A Humble Enterprise. Ada Cambridge
been nice, after a day's work" – she looked persuadingly at Sarah – "to have had tea in our own back parlour, all alone by ourselves, free and comfortable; and in the evening to have totted up our takings for the day – all cash, of course – and seen them getting steadily bigger and bigger; and by-and-by – because I know that, with a good start, I should have succeeded – to have become well enough off to sell out, and go to travel in Europe, and do things."
"Ah —that!" sighed Sarah, who had a thin, large-eyed, eager face that betokened romantic aspirations.
"If I had only myself to consider, I would do it now," said Jenny. "But there are you three —your money must not be risked."
Joey thought of an elegant little cousin up country, the daughter of a bank manager, who naturally turned up her nose at retail trade; and he said that, as the present head of the family – he was afraid Jenny was over-looking the fact that he held this position by divine right of sex – he should certainly withhold his sanction from any such absurd project, risk or no risk. "Thank the Lord," he blustered angrily, "we have not come down to that– not yet!"
She laughed in his face. "You talked about cads just now," she said; "take care you don't get tainted with their ideas yourself. And don't forget that you are only nineteen, while I am twenty-four, and mother is just twice as old as that; and that what little we have is hers; and that women in these days are as good as men, and much better than boys; and that you are expected to allow us to know what is best for a few years more."
She was a diminutive creature, barely five feet high; but she had the moral powers of a giantess, and was really a remarkable little person, though her family was not aware of it. Joey loved her dearly in an easy-going brotherly way, but maintained that she "bossed the show" unduly at times, and on such occasions he was apt to kick against her pretensions. Lest he should do so now, and an unseemly squabble ensue, Mrs. Liddon interposed with the remark that it was useless to discuss what was impracticable, and begged her daughter to come to business.
"Well," said Jenny then, fixing her bright eyes on the boy's sulky but otherwise handsome face, "this is my proposal – that we open a tea-room – a sort of refined little restaurant for quiet people, don't you know; a kind of – "
Joey rose ostentatiously from his chair.
"Sit down, Joey, and listen to me," commanded Jenny.
"I'm not going to sit down and listen to a lot of tommy-rot," was Joey's scornful reply.
"Very well – go away, then; we can talk a great deal better without you. Take a walk. And when you come back we will tell you what we have decided on."
This advice had its natural effect. Joey sat down again, stretched out his legs, and thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets. Jenny proceeded to unfold her plan to her mother and sister, taking no notice of his sarcastic criticisms.
"Now, dears," she said earnestly, "you know we must do something to keep ourselves, and at the same time to keep a home; don't you?"
They sighed acquiescence.
"And that isn't playwork – we don't expect it to be all pleasure; and we can't afford to have fine-lady fancies, can we?"
They agreed to this, reluctantly.
"Well, then, if we can't do what we would like, we must do what we can. And I can't think of anything more promising than this. I would have quite a small place to begin with – one room, and some sort of kitchen to prepare things in – because rent is the only serious matter, and we must make the thing self-supporting from the first; that is the attraction of my plan, if it has an attraction – the thing I have been specially scheming for. Because, you see, then, if we fail, there won't be any great harm done."
"The publicity!" murmured Mrs. Liddon; and Joey took up the word, and drew offensive pictures of rowdy men invading the establishment, calling for food and drink, and addressing these born ladies as "my dear."
"There will be nothing of that sort," said Jenny calmly. "The place will have no attractions for that class. We must not prohibit men, for that would discourage general custom – "
"Oh – custom!" sneered Joey, with an air of loathing.
"But it will be a woman's place, that men would not think of coming to except to bring women. Just a quiet room, mother; not all rows of chairs and tables, like a common restaurant – the best of our own furniture, with some wicker chairs added, and a few small tables, like a comfortable private sitting-room, only not so crowded; and floored with linoleum, so that we can wash it easily. Then just tea and coffee and scones – perhaps some little cakes – nothing perishable or messy; perhaps some delicate sandwiches, so that ladies can make a lunch. Only these simple things, but they as perfectly good as it is possible to make them. Mother, your scones – "
Mrs. Liddon smiled. She saw at once that her scones alone would make the tea-room famous.
"We must do everything ourselves," said Jenny, "everything; no out-goings except for rent and our few superfine groceries. Consequently we must not undertake too much. Say we open at eleven o'clock and close at eight – no, at seven. That will give us time to prepare in the morning, and our evenings for rest. Mother, dear, you must cook. I will wait. We cannot accommodate more than twenty or so at first, and I can manage that. Sarah can get ready the tea and coffee, and perhaps take the money when we are busy. A few dozen of nice white cups and saucers and a lot of plates – I could get them wholesale. I wish we could afford nice table covers, but I am afraid they, and the washing, would cost too much; we must have American cloth, I suppose. And butter – we must be very careful what arrangements we make for butter, to be sure of having it new every morning; and we must keep it cold —that, above all things. Though we only give tea and scones, let everybody say that they never bought such tea and scones before. Eh, mother?"
"They won't buy better, if I have anything to do with it," said Mrs. Liddon, putting her handkerchief in her pocket.
Thus Jenny unfolded her scheme, and gradually talked her family into a conditional agreement with it. Only Joey was persistently hostile, and he, when she begged him to suggest a better, was fain to acknowledge that no better occurred to him. All he hoped and trusted was that his sister would not drag the family name into the mire – that was to say, not more so than the wretched state of things necessitated. "The Liddons," said the boy, as he rose from the interview, "have never been in trade before."
"And wouldn't you rather be a proprietor in Churchill & Son's than a junior clerk?" was Jenny's quick retort, as he left the room.
The only possible rejoinder was to bang the door, and Joey banged it heartily.
CHAPTER II
HER FIRST FRIEND
The chief of Churchill & Son suffered no social disadvantage from being in trade, and enjoyed many satisfactions that are unknown to the wealthy who have nothing to do. His mind was alert and keen, his large, wholesome-looking body a picture of well-being and contentment, his attitude towards the world and things in general one of consistent self-respect. He was one of that numerous band of perfectly-dressed and exquisitely clean old gentlemen who pervade the city-wending tram-cars of a morning between 9 and 10 o'clock, and are a delight to the eyes of all true lovers of their country, as comprising the solid base of its material prosperity. Solid in every sense was Mr. Nicholas Churchill, a sound, just man, whose word was his bond, and whose signature was good for six figures at the bank; a man who had succeeded in life and commerce without cheating anybody, and was esteemed according to his deserts, as we all are – though we don't always think so.
He walked into the breakfast-room of his little palace at Toorak, on a certain spring morning, and, having kissed his children and shaken hands with the governess, sat down to table and propped his newspaper before him. His wife, a smart young lady in a long-tailed lace-frilled gown, poured out his coffee, and his married daughter helped him to fish; for it was a rule of the house to save him all trouble of helping himself or others at this end of the day. The married daughter, Mrs. Oxenham, was rather older than his wife, and was not now a member of the household, but a visitor from a large station in the north-eastern hills; she had come down to meet