Bereavement came to Mr. Polly before the realisation of opulence and
its anxieties and responsibilities. That only dawned upon him on the
morrow--which chanced to be Sunday--as he walked with Johnson before
church time about the tangle of struggling building enterprise that
constituted the rising urban district of Easewood. Johnson was off
duty that morning, and devoted the time very generously to the
admonitory discussion of Mr. Polly's worldly outlook.
"Don't seem to get the hang of the business somehow," said Mr. Polly.
"Too much blooming humbug in it for my way of thinking."
"If I were you," said Mr. Johnson, "I should push for a first-class
place in London--take almost nothing and live on my reserves. That's
what I should do."
"Come the Heavy," said Mr. Polly.
"Get a better class reference."
There was a pause. "Think of investing your money?" asked Johnson.
"Hardly got used to the idea of having it yet, O' Man."
"You'll have to do something with it. Give you nearly twenty pounds a
year if you invest it properly."
"Haven't seen it yet in that light," said Mr. Polly defensively.
"There's no end of things you could put it into."
"It's getting it out again I shouldn't feel sure of. I'm no sort of
Fiancianier. Sooner back horses."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Not my style, O' Man."
"It's a nest egg," said Johnson.
Mr. Polly made an indeterminate noise.
"There's building societies," Johnson threw out in a speculative tone.
Mr. Polly, with detached brevity, admitted there were.
"You might lend it on mortgage," said Johnson. "Very safe form of
investment."
"Shan't think anything about it--not till the O' Man's underground,"
said Mr. Polly with an inspiration.
They turned a corner that led towards the junction.
"Might do worse," said Johnson, "than put it into a small shop."
At the moment this remark made very little appeal to Mr. Polly. But
afterwards it developed. It fell into his mind like some small obscure
seed, and germinated.
"These shops aren't in a bad position," said Johnson.
The row he referred to gaped in the late painful stage in building
before the healing touch of the plasterer assuages the roughness of
the brickwork. The space for the shop yawned an oblong gap below,
framed above by an iron girder; "windows and fittings to suit tenant,"
a board at the end of the row promised; and behind was the door space
and a glimpse of stairs going up to the living rooms above. "Not a bad
position," said Johnson, and led the way into the establishment. "Room
for fixtures there," he said, pointing to the blank wall. The two men
went upstairs to the little sitting-room or best bedroom (it would
have to be) above the shop. Then they descended to the kitchen below.
"Rooms in a new house always look a bit small," said Johnson.
They came out of the house again by the prospective back door, and
picked their way through builder's litter across the yard space to the
road again. They drew nearer the junction to where a pavement and
shops already open and active formed the commercial centre of
Easewood. On the opposite side of the way the side door of a
flourishing little establishment opened, and a man and his wife and a
little boy in a sailor suit came into the street. The wife was a
pretty woman in brown with a floriferous straw hat, and the group was
altogether very Sundayfied and shiny and spick and span. The shop
itself had a large plate-glass window whose contents were now veiled
by a buff blind on which was inscribed in scrolly letters: "Rymer,
Pork Butcher and Provision Merchant," and then with voluptuous
elaboration: "The World-Famed Easewood Sausage."
Greetings were exchanged between Mr. Johnson and this distinguished
comestible.
"Off to church already?" said Johnson.
"Walking across the fields to Little Dorington," said Mr. Rymer.
"Very pleasant walk," said Johnson.
"Very," said Mr. Rymer.
"Hope you'll enjoy it," said Mr. Johnson.
"That chap's done well," said Johnson _sotto voce_ as they went on.
"Came here with nothing--practically, four years ago. And as thin as a
lath. Look at him now!
"He's worked hard of course," said Johnson, improving the occasion.
Thought fell between the cousins for a space.
"Some men can do one thing," said Johnson, "and some another.... For a
man who sticks to it there's a lot to be done in a shop."