work when he comes. They may

know some'at about him, but the women contrives to deceive 'em, and they

suspects nothing. The fellow with the pack don't concern them or their

folk at home, as they supposes, an' so they never bothers theirselves

about him or his doings. I'd like to drop a hint to some of 'em to go

home unexpected some Tuesday afternoon; but maybe it's best let alone."

"I suppose your wife is one of the sensible ones, Dovey?" And I kept my

countenance as I said it.

"She daredn't be nothing else, Master Johnny. I be a trifle loud if I'm

put out. Not she," emphatically added Dovey, his strong, bared arm

dealing a heavy blow on the anvil, and sending up a whole cloud of

sparks. "I'd never get put in jail for her, as she knows; I'd shave her

hair off first. Run up a score with that there Jellico? No, she'd not

be such a idiot as that. You should hear how she goes on again her

neighbours that does run it, and the names she calls 'em."