Original Penny Readings: A Series of Short Sketches. Fenn George Manville
as the swell says, he “analyses” ’em. And then where are yer? Here’s your sole good for nought – the welt gone, heel sunk, and a whole regiment of pegs sticking up inside fit to rasp every bit o’ skin off yer foot.
Well, of course he grins; but you wants ’em to-morrow? Werry good; and he grins again to find that with all yer machine-making and sewing, yer obliged to come back to the old mender after all; so he takes off his glasses, gets Kidney Joe to cast a hye on his stall, and runs round to the grindery shop in Drury Lane, and comes back in ten minutes with a few real Archangel bristles, a ball of hemp, a set of first-class leather, some stuffin’; and of course, just as if to insult him, the counter’s chock full o’ ready-closed uppers, with all sorts o’ jigamaree, fiddle-faddle stitching about ’em, as ain’t no good only to let the water in. Then off he sets again – only he has to go back for his wax, which is, as one may say, the mainspring of a boot – the mortar of the edifice, as holds all together and as it should be.
Nex’ day you comes for the boots, and there they are. Well, they ain’t done; but J.W.’s a-ripping into ’em. One’s been touched over with a bit o’ glass, as has smoothed the new half-sole wonderful, and another’s being sprigged; then the edges’ll be waxed up a bit with the dubbin’, and then there’s yer boots – a tighter and a better pair than they was afore, and all for three shillings, or three-and-six, according to your customer.
I never puts any toe-pieces on, punched full o’ holes to make ’em look ’ansum; but does my work in the good old style, and if I was in Parliament every man as didn’t wear Wellingtons should be taxed.
But along o’ them cards in the winders. Well, a chap come to me one day, and wanted me to be agent, and I stares up at him at first to see as he wasn’t joking, “Loans of from 5 pounds to 100 pounds upon personal security,” says the card he showed me, just as you can see ’em in hundreds o’ back courts and slums – places where you may be sure people wants heaps o’ money.
“Do a wonderful stroke o’ business,” I says, looking at my chap. “Find plenty o’ customers down here; but p’raps they might object to the smell o’ the leather, and so keep away.”
“Bless yer, no,” says the chap – “not at all. Many of our agents is marine-store dealers and groshers. Good commission for you if you like to take it.”
But I wouldn’t; and there hung the card in the little red herring and sweet shop till last week, when they had to turn out because the place is all coming down to make way for the new law courts, and setrer.
Do! of course it’s a do; same as those ’wertisements in the papers is from distressed tradesmen who’ll give five pound for the loan of ten for a week, and deposit fifty pounds wally of stuff for security – pawn tickets, yer know – cards got from folks’ uncle when they’ve been on a wisit – “Frock-coat and satin wesket, fifteen and nine, John Smith, 999, Snooks-street” – and all on to that tune. Traps – traps – traps, every one on ’em, as the poor fellows know as has had any dealings with the moneylenders.
Now, just look here; about the only honest one there is, is your uncle. Fixed interest, certain time, and he wants security. Saturday night and a hard week, and rent due, and the chap as the boots was made for not come to fetch ’em; the pair as was mended not paid for – and all the stuff required cost money, you see – so off you goes to your uncle with two flat irons and the missus’s ring. Then you does your bit of negotiation, and the job’s done; and out you come from the little court where the door flaps to, and all’s right and square, and no odds to nobody; but just try same as Jinks did to get a loan from the Cosmypolitan and Jint-Stock Adwance and Discount Company, and see how you like it. So many stamps for application; so much for inquiry fee; so much for this, and so much for that, and so on.
Jinks comes in, as maybe you, and he says, “I shall be wantin’ a pair o’ boots nex’ week,” he says, “and you may as well take the measure now,” he says; “save time when I gives the order.”
“All right,” I says, getting hold o’ my rule and a strip o’ paper.
“But I dunno yet what sort I’ll have,” he says. “I’ve a sorter leaning towards ’lasticks; but I dunno,” he says, “but what I’d best stick to the old sort – laceups.”
“Say the word,” I says, and he said it – “’Lasticks!” and I took his measure, and brought out a pen, dips in my ink-bottle, and makes marks; and all the time he was precious busy rattling some printed paper about and pretending to be reading.
“Oh, Weltus,” he says all at once, just as if it struck him all at the moment, “I’m a-going to have an advance from the ’ciety.”
“Are you?” I says – “inches and a harf – ’lasticks – kid tops.”
“What?” he says.
“Only my measuring,” I says, with the pen in my mouth.
“Oh!” he says, “jusso.” And then he goes on – “’Bliged to get a couple of tradesmen – ’spectable tradesmen – to sign their names to the papers – just to show, you know, as I’m some one decent. You’ll be one, won’t yer?”
“One what?” I says – “bondsman?”
“Oh, no,” he says, “nothing o’ the kind; only just sign yer name. It’s me as is bound; and if anything went wrong, why, they’d come upon me, and so on, yer know. Don’t yer see?”
“No!” I says, taking off my glasses, and rubbin’ ’em on my leather apron – “No,” I says, “I can’t quite.”
“Why,” he says, “it’s five pound as I’m going to borrow; and they lends it me on my own pussonal security; but just to show as I’m the right sort, I get two ’spectable tradesmen to put down their names. Don’t yer see? I could get plenty to do it, only I don’t want every one to know. You see now, don’t you?”
“No,” I says, “I can’t somehow.”
“Why,” he says, “it’s all right, man,” and he gives me a slap on the shoulder. “I’m going to pay it back by ’stalments, and I shall pay yer cash for them boots when I gets the money, and it’ll be doing us both a good turn. There’s the line – just along there – ‘J. Weltus, Pull-Down Court.’ Don’t you be in a stew; there’s nothing to be ’feard on. It’s me as they’d come on, I tell you. Your signing yer name along that line is only a form, and it’s me they’d sell up. Now don’t you see? I shall give you the order for them boots o’ Monday.”
But, do you know, I’m blest if I could see it then; and though he tried a bit more, he couldn’t make me see it. Long course o’ roughing it in the world’s made my eyes dull, yer know; and, last of all, Jinks doubles up his papers, and goes out quite huffy; while I gets ready a fresh pair of ends and goes on with a job I had in hand, when every time I pulls the threads home I gives a good hard grunt, and goes on analysing Bob Jinks, and wondering what it would all come to. “Holiday now and then’s all werry well,” I says, “but Rye House, ’Ampton Court, and Gravesend on Mondays won’t do even if a man does make six-and-thirty bob a week. Masters don’t like their hands to be allus going out, and besides, it don’t look well to take a soot o’ clothes out on Saturday night, and stuff ’em up the spout again on Toosdays or Wensdays;” and arter analysing a good deal, I couldn’t help finding as Bob Jinks was one of them chaps as helped pay for Mrs Shortnip’s satin dress at the Rising Sun. “Hal, a pint o’ beer’s good,” I says to myself, “and I don’t object to a pipe with it; but have the work done first. That’s my motter.”
“Don’t begin them boots till I gives yer the order,” says Jinks, as he goes out.
“No,” I says, “I shan’t;” nor I didn’t neither, for I couldn’t see the Jos Miller of it, and somehow or another Jinks never come inside my place again.
I was on the look-out, though, and I suppose he did make some one see all about it, and got him to sign; for two months arter there was a snuffy-looking old foggy-eyed chap a-stopping in his lodgings, and a little while arter two o’