All Sorts and Conditions of Men: An Impossible Story. Walter Besant

don't know," she replied; "I must consult some one."

      "As to that," he said, "there may be another tenant; I can't keep offers open. Take it, miss, or leave it. There!"

      While she still hesitated, he added one more recommendation.

      "An old house it is, but solid, and will stand forever. Why, old Mr. Messenger was born here."

      "Was he?" she cried, "was my – was Mr. Messenger actually born here?"

      She hesitated no longer. She took the house at his own price; she accepted his terms, extortionate and grasping as they were.

      When the bargain was completed – when she had promised to sign the agreement for a twelvemonth, pay a year in advance, and appoint the disinterested one her executor of repairs, she returned to Bormalack's. In the doorway, a cigarette in his mouth, lounged the idle apprentice.

      "I saw you," he said, "with the benevolent Bunker. You have fallen a prey to my uncle?"

      "I have taken a house from him."

      "The two phrases are convertible. Those who take his houses are his victims. I hope no great mischief is done."

      "Not much, I think."

      The young man threw away his cigarette.

      "Seriously, Miss Kennedy," he said, "my good uncle will possess himself of all the money he can get out of you. Have a care."

      "He can do me no harm, thank you all the same. I wanted a house soon, and he has found me one. What does it matter if I pay a little more than I ought?"

      "What does it matter?" Harry was not versed in details of trade, but he knew enough to feel that this kind of talk was unpractical. "What does it matter? My dear young lady, if you go into business, you must look after the sixpences."

      Miss Kennedy looked embarrassed. She had betrayed herself, she thought. "I know – I know. But he talked me over."

      "I have heard," said the practical man, looking profoundly wise, "that he who would save money must even consider that there is a difference between a guinea and a sovereign; and that he shouldn't pay a cabman more than twice his fare, and that it is wrong to pay half-a-guinea for Heidsieck Monopole when he can get Pommery and Greno at seven-and-sixpence."

      Then he, too, paused abruptly, because he felt as if he had betrayed himself. What have cabinet-makers to do with Pommery and Greno? Fortunately, Angela did not hear the latter part of the speech. She was reflecting on the ease with which a crafty man – say Bunker – may compass his ends with the simple – say herself.

      "I do not pretend," he said, "to know all the ropes, but I should not have allowed you to be taken in quite so readily by this good uncle. Do you know – " His eyes, when they were serious, which was not often, were really good. Angela perceived they were serious now: "Do you know that the name of the uncle who was indirectly, so to speak, connected with the Robin Redbreasts was originally Bunker? He changed it after the children were dead, and he came into the property."

      "I wish you had been with me," she said simply. "But I suppose I must take my chance, as other girls do."

      "Most other girls have got men to advise them. Have you no one?"

      "I might have" – she was thinking of her lawyers, who were paid to advise her if required. "But I will find out things for myself."

      "And at what a price! Are your pockets lined with gold, Miss Kennedy?" They certainly were, but he did not know it.

      "I will try to be careful. Thank you."

      "As regards going with you, I am always at your command. I will be your servant, if you will accept me as such."

      This was going a step further than seemed altogether safe. Angela was hardly prepared to receive a cabinet-maker, however polite and refined he might seem, as a lover.

      "I believe," she said, "that in our class of life it is customary for young people to 'keep company,' is it not?"

      "It is not uncommon," he replied, with much earnestness. "The custom has even been imitated by the higher classes."

      "What I mean is this, that I am not going to keep company with any one; but, if you please to help me, if I ask your advice, I shall be grateful."

      "Your gratitude," he said with a smile, "ought to make any man happy!"

      "Your compliments," she retorted, "will certainly kill my gratitude; and now, Mr. Goslett, don't you really think that you should try to do some work? Is it right to lounge away the days among the streets? Are your pockets, I may ask, lined with gold?"

      "I am looking for work. I am hunting everywhere for work. My uncle is going to find me a workshop. Then I shall request the patronage of the nobility and gentry of Stepney, Whitechapel, and the Mile End Road. H. G. respectfully solicits a trial." He laughed as if there could be no doubt at all about the future, and as if a few years of looking around were of no importance. Then he bowed to Angela in the character of the Complete Cabinet-maker. "Orders, madame, orders executed with neatness and despatch. The highest price given for second-hand furniture."

      She had got her house, however, though she was going to pay far too much for it. That was a great thing, and, as the more important schemes could not be all commenced at a moment's notice, she would begin with the lesser – her dressmaker's shop.

      Here Mr. Goslett could not help her. She applied, therefore, again to Mr. Bunker, who had a registry office for situations wanted. "My terms," he said, "are five shillings on application and five shillings for each person engaged."

      He did not say that he took half a crown from each person who wanted a place and five shillings on her getting the place. His ways were ways of pleasantness, and on principle he never spoke of things which might cause unpleasant remarks. Besides, no one knew the trouble he had to take in suiting people.

      "I knew," he said, "that you would come back to me. People will only find out my worth when I am gone."

      "I hope you will be worth a great deal, Mr. Bunker," said Angela.

      "Pretty well, young lady. Pretty well. Ah! my nephews will be the gainers. But not what I might have been if it had not been for the meanness, the – the – Hunxiness of that wicked old man."

      "Do you think you can find me what I want, Mr. Bunker?"

      "Can I?" He turned over the leaves of a great book. "Look at this long list; all ready to better themselves. Apprentices anxious to get through their articles, and improvers to be dressmakers, and dressmakers to be forewomen, and forewomen to be mistresses. That is the way of the world, young lady. Sweet contentment, where art thou?" The pastoral simplicity of his words and attitude were inexpressibly comic.

      "And how are you going to begin, Miss Kennedy?"

      "Quietly at first."

      "Then you'll want a matter of one or two dressmakers, and half a dozen improvers. The apprentices will come later."

      "What are the general wages in this part of London?"

      "The dressmakers get sixteen shillings a week; the improvers six. They bring their own dinners, and you give them their tea. But, of course, you know all that."

      "Of course," said Angela, making a note of the fact, notwithstanding.

      "As for one of your dressmakers, I can recommend you Rebekah Hermitage, daughter of the Rev. Percival Hermitage. She cannot get a situation, because of her father's religious opinions."

      "That seems strange. What are they?"

      "Why, he's minister of the Seventh-Day Independents. They've got a chapel in Redman's Row; they have their services on Saturday because, they say – and it seems true – that the Fourth Commandment has never been abolished any more than the rest of them. I wonder the bishops don't take it up. Well, there it is. On Saturdays she won't work, and on Sundays she don't like to, because the other people don't."

      "Has she any religious objection," asked Angela, "to working on Monday and Tuesday?"

      "No; and I'll send her over, Miss Kennedy, this evening, if you will see her.