A CATASTROPHE
The little shop was not paying. The realisation came insensibly.Winslow was not the man for definite addition and subtractionand sudden discovery. He became aware of the truth in his mindgradually, as though it had always been there. A lot of facts hadconverged and led him there. There was that line of cretonnes--fourhalf-pieces--untouched, save for half a yard sold to cover a stool.There were those shirtings at 43/4d.--Bandersnatch, in the Broadway,was selling them at 23/4d.--under cost, in fact. (Surely Bandersnatchmight let a man live!) Those servants' caps, a selling line, neededreplenishing, and that brought back the memory of Winslow's solewholesale dealers, Helter, Skelter, & Grab. Why! how about theiraccount?
Winslow stood with a big green box open on the counter before himwhen he thought of it. His pale grey eyes grew a little rounder; hispale, straggling moustache twitched. He had been drifting along, dayafter day. He went round to the ramshackle cash-desk in the corner--itwas Winslow's weakness to sell his goods over the counter, give hiscustomers a duplicate bill, and then dodge into the desk to receivethe money, as though he doubted his own honesty. His lank forefinger,with the prominent joints, ran down the bright little calendar("Clack's Cottons last for All Time"). "One--two--three; three weeksan' a day!" said Winslow, staring. "March! Only three weeks and a day.It _can't_ be."
"Tea, dear," said Mrs. Winslow, opening the door with the glass windowand the white blind that communicated with the parlour.
"One minute," said Winslow, and began unlocking the desk.
An irritable old gentleman, very hot and red about the face, and in aheavy fur-lined cloak, came in noisily. Mrs. Winslow vanished.
"Ugh!" said the old gentleman. "Pocket-handkerchief."
"Yes, sir," said Winslow. "About what price"--
"Ugh!" said the old gentleman. "Poggit-handkerchief, quig!"
Winslow began to feel flustered. He produced two boxes.
"These, sir"--began Winslow.
"Sheed tin!" said the old gentleman, clutching the stiffness of thelinen. "Wad to blow my nose--not haggit about."
"A cotton one, p'raps, sir?" said Winslow.
"How much?" said the old gentleman over the handkerchief.
"Sevenpence, sir. There's nothing more I can show you? No ties,braces--?"
"Damn!" said the old gentleman, fumbling in his ticket-pocket, andfinally producing half a crown. Winslow looked round for his littlemetallic duplicate-book which he kept in various fixtures, accordingto circumstances, and then he caught the old gentleman's eye. Hewent straight to the desk at once and got the change, with an entiredisregard of the routine of the shop.
Winslow was always more or less excited by a customer. But the opendesk reminded him of his trouble. It did not come back to him all atonce. He heard a finger-nail softly tapping on the glass, and, lookingup, saw Minnie's eyes over the blind. It seemed like retreat opening.He shut and locked the desk, and went into the little room to tea.
But he was preoccupied. Three weeks and a day! He took unusually largebites of his bread and butter, and stared hard at the little pot ofjam. He answered Minnie's conversational advances distractedly. Theshadow of Helter, Skelter, & Grab lay upon the tea-table. He wasstruggling with this new idea of failure, the tangible realisation,that was taking shape and substance, condensing, as it were, outof the misty uneasiness of many days. At present it was simply oneconcrete fact; there were thirty-nine pounds left in the bank, and thatday three weeks Messrs. Helter, Skelter, & Grab, those enterprisingoutfitters of young men, would demand their eighty pounds.
After tea there was a customer or so--little purchases: some muslinand buckram, dress-protectors, tape, and a pair of Lisle hose. Then,knowing that Black Care was lurking in the dusky corners of the shop,he lit the three lamps early and set to, refolding his cotton prints,the most vigorous and least meditative proceeding of which he couldthink. He could see Minnie's shadow in the other room as she movedabout the table. She was busy turning an old dress. He had a walk aftersupper, looked in at the Y.M.C.A., but found no one to talk to, andfinally went to bed. Minnie was already there. And there, too, waitingfor him, nudging him gently, until about midnight he was hopelesslyawake, sat Black Care.
He had had one or two nights lately in that company, but this wasmuch worse. First came Messrs. Helter, Skelter, & Grab, and theirdemand for eighty pounds--an enormous sum when your original capitalwas only a hundred and seventy. They camped, as it were, before him,sat down and beleaguered him. He clutched feebly at the circumambientdarkness for expedients. Suppose he had a sale, sold things for almostanything? He tried to imagine a sale miraculously successful in someunexpected manner, and mildly profitable, in spite of reductions belowcost. Then Bandersnatch Limited, 101, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107 Broadway,joined the siege, a long caterpillar of frontage, a battery of shopfronts, wherein things were sold at a farthing above cost. How couldhe fight such an establishment? Besides, what had he to sell? He beganto review his resources. What taking line was there to bait the sale?Then straightway came those pieces of cretonne, yellow and black, witha bluish-green flower; those discredited skirtings, prints withoutbuoyancy, skirmishing haberdashery, some despairful four-button glovesby an inferior maker--a hopeless crew. And that was his force againstBandersnatch, Helter, Skelter, & Grab, and the pitiless world behindthem. Whatever had made him think a mortal would buy such things?Why had he bought this and neglected that? He suddenly realised theintensity of his hatred for Helter, Skelter, & Grab's salesman. Thenhe drove towards an agony of self-reproach. He had spent too muchon that cash-desk. What real need was there of a desk? He saw hisvanity of that desk in a lurid glow of self-discovery. And the lamps?Five pounds! Then suddenly, with what was almost physical pain, heremembered the rent.
He groaned and turned over. And there, dim in the darkness, was thehummock of Mrs. Winslow's shoulders. That set him off in anotherdirection. He became acutely sensible of Minnie's want of feeling. Herehe was, worried to death about business, and she sleeping like a littlechild. He regretted having married, with that infinite bitterness thatonly comes to the human heart in the small hours of the morning. Thathummock of white seemed absolutely without helpfulness, a burden, aresponsibility. What fools men were to marry! Minnie's inert reposeirritated him so much that he was almost provoked to wake her up andtell her that they were "Ruined." She would have to go back to heruncle; her uncle had always been against him: and as for his ownfuture, Winslow was exceedingly uncertain. A shop assistant who hasonce set up for himself finds the utmost difficulty in getting into asituation again. He began to figure himself "crib-hunting" again, goingfrom this wholesale house to that, writing innumerable letters. Howhe hated writing letters! "Sir,--Referring to your advertisement inthe _Christian World_." He beheld an infinite vista of discomfort anddisappointment, ending--in a gulf.
He dressed, yawning, and went down to open the shop. He felt tiredbefore the day began. As he carried the shutters in, he kept askinghimself what good he was doing. The end was inevitable, whether hebothered or not. The clear daylight smote into the place, and showedhow old and rough and splintered was the floor, how shabby thesecond-hand counter, how hopeless the whole enterprise. He had beendreaming these past six months of a bright little shop, of a happycouple, of a modest but comely profit flowing in. He had suddenlyawakened from his dream. The braid that bound his decent black coat--itwas a little loose--caught against the catch of the shop door, and wastorn loose. This suddenly turned his wretchedness to wrath. He stoodquivering for a moment, then, with a spiteful clutch, tore the braidlooser, and went in to Minnie.
"Here," he said, with infinite reproach; "look here! You might lookafter a chap a bit."
"I didn't see it was torn," said Minnie.
"You never do," said Winslow, with gross injustice, "until things aretoo late."
Minnie looked suddenly at his face. "I'll sew it now, Sid, if you like."
"Let's have breakfast first," said Winslow, "and do things at theirproper time."
He
was preoccupied at breakfast, and Minnie watched him anxiously.His only remark was to declare his egg a bad one. It wasn't; it was alittle flavoury,--being one of those at fifteen a shilling,--but quitenice. He pushed it away from him, and then, having eaten a slice ofbread and butter, admitted himself in the wrong by resuming the egg.
"Sid," said Minnie, as he stood up to go into the shop again, "you'renot well."
"I'm _well_ enough." He looked at her as though he hated her.
"Then there's something else the matter. You aren't angry with me, Sid,are you, about that braid? _Do_ tell me what's the matter. You werejust like this at tea yesterday, and at supper-time. It wasn't thebraid then."
"And I'm likely to be."
She looked interrogation. "Oh, what _is_ the matter?" she said.
It was too good a chance to miss, and he brought the evil news out withdramatic force. "Matter?" he said. "I done my best, and here we are.That's the matter! If I can't pay Helter, Skelter & Grab eighty pounds,this day three week"--Pause. "We shall be sold up! Sold up! That's thematter, Min! SOLD UP!"
"Oh, Sid!" began Minnie.
He slammed the door. For the moment he felt relieved of at least halfhis misery. He began dusting boxes that did not require dusting,and then reblocked a cretonne already faultlessly blocked. He wasin a state of grim wretchedness; a martyr under the harrow of fate.At anyrate, it should not be said he failed for want of industry.And how he had planned and contrived and worked! All to this end!He felt horrible doubts. Providence and Bandersnatch--surely theywere incompatible! Perhaps he was being "tried"? That sent himoff upon a new tack, a very comforting one. That martyr pose, thegold-in-the-furnace attitude, lasted all the morning.
At dinner--"potato pie"--he looked up suddenly, and saw Minnie's faceregarding him. Pale she looked, and a little red about the eyes.Something caught him suddenly with a queer effect upon his throat. Allhis thoughts seemed to wheel round into quite a new direction.
He pushed back his plate and stared at her blankly. Then he got up,went round the table to her--she staring at him. He dropped on hisknees beside her without a word. "Oh, Minnie!" he said, and suddenlyshe knew it was peace, and put her arms about him, as he began to soband weep.
He cried like a little boy, slobbering on her shoulder that he was aknave to have married her and brought her to this, that he hadn't thewits to be trusted with a penny, that it was all his fault, that he"_had_ hoped _so_"--ending in a howl. And she, crying gently herself,patting his shoulders, said "_Ssh!_" softly to his noisy weeping, andso soothed the outbreak. Then suddenly the crazy little bell upon theshop door began, and Winslow had to jump to his feet, and be a managain.
After that scene they "talked it over" at tea, at supper, inbed, at every possible interval in between, solemnly--quiteinconclusively--with set faces and eyes for the most part staring infront of them--and yet with a certain mutual comfort. "What to do Idon't know," was Winslow's main proposition. Minnie tried to take acheerful view of service--with a probable baby. But she found sheneeded all her courage. And her uncle would help her again, perhaps,just at the critical time. It didn't do for folks to be too proud.Besides, "something might happen," a favourite formula with her.
One hopeful line was to anticipate a sudden afflux of customers."Perhaps," said Minnie, "you might get together fifty. They know youwell enough to trust you a bit." They debated that point. Once thepossibility of Helter, Skelter and Grab giving credit was admitted,it was pleasant to begin sweating the acceptable minimum. For somehalf-hour over tea the second day after Winslow's discoveries theywere quite cheerful again, laughing even at their terrific fears. Eventwenty pounds to go on with might be considered enough. Then in somemysterious way the pleasant prospect of Messrs. Helter, Skelter, & Grabtempering the wind to the shorn retailer vanished--vanished absolutely,and Winslow found himself again in the pit of despair.
He began looking about at the furniture, and wondering idly whatit would fetch. The chiffonier was good, anyhow, and there wereMinnie's old plates that her mother used to have. Then he began tothink of desperate expedients for putting off the evil day. He hadheard somewhere of Bills of Sale--there was to his ears somethingcomfortingly substantial in the phrase. Then, why not "Go to theMoney-Lenders"?
One cheering thing happened on Thursday afternoon; a little girl camein with a pattern of "print," and he was able to match it. He had notbeen able to match anything out of his meagre stock before. He wentin and told Minnie. The incident is mentioned lest the reader shouldimagine it was uniform despair with him.
The next morning, and the next, after the discovery, Winslow openedshop late. When one has been awake most of the night, and has no hope,what _is_ the good of getting up punctually? But as he went into thedark shop on Friday he saw something lying on the floor, somethinglit by the bright light that came under the ill-fitting door--a blackoblong. He stooped and picked up an envelope with a deep mourning edge.It was addressed to his wife. Clearly a death in her family--perhapsher uncle. He knew the man too well to have expectations. And theywould have to get mourning and go to the funeral. The brutal crueltyof people dying! He saw it all in a flash--he always visualised histhoughts. Black trousers to get, black crape, black gloves--none instock--the railway fares, the shop closed for the day.
"I'm afraid there's bad news, Minnie," he said.
She was kneeling before the fireplace, blowing the fire. She had herhousemaid's gloves on and the old country sun-bonnet she wore ofa morning, to keep the dust out of her hair. She turned, saw theenvelope, gave a gasp, and pressed two bloodless lips together.
"I'm afraid it's uncle," she said, holding the letter and staring witheyes wide open into Winslow's face. "_It's a strange hand!_"
"The postmark's Hull," said Winslow.
"The postmark's Hull."
Minnie opened the letter slowly, drew it out, hesitated, turned itover, saw the signature. "It's Mr. Speight!"
"What does he say?" said Winslow.
Minnie began to read. "_Oh!_" she screamed. She dropped the letter,collapsed into a crouching heap, her hands covering her eyes. Winslowsnatched at it. "A most terrible accident has occurred," he read;"Melchior's chimney fell down yesterday evening right on the top ofyour uncle's house, and every living soul was killed--your uncle,your cousin Mary, Will and Ned, and the girl--every one of them, andsmashed--you would hardly know them. I'm writing to you to break thenews before you see it in the papers"--The letter fluttered fromWinslow's fingers. He put out his hand against the mantel to steadyhimself.
All of them dead! Then he saw, as in a vision, a row of seven cottages,each let at seven shillings a week, a timber yard, two villas, and theruins--still marketable--of the avuncular residence. He tried to feela sense of loss and could not. They were sure to have been left toMinnie's aunt. All dead! 7x7x52/20 began insensibly to work itself outin his mind, but discipline was ever weak in his mental arithmetic;figures kept moving from one line to another, like children playingat Widdy, Widdy Way. Was it two hundred pounds about--or one hundredpounds? Presently he picked up the letter again, and finishing readingit. "You being the next of kin," said Mr. Speight.
"How _awful_!" said Minnie in a horror-struck whisper, and looking upat last. Winslow stared back at her, shaking his head solemnly. Therewere a thousand things running through his mind, but none that, evento his dull sense, seemed appropriate as a remark. "It was the Lord'swill," he said at last.
"It seems so very, very terrible," said Minnie; "auntie, dearauntie--Ted--poor, dear uncle"--
"It was the Lord's will, Minnie," said Winslow, with infinite feeling.A long silence.
"Yes," said Minnie, very slowly, staring thoughtfully at the cracklingblack paper in the grate. The fire had gone out. "Yes, perhaps it wasthe Lord's will."
They looked gravely at one another. Each would have been terriblyshocked at any mention of the property by the other. She turned to thedark fireplace and began tearing up an old newspaper slowly. Whateverour losses may be, the world's work still wait
s for us. Winslow gave adeep sigh and walked in a hushed manner towards the front door. As heopened it, a flood of sunlight came streaming into the dark shadows ofthe closed shop. Bandersnatch, Helter, Skelter, & Grab, had vanishedout of his mind like the mists before the rising sun.
Presently he was carrying in the shutters, and in the briskest way,the fire in the kitchen was crackling exhilaratingly, with a littlesaucepan walloping above it, for Minnie was boiling two eggs,--one forherself this morning, as well as one for him,--and Minnie herself wasaudible, laying breakfast with the greatest _eclat_. The blow was asudden and terrible one--but it behoves us to face such things bravelyin this sad, unaccountable world. It was quite midday before either ofthem mentioned the cottages.