Book: In Luck at Last

W >> Walter Besant >> In Luck at Last




Then the poor scholar, who could find no market for his learned
papers, tied up his books again and went away with hanging head.

"Ugh!" Mr. James, who had been listening, groaned as Mr. Farrar passed
through the door. "Ugh! Call that a way of doing business? Why, if it
had been me, I'd have bought the book off of that old chap for a
couple o' pounds, I would. Ay, or a sov, so seedy he is, and wants
money so bad. And I know who'd have given twelve pound for it, in the
trade too. Call that carrying on business? He may well add up his
investments every day, it he can afford to chuck such chances. Ah, but
he'll retire soon." His fiery eyes brightened, and his face glowed
with the joy of anticipation. "He must retire before long."

There came another visitor. This time it was a lanky boy, with, a blue
bag over his shoulder and a notebook and pencil-stump in his hand. He
nodded to the assistant as to an old friend with whom one may be at
ease, set down his bag, opened his notebook, and nibbled his stump.
Then he read aloud, with a comma or semicolon between each, a dozen or
twenty titles. They were the names of the books which his employer
wished to pick up. The red-eyed assistant listened, and shook his
head. Then the boy, without another word, shouldered his bag and
departed, on his way to the next second-hand book-shop.

He was followed, at a decent interval, by another caller. This time it
was an old gentleman who opened the door, put in his head, and looked
about him with a quick and suspicious glance. At sight of the
assistant he nodded and smiled in the most friendly way possible, and
came in.

"Good-morning, Mr. James; good-morning, my friend. Splendid weather.
Pray don't disturb yourself. I am just having a look round--only a
look round, you know. Don't move, Mr. James."

He addressed Mr. James, but he was looking at the shelves as he spoke,
and, with the habit of a book-hunter, taking down the volumes, looking
at the title-pages and replacing them; under his arm he carried a
single volume in old leather binding.

Mr. James nodded his head, but did disturb himself; in fact, he rose
with a scowl upon his face, and followed this polite old gentlemen all
round the shop, placing himself close to his elbow. One might almost
suppose that he suspected him, so close and assiduous was his
assistance. But the visitor, accepting these attentions as if they
were customary, and the result of high breeding, went slowly round the
shelves, taking down book after book, but buying none. Presently he
smiled again, and said that he must be moving on, and very politely
thanked Mr. James for his kindness.

"Nowhere," he was so good as to say, "does one get so much personal
kindness and attention as at Emblem's. Good-morning, Mr. James;
good-morning, my friend."

Mr. James grunted; and closed the door after him.

"Ugh!" he said with disgust, "I know you; I know your likes. Want to
make your set complete--eh? Want to sneak one of our books to do it
with, don't you? Ah!" He looked into the back shop before he returned
to his paste and his slips. "That was Mr. Potts, the great Queen Anne
collector, sir. Most notorious book-snatcher in all London, and the
most barefaced. Wanted our fourth volume of the 'Athenian Oracle.' I
saw his eyes reached out this way, and that way, and always resting on
that volume. I saw him edging along to the shelf. Got another odd
volume just like it in his wicked old hand, ready to change it when I
wasn't looking."

"Ah," said Mr. Emblem, waking up from his dream of Iris and her
father's letter; "ah, they will try it on. Keep your eyes open,
James."

"No thanks, as usual," grumbled Mr. James as he returned to his gum
and his scissors. "Might as well have left him to snatch the book."

Here, however, James was wrong, because it is the first duty of an
assistant to hinder and obstruct the book-snatcher, who carries on his
work by methods of crafty and fraudulent exchange rather than by plain
theft, which is a mere brutal way. For, first, the book-snatcher marks
his prey; he finds the shop which has a set containing the volume
which is missing in his own set; next, he arms himself with a volume
which closely resembles the one he covets, and then, on pretense of
turning over the leaves, he watches his opportunity to effect an
exchange, and goes away rejoicing, his set complete. No collector, as
is very well known, whether of books, coins, pictures, medals, fans,
scarabs, book-plates, autographs, stamps, or anything else, has any
conscience at all. Anybody can cut out slips and make a catalogue, but
it requires a sharp assistant, with eyes all over his head like a
spider, to be always on guard against this felonious and unscrupulous
collector.

Next, there came two schoolboys together, who asked for and bought a
crib to "Virgil;" and then a girl who wanted some cheap French
reading-book. Just as the clock began to strike five, Mr. Emblem
lifted his head and looked up. The shop-door opened, and there stepped
in, rubbing his shoes on the mat as if he belonged to the house, an
elderly gentleman of somewhat singular appearance. He wore a fez cap,
but was otherwise dressed as an Englishman--in black frock coat, that
is, buttoned up--except that his feet were incased in black cloth
shoes, so that he went noiselessly. His hair was short and white, and
he wore a small white beard; his skin was a rather dark brown; he was,
in fact, a Hindoo, and his name was Lala Roy.

He nodded gravely to Mr. James and walked into the back shop.

"It goes well," he asked, "with the buying and the selling?"

"Surely, Lala, surely."

"A quiet way of buying and selling; a way fit for one who meditates,"
said the Hindoo, looking round. "Tell me, my friend, what ails the
child? Is she sick?"

"The child is well, Lala."

"Her mind wandered this morning. She failed to perceive a simple
method which I tried to teach her. I feared she might be ill."

"She is not ill, my friend, but I think her mind is troubled."

"She is a woman. We are men. There is nothing in the world that is
able to trouble the mind of the philosopher."

"Nothing," said Mr. Emblem manfully, as if he, too, was a disciple.
"Nothing; is there now?"

The stoutness of the assertion was sensibly impaired by the question.

"Not poverty, which is a shadow; nor pain, which passes; nor the loss
of woman's love, which is a gain; nor fall from greatness--nothing.
Nevertheless," his eyes did look anxious in spite of his philosophy,
"this trouble of the child--will it soon be over?"

"I hope this evening," said Mr. Emblem. "Indeed I am sure that it will
be finished this evening."

"If the child had a mother, or a brother, or any protectors but
ourselves, my friend, we might leave her to them. But she has nobody
except you and me. I am glad that she is not ill."

He left Mr. Emblem, and passing through the door of communication
between house and shop, went noiselessly up the stairs.

One more visitor--unusual for so many to call on a September
afternoon. This time it was a youngish man of thirty or so, who
stepped into the shop with an air of business, and, taking no notice
at all of the assistant, walked swiftly into the back shop and shut
the door behind him.

"I thought so," murmured Mr. James. "After he's been counting up his
investments, his lawyer calls. More investments."

Mr. David Chalker was a solicitor and, according to his friends, who
were proud of him, a sharp practitioner. He was, in fact, one of those
members of the profession who, starting with no connection, have to
make business for themselves. This, in London, they do by encouraging
the county court, setting neighbors by the ears, lending money in
small sums, fomenting quarrels, charging commissions, and generally
making themselves a blessing and a boon to the district where they
reside. But chiefly Mr. Chalker occupied himself with lending money.

"Now, Mr. Emblem," he said, not in a menacing tone, but as one who
warns; "now, Mr. Emblem."

"Now, Mr. Chalker," the bookseller repeated mildly.

"What are you going to do for me?"

"I got your usual notice," the old bookseller began, hesitating, "six
months ago."

"Of course you did. Three fifty is the amount. Three fifty, exactly."

"Just so. But I am afraid I am not prepared to pay off the bill of
sale. The interest, as usual, will be ready."

"Of course it will. But this time the principal must be ready too."

"Can't you get another client to find the money?"

"No, I can't. Money is tight, and your security, Mr. Emblem, isn't so
good as it was."

"The furniture is there, and so is the stock."

"Furniture wears out; as for the stock--who knows what that is worth?
All your books together may not be worth fifty pounds, for what I
know."

"Then what am I to do?"

"Find the money yourself. Come, Mr. Emblem, everybody knows--your
grandson himself told me--all the world knows--you've been for years
saving up for your granddaughter. You told Joe only six months
ago--you can't deny it--that whatever happened to you she would be
well off."

Mr. Emblem did not deny the charge. But he ought not to have told this
to his grandson, of all people in the world.

"As for Joe," Mr. Chalker went on, "you are going to do nothing for
him. I know that. But is it business like, Mr. Emblem, to waste good
money which you might have invested for your granddaughter?"

"You do not understand. Mr. Chalker. You really do not, and I cannot
explain. But about this bill of sale--never mind my granddaughter."

"You the aforesaid Richard Emblem"--Mr. Chalker began to recite,
without commas--"have assigned to me David Chalker aforesaid his
executors administrators and assigns all and singular the several
chattels and things specifically described in the schedule hereto
annexed by way of security for the payment of the sum of three hundred
and fifty pounds and interest thereon at the rate of eight per cent.
per annum."

"Thank you, Mr. Chalker. I know all that."

"You can't complain, I'm sure. It is five years since you borrowed the
money."

"It was fifty pounds and a box of old law books out of your office,
and I signed a bill for a hundred."

"You forget the circumstances."

"No, I do not. My grandson was a rogue. One does not readily forget
that circumstance. He was also your friend, I remember."

"And I held my tongue."

"I have had no more money from you, and the sum has become three
hundred and fifty."

"Of course you don't understand law, Mr. Emblem. How should you! But
we lawyers don't work for nothing. However it isn't what you got, but
what I am to get. Come, my good sir, it's cutting off your nose to
spite your face. Settle and have done with it, even if it does take a
little slice off your granddaughter's fortune? Now look here"--his
voice became persuasive--"why not take me into your confidence? Make a
friend of me. You want advice; let me advise you. I can get you good
investments--far better than you know anything of--good and safe
investments--at six certain, and sometimes seven and even eight per
cent. Make me your man of business--come now. As for this trumpery
bill of sale--this trifle of three fifty, what is it to you?
Nothing--nothing. And as for your intention to enrich your
granddaughter, and cut off your grandson with a shilling, why I honor
you for it--there, though he was my friend. For Joe deserves it
thoroughly. I've told him so, mind. You ask him. I've told him so a
dozen times. I've said: 'The old man's right, Joe.' Ask him if I
haven't."

This was very expansive, but somehow Mr. Emblem did not respond.

Presently, however, he lifted his head.

"I have three weeks still."

"Three weeks still."

"And if I do not find the money within three weeks?"

"Why--but of course you will--but if you do not--I suppose there will
be only one thing left to do--realize the security, sell up--sticks
and books and all."

"Thank you, Mr. Chalker. I will look round me, and--and--do my best.
Good day, Mr. Chalker."

"The best you can do, Mr. Emblem," returned the solicitor, "is to take
me as your adviser. You trust David Chalker."

"Thank you. Good-day, Mr. Chalker."

On his way out, Mr. Chalker stopped for a moment and looked round the
shop.

"How's business?" he asked the assistant.

"Dull, sir," replied Mr. James. "He throws it all away, and neglects
his chances. Naturally, being so rich--"

"So rich, indeed," the solicitor echoed.

"It will be bad for his successor," Mr. James went on, thinking how
much he should himself like to be that successor. "The goodwill won't
be worth half what it ought to be, and the stock is just falling to
pieces."

Mr. Chalker looked about him again thoughtfully, and opened his mouth
as if about to ask a question, but said nothing. He remembered, in
time, that the shopman was not likely to know the amount of his
master's capital or investments.

"There isn't a book even in the glass-case that's worth a five-pound
note," continued Mr. James, whispering, "and he don't look about for
purchases any more. Seems to have lost his pluck."

Mr. Chalker returned to the back-shop.

"Within three weeks, Mr. Emblem," he repeated, and then departed.

Mr. Emblem sat in his chair. He had to find three hundred and fifty
pounds in three weeks. No one knew better than himself that this was
impossible. Within three weeks! But, in three weeks, he would open the
packet of letters, and give Iris her inheritance. At least, she would
not suffer. As for himself--He looked round the little back shop, and
tried to recall the fifty years he had spent there, the books he had
bought and sold, the money which had slipped through his fingers, the
friends who had come and gone. Why, as for the books, he seemed to
remember them every one--his joy in the purchase, his pride in
possession, and his grief at letting them go. All the friends gone
before him, his trade sunk to nothing.

"Yet," he murmured, "I thought it would last my time."

But the clock struck six. It was his tea-time. He rose mechanically,
and went upstairs to Iris.




CHAPTER II.

FOX AND WOLF.


Mr. James, left to himself, attempted, in accordance with his daily
custom, to commit a dishonorable action.

That is to say, he first listened carefully to the retreating
footsteps of his master, as he went up the stairs; then he left his
table, crept stealthily into the back shop, and began to pull the
drawers, turn the handle of the safe, and try the desk. Everything was
carefully locked. Then he turned over all the papers on the table, but
found nothing that contained the information he looked for. It was his
daily practice thus to try the locks, in hope that some day the safe,
or the drawers, or the desk would be left open by accident, when he
might be able to solve a certain problem, the doubt and difficulty of
which sore let and hindered him--namely, of what extent, and where
placed, were those great treasures, savings, and investments which
enabled his master to be careless over his business. It was, further,
customary with him to be thus frustrated and disappointed. Having
briefly, therefore, also in accordance with his usual custom,
expressed his disgust at this want of confidence between master and
man, Mr. James returned to his paste and scissors.

About a quarter past six the shop door was cautiously opened, and a
head appeared, which looked round stealthily. Seeing nobody about
except Mr. James, the head nodded, and presently followed by its body,
stepped into the shop.

"Where's the admiral, Foxy?" asked the caller.

"Guv'nor's upstairs, Mr. Joseph, taking of his tea with Miss Iris,"
replied Mr. James, not at all offended by the allusion to his
craftiness. Who should resemble the fox if not the second-hand
bookseller? In no trade, perhaps, can the truly admirable qualities of
that animal--his patience, his subtlety and craft, his pertinacity,
his sagacity--be illustrated more to advantage. Mr. James felt a glow
of virtue--would that he could grow daily and hourly, and more and
more toward the perfect fox. Then, indeed, and not till then would he
be able to live truly up to his second-hand books.

"Having tea with Iris; well--"

The speaker looked as if it required some effort to receive this
statement with resignation.

"He always does at six o'clock. Why shouldn't he?" asked Mr. James.

"Because, James, he spends the time in cockering up that gal whom he's
ruined and spoiled--him and the old nigger between them--so that her
mind is poisoned against her lawful relations, and nothing will
content her but coming into all the old man's money, instead of going
share and share alike, as a cousin should, and especially a
she-cousin, while there's a biscuit left in the locker and a drop of
rum in the cask."

"Ah!" said Mr. James with a touch of sympathy, called forth, perhaps,
by mention of the rum, which is a favorite drink with second-hand
booksellers' assistants.

"Nothing too good for her," the other went on; "the best of education,
pianos to play upon, and nobody good enough for her to know. Not on
visiting terms, if you please, with her neighbors; waiting for
duchesses to call upon her. And what is she, after all? A miserable
teacher!"

Mr. Joseph Gallop was a young man somewhere between twenty and thirty,
tall, large-limbed, well set-up, and broad-shouldered. A young man
who, at first sight, would seem eminently fitted to push his own
fortunes. Also, at first sight, a remarkably handsome fellow, with
straight, clear-cut features and light, curly hair. When he swung
along the street, his round hat carelessly thrown back, and his
handsome face lit up by the sun, the old women murmured a blessing
upon his comely head--as they used to do, a long time ago, upon the
comely and curly head of Absalom--and the young women looked meaningly
at one another--as was also done in the case of Absalom--and the
object of their admiration knew that they were saying to each other,
in the feminine way, where a look is as good as a whisper, "There goes
a handsome fellow." Those who knew him better, and had looked more
closely into his face, said that his mouth was bad and his eyes
shifty. The same opinion was held by the wiser sort as regards his
character. For, on the one hand, some averred that to their certain
knowledge Joe Gallop had shown himself a monster of ingratitude toward
his grandfather, who had paid his debts and done all kinds of things
for him; on the other hand there were some who thought he had been
badly treated; and some said that no good would ever come of a young
fellow who was never able to remain in the same situation more than a
month or so; and others said that he had certainly been unfortunate,
but that he was a quick and clever young man, who would some day find
the kind of work that suited him, and then he would show everybody of
what stuff he was composed. As for us, we have only to judge of him by
his actions.

"Perhaps, Mr. Joseph," said Mr. James, "perhaps Miss Iris won't have
all bequeathed to her?"

"Do you know anything?" Joe asked quickly. "Has he made a new will
lately?"

"Not that I know of. But Mr. Chalker has been here off and on a good
bit now."

"Ah! Chalker's a close one, too. Else he'd tell me, his old friend.
Look here, Foxy," he turned a beaming and smiling face upon the
assistant. "If you should see anything or find anything out, tell me,
mind. And, remember, I'll make it worth your while."

Mr. James looked as it he was asking himself how Joseph could make it
worth his while, seeing that he got nothing more from his grandfather,
and by his own showing never would have anything more.

"It's only his will I'm anxious to know about; that, and where he's
put away all his money. Think what a dreadful thing it would be for
his heirs if he were to go and die suddenly, and none of us to know
where his investments are. As for the shop, that is already disposed
of, as I dare say you know."

"Disposed of? The shop disposed of! Oh, Lord!" The assistant turned
pale. "Oh, Mr. Joseph," he asked earnestly, "what will become of the
shop? And who is to have it?"

"I am to have it," Mr. Joseph replied calmly. This was the lie
absolute, and he invented it very cleverly and at the right moment--a
thing which gives strength and life to a lie, because he already
suspected the truth and guessed the secret hope and ambition which
possesses every ambitious assistant in this trade--namely, to get the
succession. Mr. James looked upon himself as the lawful and rightful
heir to the business. But sometimes he entertained grievous doubts,
and now indeed his heart sunk into his boots. "I am to have it," Joe
repeated.

"Oh, I didn't know. You are to have it, then? Oh!"

If Mr. James had been ten years younger, I think he would have burst
into tears. But at the age of forty weeping no longer presents itself
as a form of relief. It is more usual to seek consolation in a swear.
He stammered, however, while he turned pale, and then red, and then
pale again.

"Yes, quite proper, Mr. Joseph, I'm sure, and a most beautiful
business may be made again here by one who understands the way. Oh,
you are a lucky man, Mr. Joseph. You are indeed, sir, to get such a
noble chance."

"The shop," Joe went on, "was settled--settled upon me, long ago." The
verb "to settle" is capable of conveying large and vague impressions.
"But after all, what's the good of this place to a sailor?"

"The good--the good of this place?" Mr. James's cheek flushed. "Why, to
make money, to be sure--to coin money in. If I had this place to
myself--why--why, in two years I would be making as much as two
hundred a year. I would indeed."

"You want to make money. Bah! That's all you fellows think of. To sit
in the back shop all day long and to sell moldy books! We jolly sailor
boys know better than that, my lad."

There really was something nautical about the look of the man. He wore
a black-silk tie, in a sailor's running-knot, the ends loose; his
waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his coat was a kind of jacket; not to
speak of his swinging walk and careless pose. In fact, he had been a
sailor; he had made two voyages to India and back as assistant-purser,
or purser's clerk, on board a P. and O. boat, but some disagreement
with his commanding officer concerning negligence, or impudence, or
drink, or laziness--he had been charged in different situations and at
different times with all these vices, either together or
separately--caused him to lose his rating on the ship's books.
However, he brought away from his short nautical experience, and
preserved, a certain nautical swagger, which accorded well with his
appearance, and gave him a swashbuckler air, which made those who knew
him well lament that he had not graced the Elizabethan era, when he
might have become a gallant buccaneer, and so got himself shot through
the head; or that he had not flourished under the reign of good Queen
Anne, when he would probably have turned pirate and been hanged; or
that, being born in the Victorian age, he had not gone to the Far
West, where he would, at least, have had the chance of getting shot in
a gambling-saloon.

"As for me, when I get the business," he continued, "I shall look
about for some one to carry it on until I am able to sell it for what
it will fetch. Books at a penny apiece all round, I suppose"--James
gasped--"shop furniture thrown in"--James panted--"and the goodwill
for a small lump sum." James wondered how far his own savings, and
what he could borrow, might go toward that lump sum, and how much
might "remain." "My grandfather, as you know, of course, is soon going
to retire from business altogether." This was another lie absolute, as
Mr. Emblem had no intention whatever of retiring.

"Soon, Mr. Joseph? He has never said a word to me about it."

"Very soon, now--sooner than you expect. At seventy-five, and with
all his money, why should he go on slaving any longer? Very soon,
indeed. Any day."

"Mr. Joseph," the assistant positively trembled with eagerness and
apprehension.

"What is it, James? Did you really think that a man like me was going
to sit in a back shop among these moldy volumes all day? Come, that's
too good. You might have given me credit for being one cut above a
counter, too. I am a gentleman, James, if you please; I am an officer
and a gentleman."

He then proceeded to explain, in language that smacked something of
the sea, that his ideas soared far above trade, which was, at best, a
contemptible occupation, and quite unworthy of a gentleman,
particularly an officer and a gentleman; and that his personal friends
would never condescend even to formal acquaintance, not to speak of
friendship, with trade. This discourse may be omitted. When one reads
about such a man as Joe Gallop, when we are told how he looked and
what he said and how he said it, with what gestures and in what tone,
we feel as if it would be impossible for the simplest person in the
world to be mistaken as to his real character. My friends, especially
my young friends, so far from the discernment of character being easy,
it is, on the contrary, an art most difficult, and very rarely
attained. Nature's indications are a kind of handwriting the
characters in which are known to few, so that, for instance, the
quick, enquiring glance of an eye, in which one may easily read--who
knows the character--treachery, lying, and deception, just as in the
letter Beth was originally easily discerned the effigies of a house,
may very easily pass unread by the multitude. The language, or rather
the alphabet, is much less complicated than the cuneiform of the Medes
and Persians, yet no one studies it, except women, most of whom are
profoundly skilled in this lore, which makes them so fearfully and
wonderfully wise. Thus it is easy for man to deceive his brother man,
but not his sister woman. Again, most of us are glad to take everybody
on his own statements; there are, or may be, we are all ready to
acknowledge, with sorrow for erring humanity, somewhere else in the
world, such things as pretending, swindling, acting a part, and
cheating, but they do not and cannot belong to our own world. Mr.
James, the assistant, very well knew that Mr. Emblem's grandson had
already, though still young, as bad a record as could be desired by
any; that he had been turned out of one situation after another; that
his grandfather had long since refused to help him any more; that he
was always to be found in the Broad Path which leadeth to destruction.
When he had money he ran down that path as fast as his legs could
carry him; when he had none, he only walked and wished he could run.
But he never left it, and never wished to leave it. Knowing all this,
the man accepted and believed every word of Joe's story. James
believed it, because he hoped it. He listened respectfully to Joe's
declamation on the meanness of trade, and then he rubbed his hands,
and said humbly that he ventured to hope, when the sale of the
business came on, Mr. Joseph would let him have a chance.

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