Rachel Varnhagen.
He sat on a wool-bale in his "store," amid bags of sugar, chests of tea,
boxes of tobacco, octaves of spirits, coils of fencing-wire, bales of
hops, rolls of carpets and floor-cloth, piles of factory-made clothes,
and a miscellaneous collection of merchandise.
Old Varnhagen was a general merchant who, with equal complacency, would
sell a cask of whisky, or purchase the entire wool-clip of a "run" as
big as an English county. Raising his eyes from a keg of nails, he
glanced lovingly round upon his abundant stock in trade; rubbed his fat
hands together; chuckled; placed one great hand on his capacious stomach
to support himself as his laughter vibrated through his ponderous body,
and then he said, "'Tear me, 'tear me, it all com' to this. 'Tear,
'tear, how it make me laff. It jus' com' to this: the Maoris have got
his cargo. All Mr. Cookenden's scheming to beat me gifs me the pull over
him. 'Tear me, it make me ill with laffing. If I believed in a God, I
should say Jehovah haf after all turn his face from the Gentile, and
fight for his Chosen People. The cargo is outside the port: a breath of
wind, and it is strewn along the shore. Now, that's what I call an
intervention of Providence."
He got off the wool-bale much in the manner in which a big seal clumsily
takes the water, and walked up and down his store; hands in pockets, hat
on the back of his head, and a complacent smile overspreading his face.
As he paused at the end of the long alleyway, formed by his piles of
merchandise, and turned again to traverse the length of the warehouse,
he struck an attitude of contemplation.
"Ah! but the insurance?" he exclaimed. As he stood, with bent head
and grave looks, he was the typical Jew of the Ghetto; crafty, timid,
watchful, cynical, cruel; his grizzled hair, close-clipped, crisp, and
curly; his face pensive, and yellow as a lemon.
"But he will haf seen to that: I gif him that much credit. But in the
meantime he is without his goods, and the money won't be paid for
months. That gif me a six-months' pull over him."
The old smile came back, and he began to pace the store once more.
There was a rippling laugh at the further end of the building where
Varnhagen's private office, partitioned off with glass and boards from
the rest of the store, opened on the street. It was a laugh the old man
knew well, for he hopped behind a big pile of bales like a boy playing
hide-and-seek, and held his breath in expectation.
Presently, there bustled into the warehouse a vision of muslin and
ribbons. Her face was the face of an angel. It did not contain a feature
that might not have been a Madonna's. She had a lemon-yellow complexion,
brightened by a flush of carmine in the cheeks; her eyes were like two
large, lustrous, black pearls; her hair, parted in the middle, was
glossy and waving; her eyebrows were pencilled and black; her lips were
as red as the petals of the geranium. But though this galaxy of beauties
attracted, it was the exquisite moulding of the face that riveted the
attention of Packett, the Jew's storeman, who had conducted the dream of
loveliness to the scene.
She tapped the floor impatiently with her parasol.
"Fa-ther!"
She stamped her dainty foot in pretty anger.
"The aggravating old bird! I expect he's hiding somewhere."
There came a gurgling chuckle from amid the piled-up bales.
The girl stood, listening. "Come out of that!" she cried. But there was
never another sound--the chuckling had ceased.
She skirmished down a by-alley, and stormed a kopje of rugs and
linoleums; but found nothing except the store tom-cat in hiding on
the top. Having climbed down the further side, she found herself in a
difficult country of enamelled ware and wooden buckets, but successfully
extricating herself from this entanglement she ascended a spur of
carpet-rolls, and triumphantly crowned the summit of the lofty mountain
of wool-bales. The country round lay at her feet, and half-concealed
behind a barrel of Portland cement she saw the crouching form of the
enemy.
Her head was up among the timbers of the roof, and hanging to nails in
the cross-beams were countless twisted lengths of clothesline, and with
these dangerous projectiles she began to harass the foe. Amid the hail
of hempen missiles the white flag was hoisted, and the enemy
surrendered.
"Rachel! Rachel! Come down, my girl. You'll break your peautiful neck.
Packett, what you stand there for like a wooden verandah-post? Go up,
and help Miss Varnhagen down. Take care!--my 'tear Rachel!--look out for
that bucket!--mind that coil of rubber-belting! Pe careful! That bale of
hops is ofer! My 'tear child, stand still, I tell you; wait till I get
the ladder."
With Packett in a position to cut off retreat, and the precipice of
wool-bales in front, Rachel sat down and shook with laughter.
Varnhagen naturally argued that his pretty daughter's foot, now that
the tables were so suddenly turned upon her, would with the storeman's
assistance be quickly set upon the top rung of the ladder which was now
in position. But he had not yet learned all Rachel's stratagems.
"No!" she cried. "I think I'll stay here."
"My child, my Rachel, you will fall!"
"Oh, dear, no: it's as firm as a rock. No, Packett, you can go down. I
shall stay here."
"But, my 'tear Rachel, you'll be killed! Come down, I beg."
"Will you promise to do what I want?"
"My 'tear daughter, let us talk afterwards. I can think of nothing while
you are in danger of being killed in a moment!"
"I want that gold watch in Tresco's window. I sha'n't come down till you
say I can have it."
"My peautiful Rachel, it is too expensive. I will import you one for
half the price. Come down before it is too late."
"What's the good of watches in London? I want that watch at Tresco's, to
wear going calling. Consent, father, before it is too late."
"My loafly, how much was the watch?"
"Twenty-five pounds."
"Oh, that is too much. First, you will ruin me, and kill yourself
afterwards to spite my poverty. Rachel, you make your poor old father
quite ill."
"Then I am to have the watch?"
"Nefer mind the watch. Some other time talk to me of the watch. Come
down safe to your old father, before you get killed."
"But I _do_ mind the watch. It's what I came for. I shall stay here till
you consent."
"Oh, Rachel, you haf no heart. You don't loaf your father."
"You don't love your daughter, else you'd give me what I want."
"I not loaf you, Rachel! Didn't I gif you that ring last week, and the
red silk dress the week pefore? Come down, my child, and next birthday
you shall have a better watch than in all Tresco's shop. My 'tear
Rachel, my 'tear child, you'll be killed; and what good will be your
father's money to him then? Oh! that bale moved. Rachel! sit still."
"Then you'll give me the watch?"
"Yes, yes. You shall have the watch. Come down now, while Packett holds
your hand."
"Can I have it to-day?"
"Be careful, Packett. Oh! that bale is almost ofer."
"Will you give it me this morning, father?"
"Yes, yes, this morning."
"Before I go home to dinner?"
"Yes, pefore dinner."
"Then, Packett, give me your hand. I will come down."
The dainty victress placed her little foot firmly on the uppermost rung;
and while Packett held the top, and the merchant the bottom, of the
ladder, the dream of muslin and ribbons descended to the floor.
Old Varnhagen gave a sigh of relief.
"You'll nefer do that again, Rachel?"
"I hope I shall never need to."
"You shouldn't upset your poor old father like that, Rachel."
"You shouldn't drive me to use such means to make you do your duty."
"My duty!"
"Yes, to give me that watch."
"Ah, the watch. I forgot it."
"I shall go now, and get it."
"Yes, my child, get it."
"I'll say you will pay at the end of the month."
"Yes, I will pay--perhaps at the end of the month, perhaps it will go
towards a contra account for watches I shall supply to Tresco. We shall
see."
"Good-bye, father."
"Good-bye, Rachel; but won't you gif your old father a kiss pefore you
go?"
The vision of muslin and ribbons laid her parasol upon an upturned
barrel, and came towards the portly Jew. Her soft dress was crumpled by
his fat hand, and her pretty head was nestled on his shoulder.
"Ah! my 'tear Rachel. Ah! my peautiful. You loaf your old father. My
liddle taughter, I gif you everything; and you loaf me very moch, eh?"
"Of course, I do. And won't it look well with a brand-new gold chain to
match?"
"Next time my child wants something, she won't climb on the wool-bales
and nearly kill herself?"
"Of course not. I shall wear it this afternoon when I go out calling."
"Now kiss me, and run away while I make some more money for my liddle
Rachel."
The saintly face raised itself, and looked with a smile into the face of
the old Jew; and then the bright red lips fixed themselves upon his
wrinkled cheek.
"You are a good girl; you are my own child; you shall have everything
you ask; you shall have all I've got to give."
"Good-bye, father. Thanks awfully much."
"Good-bye, Rachel."
The girl turned; the little heels tapped regularly on the floor; the
pigeon-like walk was resumed; and Rachel Varnhagen, watched by the
loving eyes of her father, passed into the street.
The gold-buying clerk at the Kangaroo Bank was an immaculately dressed
young man with a taste for jewelry. In his tie he wore a pearl, in a
gold setting shaped like a diminutive human hand; his watch-chain was
of gold, wrought in a wonderful and extravagant design. As he stepped
through the swinging, glazed doors of the Bank, and stood on the broad
step without, at the witching hour of twelve, he twirled his small black
moustache so as to display to advantage the sparkling diamond ring which
encircled the little finger of his left hand. His Semitic features wore
an expression of great self-satisfaction, and his knowing air betokened
intimate knowledge of the world and all that therein is. He nodded
familiarly to a couple of young men who passed by, and glanced with the
appreciative eye of a connoisseur at the shop-girls who were walking
briskly to their dinners.
Loitering across the pavement he stood upon the curbing, and looked
wistfully up and down the street. Presently there hove in sight a figure
that riveted his attention: it was Rachel Varnhagen, with muslins
blowing in the breeze and ribbons which streamed behind, approaching
like a ship in full sail.
The gold-clerk crossed over the street to meet her, and raised his hat.
"You're in an awful hurry. Where bound, Rachel?"
"If _your_ old Dad told _you_ to go and buy a gold watch and chain,
_you'd_ be in a hurry, lest he might change his mind."
"My soul hankers after something dearer than watches and chains. If your
Dad would give me leave, I'd annex his most precious jewel before he
could say, 'Knife!' He'd never get a chance to change his mind. But he
always says, 'My boy, you wait till you're a manager, and can give me a
big overdraft.' At that rate we shall have to wait till Doomsday."
"The watch is at Tresco's. Come along: help me turn the shop upside down
to find the dandiest."
"How d'you manage to get round the Governor, Rachel? I'd like to know
the dodge."
"He wouldn't mind if _you_ fell off a stack of bales and broke your
neck. He'd say, 'Thank God! that solves that liddle difficulty.'"
"Wool bales? Has wool gone up? I don't understand."
"Of course you don't, stupid. If you were on the top of a pile of
swaying bales, old Podge would say, 'Packett, take away the ladder: that
nice young man must stay there. It's better for him to die than marry
Rachel--she'd drive him mad with bills in a month.'"
"Oh, that wouldn't trouble me--I'd draw on _him_."
"Oh, would you?" Rachel laughed sceptically. "You don't know the Gov. if
you think that. You couldn't bluff him into paying a shilling. But _I_
manage him all right. _I_ can get what I want, from a trip to Sydney to
a gold watch, dear boy."
"Then why don't you squeeze a honeymoon out of him?--that would be
something new, Rachel."
She actually paused in her haste.
"Wouldn't it be splendid!" she exclaimed, putting her parasol well back
behind her head, so that the glow of its crimson silk formed a telling
background to her face. "Wouldn't it be gorgeous? But as soon as I'm
married he will say, 'No, Rachel, my dear child, your poor old father is
supplanted--your husband now has the sole privilege of satisfying your
expensive tastes. Depend on him for everything you want.' What a
magnificent time I should have on your twelve notes a month!"
The spruce bank-clerk was subdued in a moment, in the twinkling of one
of Rachel's beautiful black eyes--his matrimonial intentions had been
rudely reduced to a basis of pounds, shillings and pence.
But just at this embarrassing point of the conversation they turned into
Tresco's doorway, and confronted the rubicund goldsmith, whose beaming
smile seemed to fill the whole shop.
"I saw an awf'ly jolly watch in your window," said Rachel.
"Probably. Nothing more likely, Miss Varnhagen," replied Benjamin. "Gold
or silver?"
"Gold, of course! Let me see what you've got."
"Why, certainly." Tresco took gold watches from the window, from the
glass case on the counter, from the glass cupboard that stood against
the wall, from the depths of the great iron safe, from everywhere,
and placed them in front of the pretty Jewess. Then he glanced with
self-approval at the bank-clerk, and said: "I guarantee them to keep
perfect time. And, after all, there's nothing like a good watch--a young
lady cannot keep her appointments, or a young man be on time, without a
watch. Most important: no one should be without it."
Rachel was examining the chronometers, one by one; opening and shutting
their cases, examining their dials, peering into their mysterious works.
She had taken off her gloves, and her pretty hands, ornamented with
dainty rings, were displayed in all their shapeliness and delicacy.
"What's the price?" she asked.
"Prices to suit all buyers," said Tresco. "They go from ten pounds
upwards. This is the one I recommend--it carries a guarantee for
five years--jewelled throughout, in good, strong case--duplex
escapement--compensation balance. Price L25." He held up a gold
chronometer in a case which was flat and square, with rounded corners,
and engraved elaborately--a watch which would catch the eye and induce
comment.
The jeweller had gauged the taste of his fair customer.
"Oh! the duck."
"The identical article, the ideal lady's watch," said Tresco,
unctuously.
"And now the chain," said Rachel.
Benjamin took a dozen lady's watch-guards from a blue velvet pad, and
handed them to the girl.
The gold clerk of the Kangaroo Bank stood by, and watched, as Rachel
held the dainty chains, one by one, across her bust.
"Quite right, sir, quite right," remarked the goldsmith. "When a
gentleman makes a present to a lady, let him do the thing handsome.
Them's my sentiments."
The girl looked at Tresco, and laughed.
"This is to be booked to my father," she said. "There, that's the one I
like best." She held out an elaborate chain, with a round bauble hanging
from it. "If you had to depend on Mr. Zahn, here, you'd have to wait
till the cows came home."
Benjamin was wrapping up the watch in a quantity of tissue paper.
"No, no. I'll wear it," exclaimed Rachel. One dainty hand stretched
forward and took the watch, while the other held the chain. "There," she
said, as she handed the precious purchase to her sweetheart, "fix it
on."
She threw her head back, laid her hand lightly on the young man's arm,
and allowed him to tuck the watch into her bodice and fasten the chain
around her neck.
He lingered long over the process.
"Yes, I would," said the voice from behind the counter. "I most
certainly should give her one on the cheek, as a reward. Don't mind me;
I've done it myself when I was young, before I lost my looks."
The young man stepped back, and Rachel, after the manner of a pouter
pigeon, nestled her chin on her breast, in her endeavour to see how the
watch looked in wearing. Then she tapped the floor with the toe of her
shoe indignantly, and said, looking straight at the goldsmith: "You lost
your looks? What a find they must have been for the man who picked them
up. If I were you, I'd advertise for them, and offer a handsome a
reward--they must be valuable."
"Most certainly, they were," replied Benjamin, his smile spreading
across his broad countenance, "they were the talk of all my lady friends
and the envy of my rivals."
"I expect it was the rivals that spoilt them. But don't cry over spilt
milk, old gentleman."
"Certainly not, most decidedly not--there are compensations. The price
of the watch and chain is L33."
"Never mind the price. _I_ don't want to know the price--that'll
interest my Dad. Send the account to him, and make yourself happy."
And, touching her sweetheart's arm as a signal for departure, the
dazzling vision of muslins and ribbons vanished from the shop.