Silas Bowen hated his brother John, but when he heard of John's
sickness, he reasoned: "Blackish has been his dealings. And trickish.
Sly also. Odd will affairs seem if I don't go to him at once."
At the proper hour he closed the door of his shop. Then he washed his
face, and put beeswax on the dwindling points of his mustache, and he
came out of Barnes into Thornton East; into High Road, where is his
brother's shop.
"That is you," said John to him.
"How was you, man?" Silas asked. "Talk the name of the old malady."
"Say what you have to say in English," John answered in a little voice.
"It is easier and classier."
That which was spoken was rendered into English; and John replied: "I am
pleazed to see you. Take the bowler off your head and don't put her on
the harimonium. The zweat will mark the wood."
"The love of brothers push me here," said Silas. "It is past
understanding. As boyss we learn the same pray-yer. And we talked the
same temperance dialogue in Capel Zion. I was always the temperance one.
And quite a champion reziter. The way is round and about, boy bach, from
Zion to the grave."
"Don't speak like that," pleaded John. "I caught a cold going to the
City to get ztok. I will be healthy by the beginning of the week."
"Be it so. Yet I am full of your trouble. Sick you are and how's trade?"
"Very brisk. I am opening a shop in Richmond again," John said.
"You're learning me something. Don't you think too much of that shop;
Death is near and set your mind on the crossing."
John's lame daughter Ann halted into the room, and stepped up to the
bed.
"Stand by the door for one minit, Silas," John cried. "I am having my
chat confidential."
From a book Ann recited the business of that day; naming each article
that had been sold, and the cost and the profit thereof.
"How's that with last year?" her father commanded.
"Two-fifteen below."
"Fool!" John whispered. "You are a cow, with your gamey leg. You're
ruining the place."
Ann closed the book and put her fountain pen in the leather case which
was pinned to her blouse, and she spoke this greeting: "How are you,
Nuncle Silas. It's long since I've seen you." She thrust out her arched
teeth in a smile. "Good-night, now. You must call and see our Richmond
establishment."
"Silas," said John, "empty a dose of the medecyne in a cup for me."
"There's little comfort in medecyne," Silas observed. "Not much use is
the stuff if the Lord is calling you home. Calling you home. Shall I
read you a piece from the Beybile of the Welsh? It is a great pity you
have forgot the language of your mother."
"I did not hear you," said John. "Don't you trouble to say it over." He
drank the medicine. "Unfortunate was the row about the Mermaid Agency. I
was sorry to take it away from you, but if I hadn't some one else would.
We kept it in the family, Silas."
"I have prayed a lot," said Silas to his brother, "that me and you are
brought together before the day of the death. Nothing can break us from
being brothers."
"You are very doleful. I shall shift this little cold."
"Yes-yes, you will. I would be glad to follow your coffin to Wales and
look into the guard's van at stations where the train stop, but the
fare is big and the shop is without a assistant. Weep until I am sore
all over I shall in Capel Shirland Road. When did the doctor give you
up?"
"He's a donkey. He doesn't know nothing. Here he is once per day and
charging for it. And he only brings his repairs to me."
"The largest charge will be to take you to your blessed home," said
Silas. "The railway need a lot of money for to carry a corpse. I feel
quite sorrowful. In Heaven you'll remember that I was at your deathbed."
John did not answer.
"Well-well," said Silas, whispering loudly, "making his peace with the
Big Man he is"; and he went away, moaning a funereal hymn tune.
John thought over his plight and was distressed, and he spoke to God in
Welsh: "Not fitting that you leave the daughter fach alone. Short in
her leg you made her. There's a set-back. Her mother perished; and did I
complain? An orphan will the pitiful wench be. Who will care for the
shop? And the repairing workman? Steal the leather he will. A fuss will
be about shop Richmond. Paid have I the rent for one year in advance.
Serious will the loss be. Be not of two thinks. Send Lisha to breathe
breathings into my inside--in the belly where the heart is. Forgive me
that I go to the Capel English. Go there I do for the trade. Generous am
I in the collections. Ask the preacher. Take some one else to sit in my
chair in the Palace. Amen. Amen and amen." In his misery he sobbed, and
he would not speak to Ann nor heed her questionings. At the cold of dawn
he thought that Death was creeping down to him, and he screamed: "Allow
me to live for a year--two years--and a grand communion set will I give
to the Welsh capel in Shirland Road. Individual cups. Silver-plated,
Sheffield make. Ann shall send quickly for the price-list."
His fear was such that he would not suffer his beard to be combed, nor
have his face covered by a bedsheet; and he would not stretch himself or
turn his face upwards: in such a manner dead men lie.
Again came Silas to provoke his brother to his death.
"Richmond shops are letting like anything," he said.
"The place is coming on," replied John. "I was lucky to get one in
King's Row. She is cheap too."
"What are you talking about? There's a new boot shop in King's Row
already. Next door to the jeweler."
"You are mistook. I have taken her."
"Well, then, you are cheated. Get up at once and make a case. Wear an
overcoat and ride in the bus."
But John bade Ann go to Richmond and to say this and that to the owner
of the house. Ann went and the house was empty.
A third time Silas came out of Barnes, bringing with him gifts. These
are the gifts that he offered his brother John: a tin of lobster, a tin
of sardines, a tin of salmon, and a tin of herrings; and through each
tin, in an unlikely place, he had driven the point of a gimlet.
"Eat these," he said, "and good they will do you."
"Much obliged," replied John. "I'll try a herring with bread and butter
and vinegar to supper. Very much obliged. It was not my blame that we
quarreled. Others had his eye on the agency."
"Tish, I did not want the old Mermaid. You keep her. I got the sole
agency for the Gwendoline."
"How is Gwendolines going?"
"More than I can do to keep ztok of her. Four dozen gents' laces and
three dozen ladies' ditto on the twenty-fifth, and soon I order another
four dozen ladies' buttons."