DIFFICULTIES
THE death of Groates was, of course, accidental; and no other verdict
could well be returned by the coroner's jury; but the butcher boy came
in for severe reprimand for his reckless driving, despite his excuse
that he could not hold in the horse; and Stobbs himself was blamed also.
Steps were about to be taken to enforce, if possible, the payment of
some amount of damages to the widow; but Stobbs was a sensible wan,
and in view of perhaps finding himself liable for a good deal more, he
voluntarily offered, by way of compensation, a sum which it was thought
advisable to accept. Mrs. Groates did not move in this matter; and she
seemed to shrink from the notion of "compensation," as if the loss
which she had sustained could in any manner be "compensated for" by
money. When told, however, that it was right for her children's sake,
she submitted.
Everybody agreed that it was a melancholy affair altogether, and
much sympathy was expressed, which no doubt was a comfort to Mrs.
Groates. She needed comfort, for trouble was pressing hard upon her and
Jack. Groates had been a singularly reserved man as to his business
matters,—very much "shut up," his friends were wont to say; and no one,
not, even his wife, knew the precise condition of those affairs. They
only knew that money had seemed to be very short, and that the business
had not of late increased; and the true state of things broke upon them
gradually.
For years past, it seemed, Groates had been getting into deeper and
deeper difficulties, had been running further and further into debt.
It came as an absolutely new sensation to Jack, when he found that
they had been actually living upon borrowed money; money borrowed, of
course, at a heavy loss.
The first thing to be done was, if it might be, to clear off
liabilities, to settle unpaid bills, and to meet the heritage of debt
and confusion which the unhappy man had left to his family. It was
extraordinary how he had managed to hide the state of matters from them
so long; but no doubt he had buoyed himself up with hopes of improving
business; hopes never realized. Had he lived, things might only have
grown worse.
They were bad enough already. It soon became evident that one course
alone lay before them. The business would have to be sold, and whatever
sum they might obtain by that means would have to go in liquidation of
Groates' debts; after which Jack would have to begin life anew with a
family dependent on him. Will indeed was at sea, pretty well provided
for; and Mimy might go out to work in some direction or other; but of
the three next boys and the younger girl, only one boy was nearing an
age to leave school and begin to "do something" for his livelihood.
All this had to be faced, and Jack did face it bravely. But one thought
rose again and again in the midst of other perplexities,—
What about Jessie?
At first he tried to put the question aside. His father's affairs had
to be thoroughly looked into; bills had to be examined; plans had to
be formed—and the consideration of Jack's own future had to wait,
dependent as it was upon the future of others.
Yet in the midst of all that had to be done, this thought would push
itself anew to the front, refusing to be silenced,—
What about Jessie?
True, they had had no idea of marrying yet awhile. Jack and Jessie had
both meant to work steadily, and to lay by a nice sum each, before they
should become husband and wife. Jack had not been willing to condemn
his wife in the future to such a bare and squalid existence as too
often results from a hasty marriage, upon barely enough for daily food
and lodging. He meant Jessie to know comfort in her home; he meant to
provide beforehand for probabilities; he meant to have somewhat to fall
back upon when the inevitable "rainy day" should occur.
All this had now become impossible. Jessie might work as she willed for
the needs of by-and-by; but he was no longer free to do so. The utmost
that he could hope to earn, perhaps for many a year, would do no more
than keep his mother and the children afloat.
Could he ask Jessie to wait, in the hope that some day he might be
free? That "some day" might lie far ahead. What if it should mean eight
years, ten years, twelve years of waiting? Would Jessie be willing?
True, there was another mode of action which some young men in his
position might have adopted. He might simply please himself in the
matter. He might put his engagement to Jessie first and the claims of
the widow and orphan second.
But the widow was his mother, and she had been the best and most
loving of mothers to him. Jack's heart was set upon Jessie; but he
loved that mother dearly, and he was also under the sway of a strong
sense of duty. He knew well in what direction lay his plain duty for
the present; and even apart from duty, he could not have neglected his
mother. Jack would not have been Jack if such a thing had been possible
to him. If Jessie did not wish to wait so long as might be necessary,
he could set her free. Nothing could set aside the claims upon his
strong young arm of his widowed mother.
In the midst of those cogitations Mokes came forward with an offer. He
had talked much of "bad times" of late, and had, as we know, professed
himself to be unable to give more than five shillings, to the lifeboat
fund. It now appeared that he had a little more money somewhere within
easy reach. He offered to buy up the whole contents of "Groates'
Store," and even to take the house off the widow's hands, if she wished
to move quickly into a less expensive domicile. He would pay down, for
house and contents and custom, a certain round sum which, if not too
liberal, might yet be looked upon as fair under the circumstances. At
all events, it was more than would have been expected from Mokes.
Nobody who knew Mr. Mokes was deluded into supposing this to be an act
of pure generosity. It might be granted that Mokes was sorry for the
sudden death of his rival, and was concerned for the widow.
But, on the other hand, if Mokes himself neglected to purchase the
goods and the custom and the remainder of the lease, somebody else
might be expected to do so, and this would mean a continuance of
opposition to Mokes' shop. Nay, it might mean a much more successful
opposition if the shop should chance to fall into the hands of a better
business man than Groates had proved to be. So Mokes was killing two
birds with one stone when he made his offer.
"Seems to me it's the best thing we can do," Jack said to the Vicar,
who had been throughout a kind adviser. "That'll help us to clear off
a lot of things, and we'll be able to start freer. And Mr. Ward has
offered to take me on, with better pay than I'd hoped to be able to
get."
"Ward, the grocer, at New Maxham?"
"Yes, sir. He's got the biggest business for twenty miles round, and
everybody trusts him. Mother's very pleased. She says she'd sooner have
me with him than with anybody, and they say he's offered it me for
mother's sake."
"Well, you'll make it worth his while to have done so, Jack. If he is
taking you now for your mother's sake, he will keep you by-and-by for
your own. And we shall have you with us still. Only a mile off."
"Some ways I'd sooner have been farther off than New Maxham."
"You would? What, you want to see more of the world?"
"No, sir; it ain't that. Though mother did say a while ago that perhaps
I'd ought. But I think I'd sooner have begun afresh in a new place.
Mother wants to have a cottage here, and me to walk into New Maxham
every day. She says she'll feel it more home-like."
"I dare say she will. And the walk is nothing for a hale young fellow
like you. Do you good."
"Only, sir, there's Jessie."
"True, there is Jessie. What of her?"
"I shouldn't be right to let Jessie think I'd be free to marry her as
soon as we'd thought of—and maybe—"
"Maybe she won't want to wait. Is that it? I don't think commonly that
it is the woman who won't wait, do you? Try her, Jack."
"I couldn't leave mother with no one to take care of her. She's been a
good mother to me, and I couldn't do it. Not for Jessie's sake even."
"I should have a very poor opinion of you if you could! Your mother
ought to be your first consideration. The young folks will be able soon
to fight their own way in life; but your mother will be getting older,
and she will need your care. But what then? If you and Jessie have to
wait longer than you had intended where is the harm? Just tell Jessie
frankly how things are, and see what she will say. That is my advice.
What does your mother think?"
"I haven't bothered her much, sir. She's been but poorly, and she's
left things mostly to me. I'll have to tell her all soon. She knows
we've got to part with the shop and live in a smaller house, and she
knows about Mr. Mokes' offer and Mr. Ward's. She seems to cling-like to
the thought of Old Maxham, and not to want to go away. But if things
are to be up between me and Jessie, I'd sooner be a good way off."
"Have a talk with Jessie first, and see what she will say. I fancy you
will see ahead more clearly then. After that you can go into things
with your mother. But don't hurry on arrangements too fast. She has had
a heavy blow, and you must give her time. People who are very brave at
the first often suffer more afterwards."
"Yes, I think that's mother's way, sir. She seems sort of dazed, as if
she couldn't take it all in."
"Don't force her yet. Mokes will not hurry you out of the house I am
sure. No—so I thought. He really is kind-hearted at the bottom. Jack, I
am going to give you back the sovereign that was your father's donation
to the lifeboat fund. We can do without it now, and I think your
mother's needs are greater. You needn't say anything about it to her,
unless you wish. Since that gift of ninety pounds came in, it has all
gone swimmingly, and I hope to have no further difficulties. The boat
is to be sent as soon as it can be ready. So you need have no scruples."
Jack's hand went behind him.
"I couldn't, please, sir; I couldn't do it. Don't ask me. I know father
liked to give that sovereign, and I shouldn't be happy to take it back.
Please let it be."
"Well, if you choose. I must not insist. But if you change your mind in
the course of a week or two, mind you tell me."
"And you've no notion who it was as gave the ninety pounds, sir?"
"I have had a good many notions, but no certainty. Nothing beyond
conjecture, and conjecture isn't worth much. Besides, it really isn't
our business if the good man wishes to keep his secret."