<h2><SPAN name="page129"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>XIV.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">But</span> this launch was when
Johnny’s ’prentice teeth were cut: when the running
down of bolts and pins was beneath his notice, and he could be
trusted with work at a small nibbling machine; when he had turned
stop-valve spindles more than once, and felt secretly confident
of his ability to cut a screw.</p>
<p>Meantime history was making at the shop: very slowly at first,
it is true. The holly had been made the most of; but it
seemed to attract not at all. Penn’orths and
ha’porths were most of the sales, and even they were
few. Nan May grew haggard and desperate. Uncle Isaac
had called once soon after the opening Saturday, but since had
been a stranger. He had said that he was about to change
his lodgings (he was a widower), but Nan knew nothing of his new
address. In truth, such was Uncle Isaac’s tenderness
of heart, that he disliked the sight or complaint of distress;
and, in the manner of many other people of similar tenderness, he
betook himself as far as possible from the scene thereof, and
kept there.</p>
<p>It was within a few days of Christmas when things <SPAN name="page130"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>seemed
hopeless. Johnny, indeed, had never ceased to hope till
now. He had talked of the certainty of struggling on
somehow till his wages were enough for all; indeed, even the six
shillings a week seemed something considerable now, though he
knew that the rent alone came to ten. But even
Johnny’s cheerfulness fell in face of the intenser
dejection, the more open tears, of his mother and sister, as the
days wore on. Long Hicks found him a quieter, less
inquisitive boy, and a duller help than at first; and dinner at
home was a sad make-believe. Each knew that the other two
were contrasting the coming Christmas with the last. Then,
gran’dad was with them, hale and merry; to look out of
window was to look through a world of frosty twigs to woody deeps
where the deer waited, timid and shadowy, for the crusts flung
out afar for them from the garden. Now . . . but there!</p>
<p>But it was just at this desperate time that a change came, as
by magic. The men who pulled down the wall at the opposite
side of the street gave place to others who built a mighty brick
pier at each side of the opening: a pier designed to carry its
half of the new gate. But ere the work was near complete,
men and boys from the yard found it a convenient place to slip
out and in at, on breakfast-time or dinner-time errands.</p>
<p>Now it chanced at the time that one of these men was in a
domestic difficulty; a difficulty that a large <SPAN name="page131"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>part of the
eight or nine hundred men of the ship-yard encountered in turn at
more or less regular intervals. His wife inhabited the
bedroom in company with a monthly nurse; while he roosted
sleeplessly at night on a slippery horsehair couch in the
parlour, or wallowed in a jumble of spare blankets and old coats
on the floor; spending his home hours by day in desolate muddling
in the kitchen, lost and incapable, and abject before the tyranny
of the nurse. On dark mornings he made forlorn attempts at
raking together a breakfast to carry with him to work; but as he
had taken no thought to put anything into the cupboard over
night, he found it no easy matter to extract a breakfast from it
in the morning. So it came to pass that on the second day
of his affliction this bedevilled husband, his hunger merely
aggravated by the stale lumps of bread he had thought to make
shift on, issued forth at the new gate in quest of
breakfast. There was little time, and most of the shops
were a distance off; but just opposite was a flaming little
chandler’s shop, newly opened. It was thinly stocked
enough, but it would be hard luck indeed if it did not hold
something eatable. And so Nan May’s first customer
that day was the starved husband.</p>
<p>“Got anythink t’ eat?” he asked, his
ravening gaze piercing the bare corners of the shop.
“Got any bacon?”</p>
<p><SPAN name="page132"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
132</span>“Yes, sir,” Nan May answered, reaching for
the insignificant bit of “streaky” that was all she
had.</p>
<p>“No—cooked, I mean. Aincher got any cold
boiled ’ock?”</p>
<p>“No, sir.”</p>
<p>“Y’ ought t’ ave some cooked
’ock. Lots ’ud ’ave it in the yard.
I can’t eat <i>that</i>—the smiths’ shop
’s the other end o’ the yard, an’ I got nothing
to toast it with. Aincher got nothing else?”</p>
<p>Nan May grasped the situation, and conceived an instant
notion, for indeed she had inborn talent as a shopkeeper, though
till now it had had no chance to show itself. “Will
you wait five minutes?” she asked.</p>
<p>Yes, he would wait five minutes, but no more: and he sat on
the empty case, from which Uncle Isaac had delivered his
recommendation of Enterprise. Nan May cut two rashers and
retired to the shop parlour. In three minutes the hungry
customer was hammering on the counter, declaring that he could
wait no longer. Pacified by assurances from within, he
resigned himself to a minute and a half more of patience: when
Mrs. May returned with a massive sandwich, wherein the two
rashers, fresh frizzled, lay between two thick slices of
bread. Lifting the top slice for a moment, as guarantee of
good faith, Nan May exchanged the whole ration for
threepence.</p>
<p><SPAN name="page133"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
133</span>“If you’d like any cold boiled bacon,
sir,” she said, “I shall have some at one
o’clock.”</p>
<p>He heard, but he was off at a trot with his sandwich. In
five minutes Nan May’s bonnet was on, and in five more
Bessy was minding shop alone, while her mother hastened to Mr.
Dunkin’s for a hock of bacon. Here was a possible
change of fortune, and Nan May was not a woman to waste a
chance.</p>
<p>Boiled and cooled—or cooled enough for the taste of
hungry riveters—the hock stood in a dish on the counter at
one o’clock, flanked by carving-knife and fork. A
card, bearing the best 10 that Bessy could draw, advertised the
price, and the first quarter-pound of slices was duly cut for the
desolate husband, who came back, a little later, for two ounces
more; for he had been ill-fed for two or three days, and the new
baby made an event wherewith some extra expense was
natural. Boys came for two other quarter-pounds, so that it
was plain that the first customer had told others; and a loaf was
cut up to go with the bacon.</p>
<p>Mrs. May announced the new branch of trade to Johnny when he
came to dinner; and though as yet the returns were small enough,
there was a new chance, and his mother was hopeful of it; so he
went back to the lathe with a lighter heart.</p>
<p>That night the riveters worked overtime, and the <SPAN name="page134"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>bacon was
in better demand still. More, at night two or three men
took home a snack in paper, for supper; and from that day things
grew better daily. The hock was finished by the afternoon
of the next day, and the establishment was out of pickles; for
men and boys who brought their own cold meat with them came now
for pickles. Trade was better as the days went on, and
Christmas, though it found them poor enough, was none so sad a
festival after all. And in a month, when the gate had been
formally opened for some time, and the men streamed by in
hundreds, three large hocks would rarely last two days; and there
was an average profit of three shillings a hock. More, the
bread came in daily in batches, at trade price, and cheese and
pickles went merrily. But what went best, and what
increased in sale even beyond this point, was the bacon.
Some customers called it ham, which pleased Nan May; for indeed
her cooking hit the popular taste, and she began to feel a pride
in it. Men who went home to dinner would buy bacon to take
home for tea; and as many of these lived in Harbour Lane and
thereabout, custom soon came from their wives, in soap and
candles, treacle and pepper and blacking. Nan May’s
trade instinct grew with exercise. She found the particular
sort of bacon that best suited her purpose and her
customers’ tastes; she had regular boilings throughout the
week; she quickly found the trick of judging the quality of <SPAN name="page135"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>whatever
she bought; and she bought to the best use of her money.</p>
<p>But here it must be said that Nan May, in her new prosperity,
behaved toward one benefactor with an undutiful forgetfulness
that was near ingratitude. For she bought almost nothing of
Mr. Dunkin. He was reasonably grieved. True, she had
begun by getting her first stock of him, but even then her
critical examination of what was sent showed an unworthily
suspicious attitude of mind. She even sent back many things
and demanded better, wilfully blind to the fact that Mr. Dunkin
could turn her out of the shop at a week’s notice if he
pleased; though indeed in his own mind he was not vindictive, for
another new tenant would be hard to find. He even submitted
to outrage ending in actual loss and humiliation. For a
large tin of mustard was Mrs. May’s first supply, and it
was a tin from among those kept for sale to small shopkeepers,
and not on any account to be sold from retail, across Mr.
Dunkin’s own counter. But something in the feel and
taste of this mustard did not please Nan May (though indeed
<i>she</i> was not asked to eat it), and it went back. Now
it chanced that Mr. Dunkin had taken on a new shopman that week,
and this bungling incapable straightway began selling mustard
from the returned tin. He had served three customers before
his blunder was perceived, and then the matter came to light
purely because the third customer chanced <SPAN name="page136"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>to be a
food and drug inspector. This functionary gravely announced
himself as soon as he had good hold of the parcel, and handsomely
offered the return of a third part of the mustard, in a sealed
packet. And the upshot was a fine of five pounds and costs
for Mr. Dunkin, on the opinionative evidence of an analyst, who
talked of starch and turmeric and ginger—all very excellent
substances, as anybody knows. Truly it was a vexatious blow
for Mr. Dunkin, and an unjust; for certainly the fault was not
his, and to sell such an article, retail, was wholly against his
principles. But he never complained, such was his
forbearance: never spoke of his hardship to a soul, in fact,
except when he “sacked” the new assistant. It
was even said that he had offered a reporter money to keep it out
of the papers; and though it <i>did</i> get into the papers (and
at good length too) yet the effort was kindly meant. For
truly it could but give Mrs. May pain to learn that she had been
the cause of Mr. Dunkin’s misfortune, if she were a woman
of any feeling at all.</p>
<p>But as time went, he began to doubt if she were, for her
custom dropped away to nothing. The rate at which bacon was
handed in from the cart of a firm somewhere in the Borough, was
scandalous to behold. Before his very eyes, too, when he
called for the rent. He employed a collector, but presently
took to coming for the rent himself, that by his presence and his
manner he might shame <SPAN name="page137"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>so thankless a tenant into some
sense of decency, some order for bacon or mustard. He
coughed gently and stared very hard at the incoming goods, but
Nan May was in no wise abashed, and gave the carman his
directions with shameless composure. With his sympathetic
stop full out, Mr. Dunkin asked how trade was, and Nan May
answered in proper shopkeeper terms, that “she
mustn’t grumble.” With hums and purrs, he led
back through casual questions and answers to the stock he had at
first supplied, and asked her how she had done with this, and how
that had “gone off.” But her answers were so
artlessly direct, so inconsiderately truthful, that good Mr.
Dunkin was clean baffled, and reduced at last to a desperate hint
that if anything were wanted he could take the order back with
him. But he got no order, so he purred and hummed his way
into Harbour Lane, and so away; and after a time the collector
came in his stead.</p>
<p>Mr. Dunkin resolved to wait. He had some doubts of the
permanence of this new prosperity in the shop. The place
had never brought anybody a living yet, and he should not feel
convinced till he had seen steady trade there for some
time. Nan May’s activities could always be kept from
flagging by judicious increases of rent, and <i>if</i> the thing
grew well established by her exertions, and was certain to
continue a paying concern, why, here would be a new branch of Mr.
Dunkin’s business ready made. <SPAN name="page138"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>It needed
but a week’s notice, given unexpectedly, at a properly
chosen time, when no neighbouring shop was to let, and a good
stroke of business was happily completed. Mrs. May would
vanish, a man would go in to manage at a pound or twenty-five
shillings a week and his quarters, there would be no interruption
to trade (for the outgoing tenant would naturally keep at work
till the last minute, to get what little she could), and Mr.
Dunkin would have a new branch, paying very excellently, with no
trouble to himself. Mr. Dunkin had established other
branches in the same way, and found it a very simple and cheap
arrangement. There was no risk of his own capital, no
trouble in “working-up” the trade, no cost of
goodwill, and rent was coming regularly while the tenant laboured
with the zeal of a man who imagines he is working for his own
benefit and his children’s. The important thing was
to give nothing but a weekly tenancy; else the tenant might find
time to get going somewhere near at hand, and so perhaps deprive
Mr. Dunkin of the just reward of his sagacity, foresight, and
patience. But there was little difficulty in that
matter. Beginners were timid and glad of a weekly tenancy,
fearing the responsibility of anything longer, at first; and
afterwards—well, things were in a groove, and Mr. Dunkin
was so very kind and sympathetic that it wasn’t worth while
to bother about a change. And by this method Mr. Dunkin,
judiciously selecting his purchases in shop property, had
acquired <SPAN name="page139"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
139</span>two or three of his half-dozen branches, and flourished
exceedingly; which all kindly souls rejoiced to see.</p>
<p>In the beginning he had no thought of this plan for the
Harbour Lane shop, being mainly concerned to get a tenant, no
matter in what trade; and indeed in his eye the place was as
little suited for chandlery as for anything. Even now he
must wait, for he doubted the lasting quality of the new
prosperity; better a few years of forbearance than a too hurried
seizure of a weakening concern, to find little more than the same
tenantless shop on his hands after all. And if it seemed
that the trade owed anything to the personal qualities and
connexions of Mrs. May, well, it would be a simple thing to keep
her on to manage, instead of a man. It would be an act of
benevolence, moreover, to an unfortunate widow, and come
cheaper. But that was a matter for the future.</p>
<p>Meanwhile Nan May, active and confident, filled her shop by
purchase from whatsoever factor sold best and cheapest, and
travellers called for her orders. The hungry husband who
first came for cooked bacon she always treated with particular
consideration, finding him good cuts. He ceased his regular
visits in three weeks or less, and Nan May, taught by experience
in her earlier London life, well guessed the cause of his
coming. In the spring, three months or so later, great
crowds thronged about the ship-yard to see the launch of the
battleship that overtime had so long been worked on; and when the
<SPAN name="page140"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>launch
was over, this man and his wife, the man carrying the baby, came
into the shop for something to celebrate the occasion at
tea. The parents did not altogether comprehend Nan
May’s enthusiasm over the baby, which she took from its
father’s arms and danced merrily about the shop, while
customers waited. But they set it down to admiration of its
personal beauty, though truly it was an ordinary slobbery baby
enough. But it went away down the street in great state,
triumphantly stabbing at its mouth with the sugarstick gripped by
one hand, and at its father’s whiskers with that brandished
in the other.</p>
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