Chapter II. Aunt Glegg Learns the Breadth of Bob's Thumb
Part II.
“Don’t you be uneasy, mum,” said Bob, touching his cap. He saw at once that Mrs Glegg was a bit of game worth running down, and longed to be at the sport; “we’ll stay out upo’ the gravel here,—Mumps and me will. Mumps knows his company,—he does. I might hish at him by th’ hour together, before he’d fly at a real gentlewoman like you. It’s wonderful how he knows which is the good-looking ladies; and’s partic’lar fond of ’em when they’ve good shapes. Lors!” added Bob, laying down his pack on the gravel, “it’s a thousand pities such a lady as you shouldn’t deal with a packman, i’ stead o’ goin’ into these newfangled shops, where there’s half-a-dozen fine gents wi’ their chins propped up wi’ a stiff stock, a-looking like bottles wi’ ornamental stoppers, an’ all got to get their dinner out of a bit o’ calico; it stan’s to reason you must pay three times the price you pay a packman, as is the nat’ral way o’ gettin’ goods,—an’ pays no rent, an’ isn’t forced to throttle himself till the lies are squeezed out on him, whether he will or no. But lors! mum, you know what it is better nor I do,—you can see through them shopmen, I’ll be bound.”
“Yes, I reckon I can, and through the packmen too,” observed Mrs Glegg, intending to imply that Bob’s flattery had produced no effect on her; while her husband, standing behind her with his hands in his pockets and legs apart, winked and smiled with conjugal delight at the probability of his wife’s being circumvented.
“Ay, to be sure, mum,” said Bob. “Why, you must ha’ dealt wi’ no end o’ packmen when you war a young lass—before the master here had the luck to set eyes on you. I know where you lived, I do,—seen th’ house many a time,—close upon Squire Darleigh’s,—a stone house wi’ steps——”
“Ah, that it had,” said Mrs Glegg, pouring out the tea. “You know something o’ my family, then? Are you akin to that packman with a squint in his eye, as used to bring th’ Irish linen?”
“Look you there now!” said Bob, evasively. “Didn’t I know as you’d remember the best bargains you’ve made in your life was made wi’ packmen? Why, you see even a squintin’ packman’s better nor a shopman as can see straight. Lors! if I’d had the luck to call at the stone house wi’ my pack, as lies here,” —stooping and thumping the bundle emphatically with his fist,— “an’ th’ handsome young lasses all stannin’ out on the stone steps, it ud’ ha’ been summat like openin’ a pack, that would. It’s on’y the poor houses now as a packman calls on, if it isn’t for the sake o’ the sarvant-maids. They’re paltry times, these are. Why, mum, look at the printed cottons now, an’ what they was when you wore ’em,—why, you wouldn’t put such a thing on now, I can see. It must be first-rate quality, the manifactur as you’d buy,—summat as ’ud wear as well as your own faitures.”
“Yes, better quality nor any you’re like to carry; you’ve got nothing first-rate but brazenness, I’ll be bound,” said Mrs Glegg, with a triumphant sense of her insurmountable sagacity. “Mr Glegg, are you going ever to sit down to your tea? Tom, there’s a cup for you.”
“You speak true there, mum,” said Bob. “My pack isn’t for ladies like you. The time’s gone by for that. Bargains picked up dirt cheap! A bit o’ damage here an’ there, as can be cut out, or else niver seen i’ the wearin’, but not fit to offer to rich folks as can pay for the look o’ things as nobody sees. I’m not the man as ’ud offer t’ open my pack to you, mum; no, no; I’m a imperent chap, as you say,—these times makes folks imperent,—but I’m not up to the mark o’ that.”
“Why, what goods do you carry in your pack?” said Mrs Glegg. “Fine-coloured things, I suppose,—shawls an’ that?”
“All sorts, mum, all sorts,” said Bob,—thumping his bundle; “but let us say no more about that, if you please. I’m here upo’ Mr Tom’s business, an’ I’m not the man to take up the time wi’ my own.”
“And pray, what is this business as is to be kept from me?” said Mrs Glegg, who, solicited by a double curiosity, was obliged to let the one-half wait.
“A little plan o’ nephey Tom’s here,” said good-natured Mr Glegg; “and not altogether a bad ’un, I think. A little plan for making money; that’s the right sort o’ plan for young folks as have got their fortin to make, eh, Jane?”
“But I hope it isn’t a plan where he expects iverything to be done for him by his friends; that’s what the young folks think of mostly nowadays. And pray, what has this packman got to do wi’ what goes on in our family? Can’t you speak for yourself, Tom, and let your aunt know things, as a nephey should?”
“This is Bob Jakin, aunt,” said Tom, bridling the irritation that aunt Glegg’s voice always produced. “I’ve known him ever since we were little boys. He’s a very good fellow, and always ready to do me a kindness. And he has had some experience in sending goods out,—a small part of a cargo as a private speculation; and he thinks if I could begin to do a little in the same way, I might make some money. A large interest is got in that way.”
“Large int’rest?” said aunt Glegg, with eagerness; “and what do you call large int’rest?”
“Ten or twelve per cent, Bob says, after expenses are paid.”
“Then why wasn’t I let to know o’ such things before, Mr Glegg?” said Mrs Glegg, turning to her husband, with a deep grating tone of reproach. “Haven’t you allays told me as there was no getting more nor five per cent?”
“Pooh, pooh, nonsense, my good woman,” said Mr Glegg. “You couldn’t go into trade, could you? You can’t get more than five per cent with security.”
“But I can turn a bit o’ money for you, an’ welcome, mum,” said Bob, “if you’d like to risk it,—not as there’s any risk to speak on. But if you’d a mind to lend a bit o’ money to Mr Tom, he’d pay you six or seven per zent, an’ get a trifle for himself as well; an’ a good-natur’d lady like you ’ud like the feel o’ the money better if your nephey took part on it.”
“What do you say, Mrs G.?” said Mr Glegg. “I’ve a notion, when I’ve made a bit more inquiry, as I shall perhaps start Tom here with a bit of a nest-egg,—he’ll pay me int’rest, you know,—an’ if you’ve got some little sums lyin’ idle twisted up in a stockin’ toe, or that——”
“Mr Glegg, it’s beyond iverything! You’ll go and give information to the tramps next, as they may come and rob me.”
“Well, well, as I was sayin’, if you like to join me wi’ twenty pounds, you can—I’ll make it fifty. That’ll be a pretty good nest-egg, eh, Tom?”
“You’re not counting on me, Mr Glegg, I hope,” said his wife. “You could do fine things wi’ my money, I don’t doubt.”
“Very well,” said Mr Glegg, rather snappishly, “then we’ll do without you. I shall go with you to see this Salt,” he added, turning to Bob.
“And now, I suppose, you’ll go all the other way, Mr Glegg,” said Mrs G., “and want to shut me out o’ my own nephey’s business. I never said I wouldn’t put money into it,—I don’t say as it shall be twenty pounds, though you’re so ready to say it for me,—but he’ll see some day as his aunt’s in the right not to risk the money she’s saved for him till it’s proved as it won’t be lost.”
“Ay, that’s a pleasant sort o’risk, that is,” said Mr Glegg, indiscreetly winking at Tom, who couldn’t avoid smiling. But Bob stemmed the injured lady’s outburst.
“Ay, mum,” he said admiringly, “you know what’s what—you do. An’ it’s nothing but fair. You see how the first bit of a job answers, an’ then you’ll come down handsome. Lors, it’s a fine thing to hev good kin. I got my bit of a nest-egg, as the master calls it, all by my own sharpness,—ten suvreigns it was,—wi’ dousing the fire at Torry’s mill, an’ it’s growed an’ growed by a bit an’ a bit, till I’n got a matter o’ thirty pound to lay out, besides makin’ my mother comfor’ble. I should get more, on’y I’m such a soft wi’ the women,—I can’t help lettin’ ’em hev such good bargains. There’s this bundle, now,” thumping it lustily, “any other chap ’ud make a pretty penny out on it. But me!—lors, I shall sell ’em for pretty near what I paid for ’em.”
“Have you got a bit of good net, now?” said Mrs Glegg, in a patronizing tone, moving from the tea-table, and folding her napkin.
“Eh, mum, not what you’d think it worth your while to look at. I’d scorn to show it you. It ’ud be an insult to you.”
“But let me see,” said Mrs Glegg, still patronizing. “If they’re damaged goods, they’re like enough to be a bit the better quality.”
“No, mum, I know my place,” said Bob, lifting up his pack and shouldering it. “I’m not going t’ expose the lowness o’ my trade to a lady like you. Packs is come down i’ the world; it ’ud cut you to th’ heart to see the difference. I’m at your sarvice, sir, when you’ve a mind to go and see Salt.”
“All in good time,” said Mr Glegg, really unwilling to cut short the dialogue. “Are you wanted at the wharf, Tom?”
“No, sir; I left Stowe in my place.”
“Come, put down your pack, and let me see,” said Mrs Glegg, drawing a chair to the window and seating herself with much dignity.
“Don’t you ask it, mum,” said Bob, entreatingly.
“Make no more words,” said Mrs Glegg, severely, “but do as I tell you.”
“Eh mum, I’m loth, that I am,” said Bob, slowly depositing his pack on the step, and beginning to untie it with unwilling fingers. “But what you order shall be done” (much fumbling in pauses between the sentences). “It’s not as you’ll buy a single thing on me,—I’d be sorry for you to do it,—for think o’ them poor women up i’ the villages there, as niver stir a hundred yards from home,—it ’ud be a pity for anybody to buy up their bargains. Lors, it’s as good as a junketing to ’em when they see me wi’ my pack, an’ I shall niver pick up such bargains for ’em again. Least ways, I’ve no time now, for I’m off to Laceham. See here now,” Bob went on, becoming rapid again, and holding up a scarlet woollen Kerchief with an embroidered wreath in the corner; “here’s a thing to make a lass’s mouth water, an’ on’y two shillin’—an’ why? Why, ’cause there’s a bit of a moth-hole ’i this plain end. Lors, I think the moths an’ the mildew was sent by Providence o’ purpose to cheapen the goods a bit for the good-lookin’ women as han’t got much money. If it hadn’t been for the moths, now, every hankicher on ’em ’ud ha’ gone to the rich, handsome ladies, like you, mum, at five shillin’ apiece,—not a farthin’ less; but what does the moth do? Why, it nibbles off three shillin’ o’ the price i’ no time; an’ then a packman like me can carry ’t to the poor lasses as live under the dark thack, to make a bit of a blaze for ’em. Lors, it’s as good as a fire, to look at such a hankicher!”
Bob held it at a distance for admiration, but Mrs Glegg said sharply:
“Yes, but nobody wants a fire this time o’ year. Put these coloured things by; let me look at your nets, if you’ve got ’em.”
“Eh, mum, I told you how it ’ud be,” said Bob, flinging aside the coloured things with an air of desperation. “I knowed it ud’ turn again’ you to look at such paltry articles as I carry. Here’s a piece o’ figured muslin now, what’s the use o’ you lookin’ at it? You might as well look at poor folks’s victual, mum; it ’ud on’y take away your appetite. There’s a yard i’ the middle on’t as the pattern’s all missed,—lors, why, it’s a muslin as the Princess Victoree might ha’ wore; but,” added Bob, flinging it behind him on to the turf, as if to save Mrs Glegg’s eyes, “it’ll be bought up by the huckster’s wife at Fibb’s End,—that’s where it’ll go—ten shillin’ for the whole lot—ten yards, countin’ the damaged un—five-an’-twenty shillin’ ’ud ha’ been the price, not a penny less. But I’ll say no more, mum; it’s nothing to you, a piece o’ muslin like that; you can afford to pay three times the money for a thing as isn’t half so good. It’s nets you talked on; well, I’ve got a piece as ’ull serve you to make fun on——”
“Bring me that muslin,” said Mrs Glegg. “It’s a buff; I’m partial to buff.”
“Eh, but a damaged thing,” said Bob, in a tone of deprecating disgust. “You’d do nothing with it, mum, you’d give it to the cook, I know you would, an’ it ’ud be a pity,—she’d look too much like a lady in it; it’s unbecoming for servants.”
“Fetch it, and let me see you measure it,” said Mrs Glegg, authoritatively.
Bob obeyed with ostentatious reluctance.
“See what there is over measure!” he said, holding forth the extra half-yard, while Mrs Glegg was busy examining the damaged yard, and throwing her head back to see how far the fault would be lost on a distant view.
“I’ll give you six shilling for it,” she said, throwing it down with the air of a person who mentions an ultimatum.
“Didn’t I tell you now, mum, as it ’ud hurt your feelings to look at my pack? That damaged bit’s turned your stomach now; I see it has,” said Bob, wrapping the muslin up with the utmost quickness, and apparently about to fasten up his pack. “You’re used to seein’ a different sort o’ article carried by packmen, when you lived at the stone house. Packs is come down i’ the world; I told you that; my goods are for common folks. Mrs Pepper ’ull give me ten shillin’ for that muslin, an’ be sorry as I didn’t ask her more. Such articles answer i’ the wearin’,—they keep their colour till the threads melt away i’ the wash-tub, an’ that won’t be while I’m a young un.”
“Well, seven shilling,” said Mrs Glegg.
“Put it out o’ your mind, mum, now do,” said Bob. “Here’s a bit o’ net, then, for you to look at before I tie up my pack, just for you to see what my trade’s come to,—spotted and sprigged, you see, beautiful but yallow,—’s been lyin’ by an’ got the wrong colour. I could niver ha’ bought such net, if it hadn’t been yallow. Lors, it’s took me a deal o’ study to know the vally o’ such articles; when I begun to carry a pack, I was as ignirant as a pig; net or calico was all the same to me. I thought them things the most vally as was the thickest. I was took in dreadful, for I’m a straightforrard chap,—up to no tricks, mum. I can only say my nose is my own, for if I went beyond, I should lose myself pretty quick. An’ I gev five-an’-eightpence for that piece o’ net,—if I was to tell y’ anything else I should be tellin’ you fibs,—an’ five-an’-eightpence I shall ask of it, not a penny more, for it’s a woman’s article, an’ I like to ’commodate the women. Five-an’-eightpence for six yards,—as cheap as if it was only the dirt on it as was paid for.’”
“I don’t mind having three yards of it,’” said Mrs Glegg.
“Why, there’s but six altogether,” said Bob. “No, mum, it isn’t worth your while; you can go to the shop to-morrow an’ get the same pattern ready whitened. It’s on’y three times the money; what’s that to a lady like you?” He gave an emphatic tie to his bundle.
“Come, lay me out that muslin,” said Mrs Glegg. “Here’s eight shilling for it.”
“You will be jokin’,” said Bob, looking up with a laughing face; “I see’d you was a pleasant lady when I fust come to the winder.”
“Well, put it me out,” said Mrs Glegg, peremptorily.
“But if I let you have it for ten shillin’, mum, you’ll be so good as not tell nobody. I should be a laughin’-stock; the trade ’ud hoot me, if they knowed it. I’m obliged to make believe as I ask more nor I do for my goods, else they’d find out I was a flat. I’m glad you don’t insist upo’ buyin’ the net, for then I should ha’ lost my two best bargains for Mrs Pepper o’ Fibb’s End, an’ she’s a rare customer.”
“Let me look at the net again,” said Mrs Glegg, yearning after the cheap spots and sprigs, now they were vanishing.
“Well, I can’t deny you, mum,” said Bob handing it out.
“Eh!, see what a pattern now! Real Laceham goods. Now, this is the sort o’ article I’m recommendin’ Mr Tom to send out. Lors, it’s a fine thing for anybody as has got a bit o’ money; these Laceham goods ’ud make it breed like maggits. If I was a lady wi’ a bit o’ money!—why, I know one as put thirty pounds into them goods,—a lady wi’ a cork leg, but as sharp,—you wouldn’t catch her runnin’ her head into a sack; she’d see her way clear out o’ anything afore she’d be in a hurry to start. Well, she let out thirty pound to a young man in the drapering line, and he laid it out i’ Laceham goods, an’ a shupercargo o’ my acquinetance (not Salt) took ’em out, an’ she got her eight per zent fust go off; an’ now you can’t hold her but she must be sendin’ out carguies wi’ every ship, till she’s gettin’ as rich as a Jew. Bucks her name is, she doesn’t live i’ this town. Now then, mum, if you’ll please to give me the net——”
“Here’s fifteen shilling, then, for the two,” said Mrs Glegg. “But it’s a shameful price.”
“Nay, mum, you’ll niver say that when you’re upo’ your knees i’ church i’ five years’ time. I’m makin’ you a present o’ th’ articles; I am, indeed. That eightpence shaves off my profits as clean as a razor. Now then, sir,” continued Bob, shouldering his pack, “if you please, I’ll be glad to go and see about makin’ Mr Tom’s fortin. Eh, I wish I’d got another twenty pound to lay out mysen; I shouldn’t stay to say my Catechism afore I knowed what to do wi’t.”
“Stop a bit, Mr Glegg,” said the lady, as her husband took his hat, “you never will give me the chance o’ speaking. You’ll go away now, and finish everything about this business, and come back and tell me it’s too late for me to speak. As if I wasn’t my nephey’s own aunt, and the head o’ the family on his mother’s side! and laid by guineas, all full weight, for him, as he’ll know who to respect when I’m laid in my coffin.”
“Well, Mrs G., say what you mean,” said Mr G., hastily.
“Well, then, I desire as nothing may be done without my knowing. I don’t say as I sha’n’t venture twenty pounds, if you make out as everything’s right and safe. And if I do, Tom,” concluded Mrs Glegg, turning impressively to her nephew, “I hope you’ll allays bear it in mind and be grateful for such an aunt. I mean you to pay me interest, you know; I don’t approve o’ giving; we niver looked for that in my family.”
“Thank you, aunt,” said Tom, rather proudly. “I prefer having the money only lent to me.”
“Very well; that’s the Dodson sperrit,” said Mrs Glegg, rising to get her knitting with the sense that any further remark after this would be bathos.
Salt—that eminently “briny chap” —having been discovered in a cloud of tobacco-smoke at the Anchor Tavern, Mr Glegg commenced inquiries which turned out satisfactorily enough to warrant the advance of the “nest-egg,” to which aunt Glegg contributed twenty pounds; and in this modest beginning you see the ground of a fact which might otherwise surprise you; namely, Tom’s accumulation of a fund, unknown to his father, that promised in no very long time to meet the more tardy process of saving, and quite cover the deficit. When once his attention had been turned to this source of gain, Tom determined to make the most of it, and lost no opportunity of obtaining information and extending his small enterprises. In not telling his father, he was influenced by that strange mixture of opposite feelings which often gives equal truth to those who blame an action and those who admire it,—partly, it was that disinclination to confidence which is seen between near kindred, that family repulsion which spoils the most sacred relations of our lives; partly, it was the desire to surprise his father with a great joy. He did not see that it would have been better to soothe the interval with a new hope, and prevent the delirium of a too sudden elation.
At the time of Maggie’s first meeting with Philip, Tom had already nearly a hundred and fifty pounds of his own capital; and while they were walking by the evening light in the Red Deeps, he, by the same evening light, was riding into Laceham, proud of being on his first journey on behalf of Guest & Co., and revolving in his mind all the chances that by the end of another year he should have doubled his gains, lifted off the obloquy of debt from his father’s name, and perhaps—for he should be twenty-one—have got a new start for himself, on a higher platform of employment. Did he not desire it? He was quite sure that he did.