Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 35

Mrs. Cramp, turning over matters in her mind, determined to put the case plainly before him, and did so; telling him that it would be better to leave his business for a temporary period now, than to find shortly that he must leave it for ever. Jacob sat gazing out straight before him at the Malvern Hills, the chain of which lay against the sky in the distance.

"If you took my advice, brother, you would retire from business altogether. You have made enough to live without it, I suppose----"

"But I have not made enough," he interrupted.

"Then you ought to have made it, Jacob."

"Oughts don't go for much."

"What I mean is, that you ought to have made it, judging by the style in which you live. Two houses, a carriage and ponies (besides your gig), expensive dress, parties: all that should never be gone into, brother, unless the _realized_ income justifies it."

"It is the style we live in that has not let me put by, Mary Ann. I don't tell you I have put nothing by: I have put a little by year by year; but it is not enough to live upon."

"Then make arrangements for half the proceeds of the business to be given over to you. Let the two boys take to it, and----"

"_Who?_" cried Jacob.

"The two boys, Tom and Valentine. It will be theirs some time, you know, Jacob: let them have it at once. Tom's name must be first, as it ought to be. Valentine----"

"I have no intention of doing anything of the kind," interposed Jacob, sharply. "I shall keep the business in my own hands as long as I live.

Perhaps I may take Valentine into it: not Tom."

Mrs. Cramp sat for a full minute staring at Jacob, her stout hands, from which the gloves had been taken, and her white lace ruffles lying composedly on her brown gown.

"Not take Tom into the business!" she repeated, in a slow, astonished tone. "Why, Jacob, what do you mean?"

"_That_," said Jacob. "Tom will stay on at a good salary: I shall increase it, I dare say, every two years, or so; but he will not come into the firm."

"You can't mean what you say."

"I have meant it this many a year past, Mary Ann. I have never intended to take him in."

"Jacob, beware! No luck ever comes of fraud."

"Of what? _Fraud?_"

"Yes; I say fraud. If you deprive Tom of the place that is justly his, it will be a cheat and a fraud, and nothing short of it."

"You have a queer way of looking at things, Mrs. Cramp. Who has kept the practice together all these years, but me? and added to it little by little, and made it worth double what it was; ay, and more than double?

It is right--_right_, mind you, Mary Ann--that my own son should succeed to it."

"Who made the practice in the first place, and took you into it out of brotherly affection, and made you a full partner without your paying a farthing, and for seventeen or eighteen years was the chief prop and stay of it?" retorted Mrs. Cramp. "Why, poor Thomas; your elder brother.

Who made him a promise when he was lying dying in that very parlour where your wife and children are now sitting, that Tom should take his proper place in the firm when he was of age, and his half-share with it, according to agreement? Why you. You did, Jacob Chandler."

"That was all a mistake," said Jacob, shuffling his thin legs and wrists.

"I will leave you," said Mrs. Cramp. "I don't care to discuss questions while you are in this frame of mind. Is this all the benefit you got from the parson's sermon this morning, and the text he gave out before it? That text: think of it a bit, brother Jacob, and perhaps you'll see your way to acting differently. Remember," she added, turning back to him for the last word, which she always had, somehow, "that cheating never prospers in the long run. It never does, Jacob; never: for where it is crafty cheating, hidden away from the sight of man, it is seen and noted by G.o.d."

Her brown skirts (all the shades of a copper tea-kettle) disappeared round the corner by the mulberry-tree, leaving Jacob very angry and uncomfortable. Angry with her, uncomfortable in himself. Do what he would, he could not get that text out of his mind--and what right had she to bring it cropping up to him in that inconvenient way, he wondered, or to speak to him about such matters at all. The verse was a beautiful verse in itself; he had always thought so: but it was not pleasant to be tormented by it--and all through Mary Ann! There it was haunting his memory again!

"Keep innocency, and take heed unto the thing that is right: for that shall bring a man peace at the last."

Jacob Chandler grew to look a little fresher, though not stouter, as the weeks went on: the drive, night and morning, seemed to do him good.

Meeting Cole one day, he told him he felt stronger, and did not see why he should not live to be ninety. With all his heart, Cole answered, but most people found seventy long enough.

All at once, without warning, a notice appeared in the local papers, stating that Jacob Chandler had taken his son Valentine into partners.h.i.+p. Mrs. Chandler read it as she sat at breakfast.

"What does it mean, Tom?" she asked.

"I don't know what it means, mother. We have heard nothing about it at the office."

"Tom, you may depend your uncle Jacob _has done it_, and that he does not intend to take you in at all," spoke Mrs. Chandler, in her strong conviction. "I shall go to him."

She finished her breakfast and went off there and then, catching Jacob just as he was turning out of the white gate at North Villa to mount his gig: for he still came over to Crabb to sleep. The newspaper was in her hand, and she pointed to the advertis.e.m.e.nt.

"What does it mean, Jacob?" she asked, just as she had a few minutes before asked of Tom.

"Mean!" said Jacob. "It can't have more than one meaning, can it? I've thought it best to let Val's name appear in the practice, and made over to him a small share of the profits. Very small, Betsy. He won't draw much more than he has been drawing as salary."

"But what of Tom?" questioned poor Mrs. Chandler.

"Of Tom? Well, what of him?"

"When is he to be taken in?"

"Oh, there's time enough for that. I can't make two moves at once; it could not be expected of me, Betsy. My son is my son, and he had to come in first."

"But--Jacob--don't you think you ought to carry out the agreement made with Tom's father--that you are bound in honour?" debated Mrs. Chandler, in her meek and non-insisting way.

"Time enough, Betsy. We shall see. And look there, my horse won't stand: he's always fresh in the morning."

Shaking her hand hastily, he stepped up, took the reins from the man, and was off in a trice, bowling along at a quicker pace than usual. The poor woman, left standing there and feeling half-bewildered, saw Mrs.

Jacob at one of the open windows, and crossed the lawn to speak.

"I came up about this announcement," she said. "It is so strange a thing; we can't understand it at all. Jacob should take Tom into partners.h.i.+p. Especially now that he has taken Valentine."

"Do you think so?" drawled Mrs. Jacob; who wore a pink top-knot and dirty morning wrapper, and minced her words more than usual, for she thought the more she minced them the finer she was. "Dear me! I'm sure I don't know anything about it. All well at home, I hope? I won't ask you in, for I'm going to be busy. My daughters are invited to a garden-party this afternoon, and I must give directions about the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of their dresses. Good-morning."

Back went Mrs. Chandler, and found her son watching for her at the door, waiting to hear what news she brought, before setting out on his usual walk.

"Your uncle slips through it like an eel, Tom," she began. "I can make nothing of him one way or another. He does not say he will not take you in, but he does not say he will. What is to be done?"

"Nothing can be done that I know of, mother," replied Tom; "nothing at all. Uncle Jacob holds the power in his own hands, you see. If it does not please him to give me my lawful share, we cannot oblige him to do it."

"But how unjust it will be if he does not!"