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Cradock Nowell Vol. 2

[172] <h2 class="p4">CHAPTER IX.</h2> The following day was Saturday, and the young fellow spent great part of it in learning the rules, the tables, and statistics of the coal trade, so far as they could be ascertained from a sixpenny work which he bought. Not satisfied with this, he went to the Geological Museum, in Jermyn–street, and pored over the specimens, and laid in a stock of carbonic knowledge that would have astonished Clinkers and Jenny. When the building was closed at four oʼclock he hurried back to Mortimer–street, paid Mrs. Ducksacre for his weekʼs lodgings, and ran off to a pawnbrokerʼs to raise a little money. Without doing this, he would not be able to deposit the twenty guineas. Mr. Gillʼs shopman knew Cradock well, from his having been there frequently to redeem some trifling articles for the poor people of the court, and felt some good–will towards him for his kindness to the little customers. It increased the activity of his trade, for[173] most of the pledges were repledged or ever the week was out. And of course he got the money for issuing another duplicate. “Hope thereʼs nothing amiss, Mr. Newman,” said the pawnbrokerʼs assistant; “sorry to see you come here, sir, on your own account.” “Oh, you ought to congratulate me,” returned Cradock, with a knowing smile: “I am going to pay a premium, and enter into a good position upon advantageous terms; very advantageous, I may say, seeing how little I know of the coal trade.” “Take care, sir, take care, I beg of you. People run down our line of business, and call it coining tears, &c.; but you may take my word for it, there is a deal more roguery in the coal trade, or rather in the pretence of it, than ever there is in the broking way.” “There can be none in the present case, for the simple reason that I am not in any way committed to a partnership, neither am I to be at all dependent upon the profits.” And Cradock looked thankful for advice, but a deal too wise to want it. “Well, sir, I hope it may be all right; for I am sure you deserve it. But there is a man, not far from here, I think you took some things out for him, by the name of Zakey Jupp; a shrewdish sort of fellow, though a deal too fond of fighting. Heʼll be up to some of the coal tricks, I expect, heʼs about in the yards so much; and the whippers and heavers are good uns to talk. Donʼt you[174] think it beneath you, sir, to consult with Zakey Jupp, if you have the pleasure of his acquaintance.” “I am proud to say that I have at last,” replied Cradock, smiling grimly; “but he went on board the Industrious Maiden, at Nine Elms, yesterday morning, and may not be back for a month. He wanted me to go with him; but I did not see how to be useful, and had not given my landlady notice. Now, if you please, I have not a moment to spare.” The shopman saw that he could not, without being really impertinent, press his advice any further; and, although Cradock was so communicative, as young men are apt to be, especially about their successes, he never afforded much temptation to any one for impertinence. “And how much upon them little articles?” was the next question put to Cradock; and he did not ask any very high figure, for fear of not getting them out again. As he set off full speed for Aurea Themis Buildings, without inviting Wena, it struck him that it would be but common prudence just to look at the place of business; so he dashed aside out of Oxford–street, at the rate of ten miles an hour—for he was very light of foot—and made his way to Howard–crescent, whose position he had learned from the map. Sure enough there it was, when he got to the number indicated. And what a noble plate! So large, indeed, that it was[175] absolutely necessary to have it in two parts. What refulgent brass! What fine engraving, especially on the lower part! You might call it chalco–illumination, chromography, chromometallurgy; I do not know any word half grand enough to describe it. And the legend itself so simple, how could they have made so much of it? The upper plate, though beautifully bright, was comparatively plain, and only carried the words, “Wibraham, Fookes, and Co.;” the lower and far more elaborate part enabled the public to congratulate itself upon having the above as “Coal Merchants and Colliery Agents to Her Most Gracious Majesty and the Duchy of Lancaster. Hours of Business, from Ten till Four.” Cradock just took time to read this, by the light of the gas–lamp close to it; then glanced at the house (which looked clean and smart, though smaller than what he expected), and, feeling ashamed of his mean suspiciousness, darted away towards Notting Hill. When he arrived at Aurea Themis Buildings, he was kept waiting at the door so long that it made him quite uneasy, lest Hearty Wibraham should have forgotten all about his little deposit. At last the smart girl opened the door, and a short young man, whose dress more than whispered that he was not given to compromise his æsthetic views, came out with a bounce, and clapped a shilling in the hand of the smiling damsel. “There, Polly, get a peach–coloured cap–ribbon, and wear it in a true knot[176] for my sake. I fancy Iʼve done your governor. Heʼs a trifle green; isnʼt he?” But, in spite of his conversational powers, the handmaid dismissed him summarily, when she saw Cradock waiting there. The gas in the drawing–room was lit this time, and a good fire burning; and Mr. Wibraham, in spirits absolutely jocular, sprang forward to meet Cradock, and cried, “Hail, oh future partner!” Then he offered him a glass of “rare old Madeira;” and, producing a blank receipt form, exclaimed, “Whatever you do, my young friend, never let it be known in the counting–house that I accepted you with so ridiculous a deposit as the sum of thirty guineas.” “Twenty, sir, twenty was what you agreed to accept.” Poor Cradock trembled from head to foot, lest even now, at the last moment, he should be rejected. But, to his delight, his new principal replied, “Then, sir, twenty be it: if in a weak moment I agreed. Hearty Wibraham would rather throw up all his connexion than allow any man to say of him, sir, that he had departed from his word.” His voice trembled slightly, and there was a twinkle as of tears in his eyes. Crad began to apologize, though he could not quite see what harm he had done. “Dash it, my boy, not another word. We understand each other. There is your receipt.” In his confidence, Hearty Wibraham passed the[177] receipt form, now filled up, to the aspiring coal–merchant, without having seen so much as the colour of his money. Then Cradock pulled out Amyʼs purse, in which he had put the cash, for good luck, and paid his footing bravely. “Sir, I will not thank you,” said Mr. Wibraham, as he took the money, “because the act would not be genuine. And I am proudly able to declare that I have never yet done anything, even for the sake of the common courtesies of life, which has not been thoroughly genuine. My boy, this paltry twenty guineas is the opening of your mercantile life. May that life be prosperous; as I am sure you deserve.” Cradock took another glass of Madeira, as genuine as its owner, and, after a hearty farewell, felt so rapidly on the rise, so touched, for the first time of many weeks, by the dexter wand of fortune, that he bought a quarter of an ounce of birdʼs–eye with an infusion of “Latakia” (grown in the footpath field at Mitcham), and actually warmed his dear brotherʼs pipe, which had not once been incremated ever since the sacred fire of the Prytaneum had languished. Wena was overjoyed to see him, and she loved the smell of tobacco, and had often come sniffing about on the hearth–rug (or the bit of baize that did for it) to know whether it was true that a big man—a mastiff of a man, they told her—had succeeded in abolishing it; now, seeing the blue curls quivering nicely, she jumped upon his lap; and,[178] although she was rather heavy, he thought it would be practice towards the nursing of Amy, and possibly Amyʼs children. Then, when he thought of that, he grew more happy than fifty emperors. Fortune may jump on a young fellowʼs heart, with both heels set together; but, the moment she takes one off, up it comes, like a bladder too big to go into the football. On Monday morning at ten oʼclock, our Crad, in a state of large excitement, appeared before the gorgeous plate, and rang the bell thereover. It was answered by an office–boy, with a grin so intensely humorous that it was worth all the guineas that could have been thrust into the great mouth he exhibited. “Mr. Newman?” asked the boy, with a patronizing air, which a little mind would have found offensive. “To be sure,” replied Cradock; “I suppose I am expected.” “That you are,” said the cheeky boy, grinning harder than ever; “the other three gents is waiting, sir. Get you a penny paper for three half–pence.” “Thank you,” answered Cradock, hoping to depress that boy, “I am not come here, young man, I trust, to waste time in reading the papers.” “Oh no! oh lor no,” cried the boy as he led the way in; “tip–top business this is, and all of us wears out our marrow–bones. His Ro–oyal Highness will be here bumbye. ‘Spect theyʼll appoint[179] you to receive him, ‘cos you would look such a swell with our governorʼs best boots on. Donʼt you refoose now, mind me, donʼt refoose, mate, if you loves me.” “You want a little whipcord,” said Cradock; “and you shall have it too, my boy, if you come much into my neighbourhood.” “There now; there now!” sighed the boy—who would have been worth something on the stage—“I have never been appreciated, and suppose I never shall. Whatʼs the odds to a jinker? Cockalocks, there go in, and let me mind your beaver.” Cradock was shown into a room furnished as philosophically as the wash–house of Cincinnatus; still, it looked like business. There was no temptation to sit down, even though one had rowing–trousers on. There were four tall desks of deal uncovered; each had four legs, and resembled a naked Punch–and–Judy box. Hales, the Norfolk giant, could not have written at either of them, while sitting on any of the stools there. Three of these desks were appropriated by three very nice young gentlemen, all burning to begin their labours. Two of the men were unknown to Cradock; but the third, the very short one, who had taken a stool to stand upon, and was mending a pen most earnestly—him Cradock recognised at once as the disburser of the shilling, the sanguine youth, of broad views in apparel, who had cheated Mr. Wibraham so. “Mr. Fookes, I presume,” he exclaimed, with a[180] leap from the stool, and a little run towards Cradock; “you see we are all ready, sir, to receive the junior partner. Hardly know what to be up to.” “I am sure I cannot tell you,” answered Crad, with a smile; “I do not belong to the firm as yet, although I am promised a partnership at a date not very distant.” “So am I,” said the little man, staring; “indeed, I came up from Cambridge principally upon the strength of it.” “The deevil you did!” cried a tall, strapping fellow, crossing suddenly from his desk; “if yeʼll hearken me, my time comes first. The agrahment was signed for Candlemas, when the gloot of business allows it. And a Durham man knows what coals are.” “Agrayment, thin, is it?” exclaimed the fourth, a flourishing, red–haired Irishman; “do you think Iʼd a left me Oonivarsity, Thrinity College, Dooblin, wiʼout having it down all black and white? By the same token, itʼs meself as is foremost. Christmas is the time, me boys; and the farst dividend on St. Pathrickʼs Day, wakely sthipend in the intherim. Divil take me sowl, but none o’ ye shall git before Manus OʼToole.” “Gentlemen,” said Cradock, “donʼt let us be in a hurry. No doubt Mr. Fookes will be here presently, and then we can settle precedence. I see there is work set out for us; and I suppose we are not all strangers here.” “Canʼt answer for the other gentlemen,” returned[181] the little Cambridge man, “but I was never here before, except to see the place on Saturday.” “And thatʼs joost my own predeecament,” cried the tall man from Hatfield Hall. “Chop me up smarl,” said the Irishman, when they turned to him as their senior, “but the gintleman has the advantage o’ me. I niver was here at all, at all; and I hope I niver shall be.” The four young men gathered round a desk, and gazed sadly at one another. At this moment the office–boy, seeing the distance safe, for he had been watching through the keyhole, pushed his head in at the door, and shouted, “Hi! there, young coal–merchants, donʼt yer sell too much now! Telegram from the Exchange, gents; grimy is on the rise. But excoose me half an hour, gents; Her Majesty have commanded my presence, to put the ro–oyal harms on me. Ho–hoop! Iʼm after you, Molly. Donʼt be afraid of my splashing your legs, dear.” “Well,” said Cradock, as the rising young coal–merchants seemed to look to him for counsel, and stood in silent bewilderment—“it appears to me that there is something wrong. Let us hope that it is a mistake only; at any rate, let us stop, and see the matter out. I trust that none of you gentlemen have paid a premium, as I have.” “I am sure I donʼt know,” said the Cantab, “what the others have done; but I was allowed to enter the firm for the sum of eighty guineas, a great deal too little, considering all the advantages[182] offered—the proper sum being a hundred; but an abatement was made in my favour.” “Ahty guineas!” cried the Durham man; “why I was admeeted for saxty, because I had no more.” “Itʼs me blessed self, then, as bates you all,” shouted the son of Dublin; “shure and Iʼve made a clear sixty by it, for I hadnʼt no more than forty.” “And I,” replied Cradock, with a melancholy air, “was received for the trifling sum of twenty, on account of my being an Oxford man.” “Why, gentlemen,” said the little Cantab, “let us shake hands all round. We represent the four chief universities, only Scotland being omitted.” “Catch a Scotchman with salt, me frinds!” cried the red Hibernian, as they went through the ceremony. “By Jasers, but that infarnal old Jew would have had to pay the porridge–man, for the pleasure of his company.” “Now let us fall to our work, gentlemen” (Crad tried to look hopeful as he said it); “the books before us may throw some light upon this strange, and, as it seems, very roguish matter. I was told to act for our principal, during the absence of the sleeping partner; to keep you all in your places, and make you stick to your work; and especially to remember that one ounce of practice is worth a pound of precept.” “I should be most happy, sir, to obey orders,” said the little Cambridge man, bowing;[183] “only I hold the identical commission, ounce of practice and all, for your benefit, my good sir, and that of all the other juniors.” “Now that shows a want of vareaty,” cried the tall Dunelmian, “for the sole charge of all of ye is commeeted to me.” “Itʼs me blessed self that got it last, and that manes to kape it. What time wur you there, gintlemen, at Ory Thamis Buildings?” It was settled that the Irishman had received his commission last, for, some whisky having been produced, he and Hearty Wibraham had kept it up until twelve oʼclock on the Saturday night. So, to his intense delight, he was now appointed captain. “An’ if I donʼt drag him from his hole, to pay him the sixty guineas I owe him, out of your money, gintlemen, say my name isnʼt Manus OʼToole. Now the fust arder I give, is to have in the bhoy, and wallop him.” Easier said than done, Mr. Toole. There was no boy to be found anywhere; and the only result of a strong demonstration in the passage was a curt note from the landlord. “Gentlemen,—I understood as I had lett my rooms to a respectable party, rent payable weakly, and weak is up this day. Will take it a favuor to reseeve two pound ten per bearer. “John Codger.” The four university men looked wondrously[184] blank at this—“gelidusque per ima cucurrit ossa tremor.” “Well, I am blowed!” cried the little Cantab, getting smaller, and with the sky–blue stripes on his trousers quivering. “Thereʼs a cousin of mine, a soleecitor,” said the young north countryman, “would take up this case for us, if we made a joint deposeet.” “Have down the landlord and fight him,” proposed the Emerald Islander. “I donʼt care a fig for the landlord,” said Cradock, who now recalled some shavings of law from the Quarter Sessions spokeshave; “he can do nothing at all to us, until twelve oʼclock, and then he can send us about our business, and no more harm done. We were not parties to the original contract, and have nothing to do with the rent. Now, gentlemen, there is only one thing I would ask you, in return for my lucid legal opinion.” “What is that?” cried all the rest; “whatever it is, you shall have it.” “That you make over to me, vivâ voce, your three–fourths of the brass–plate. I have taken a strange fancy to it; the engraving is so fine.” “You are perfectly welcome to it,” exclaimed the other three; “but wonʼt it belong to the landlord?” “Not if it is merely screwed on, as probably is the case. And I have a screw–driver in my knife, which very few screws can resist[185].” “Then go and take it, by all means, before twelve oʼclock, for afterwards we shall only be trespassers.” Crad put his hat on and went out, but returned with the wonderful screw–driver snapped up into his knife–handle, and the first flush of real British anger yet seen upon his countenance. What wonderful beings we are! He had lost nearly all his substance, and he was vexed most about the brass–plate. “Done at every point,” he said; “that glorious under–plate is gone, and only the narrow bar left with the name of the thief upon it, which of course would not suit him again.” “Oysters all round!” cried the Cambridge man, “as the landlord cannot distrain us. An oyster is a legal esculent; I see they teach law at Oxford; let us at least die jolly. And I claim the privilege of standing oysters, because I have paid the highest premium, and am the most promising partner—at any rate, the softest fellow. Gentlemen, if you refuse me, I claim our captainʼs decision. Captain OʼToole, how is it?” “Arrah, thin, and I order eysters at this gintlemanʼs expinse, London stout for the waker stomiks, and a drop o’ poteen for digestion, to them as are wakest of all.” “Done,” said the little Cantab, “if only to rile the landlord, and he may distrain the shells. Call four university men, by implication, unrespectable[186] parties! We must have our action against him. Gentlemen. I am off for the grub, and see that I get in again.” “Faix, then, my honey,” cried the Irishman, forgetting all university language, “and, if ye donʼt, ‘twill be a quare job for the bones on the knuckles of Manus OʼToole.” While all four were enjoying their oysters—for Cradock, being a good–natured fellow, did not withhold his assistance—a sharp rap–rap announced the postman, and Mr. OʼToole returned from the door with a large square letter, sealed with the coat of arms of the company. “Ship–letther, and eightpence to pay, begorra. Gintlemen, will we take it?” “How is it addressed?” asked two or three. “Most gintaal. ‘To the sanior clerk or junior partner of the firm of Wibraham, Fookes, and Co., Coal Merchants,’ and thatʼs meself, if itʼs nobody.” “Then itʼs you to pey the eightpence,” cried the Durham man. “Do yer think, then, itʼs me who canʼt do it?” answered Mr. OʼToole, angrily. And then he broke open the letter and read: “P. & O. steamer Will o’ the Wisp, off the Start Point.—Sunday. <div class="pbq"> “Respected and beloved Partners,—His Royal Highness the Pasha of Egypt, having resolved[187] to light with gas the interior of the Pyramids, also to provide hot–water bottles for the comfort of his household–brigade, principally female, and to erect extensive gas–cooking premises, where hot crocodile may always be had, has entrusted me with the whole arrangements, and the entire supply of coal, with no restriction except that the Nile shall not be set on fire. “Interested as you are in the success of our noble firm, you will thank, instead of blaming me, for an apparently unceremonious departure. By an extraordinary coincidence, Mr. Fookes has also been summoned peremptorily to Constantinople, to contract with the Sultan for warming the sacks of the ladies who are, from time to time, deposited in the Bosporus. “Therefore, gentlemen, the entire interest of the London branch is left in your experienced hands. Be steady, I entreat you; be diligent, be methodical. Above all things, remember that rigid probity, and the strictest punctuality in meeting payments, are the very soul of business, and that an ounce of practice is worth a pound of precept. But I have the purest confidence in you. I need not appeal to the honour of four university men. From my childhood upward, I have admired those admirable institutions, and the knowledge of life imparted by them. ‘Quid leges sine moribus?’ Excuse me; it is all the Latin I know. “There is a raw Irishman among you, rather of the physical order; if he is violent, expel him.[188] Every gentleman will be entitled to his own deal desk, upon discharge of the bill, which he will find made out in his name, in the drawer thereof. And now farewell. I have been prolix in the endeavour to be precise. “There are no funds in hand for the London branch, but our credit is unbounded. Push our united interests, for I trust you to the last farthing. I hope to find you with coffers full, and commercial honour untainted, on the 31st of February prox. “Believe me, Gentlemen, ever your affectionate partner, </div> “Hearty Wibraham, D.C.L. “P.S.—If none of my partners know the way to enter an order, the office–boy will instruct the manager of the firm.—H. W.” “Consummate scoundrel!” exclaimed the little Cantab, with the beard of an oyster in his throat. “Detasteable heepocrite!” cried the representative of Durham. “Raw Irishman! Oh then the powers! And the punch of the head I never giv’ him, a week will be next Saturday.” Mr. OʼToole danced round the room, caught up the desks like dolls, and dashed all their noses together. Then he summoned the landlord, and pelted him out of the room and up the stairs with oyster–shells, the books, and the whisky–bottle, and two pewter–pots after his legs, as he luckily got round the landing–place. The[189] terrified man, and his wife worse frightened, locked themselves in, and then threw up a window and bawled out for the police. Cradock, feeling ashamed of the uproar, seized OʼToole by the collar; and the Durham man, being sedate and steady, grasped him on the other side. So they lifted him off the ground, and bore him even into Hyde Park, and there they left him upon a bench, and each went his several way. The police, according to precedent, were in time to be too late. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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