Ben Clough and other stories

Prologue

. On a certain February afternoon, before the century had reached middle age, a red-coated, mud - splashed horseman was riding leisurely towards Whalley from the north. Sport had been good, and he felt as happy as a man can feel who has ridden boldly and been well carried in the best run of the season — that is to say, very happy indeed. At Pendleton Bar he paused to pay the toll; then, tucking his hunting-crop under his arm, he produced a cigar-case, lighted a cigar, and resumed his journey. B " Hi ! hi ! hi ! " shouted a shrill voice behind him. The gentleman, turning round, saw a lad in clogs and a corduroy suit running with all his might. "Sir, sir, yo've lost yer whip, yo've lost yer whip," he cried, holding up the implement in question. "Thank you, my lad," said the other kindly. " I dropped it while I was lighting my cigar.

It was very good of you to run after me. Here is something for you." And with that the rider put his gloved hand into his breeches pocket, took out the first coin he fingered, threw it to the boy, and went on. " Hi ! hi ! hi ! hi ! " "What is the matter now?" asked the horse man, pulling up a second time. " See what yo've gan me ! " said the lad breathlessly. "Isn't it enough?" "Enough! It's gowd, mon. It's a sovereign," exhibiting it. " The deuce it is. I meant to give you sixpence or a shilling. Why did not you keep the sovereign and say nothing ? " " That wouldn't ha' been reyt." "You are an honest lad. Who are your folks ? " "My feyther's a ploughman, and my mother weyves silk and sells sweetstuff." "And you never had a sovereign before, I suppose ? " "I've noan touched one afore." " Well, I think you're a good lad, I am sure you are an honest one.

Yes, you may keep it." " Keep it ! What, for allus ? " "Yes, for always, or as long as you can. "But don't spend it. Use it as a nest egg; make it the foundation of a fortune, and when you've got the fortune think of me. You know who I am." "I do that, gradely weel, and thank yo' kindly." " Well, take care that you go on as you have begun, and some day you will have a bucketful of sovereigns." b And then the gentleman touched his horse with his heel and jogged on. The boy contemplated his sovereign ecstati cally, balanced it on the tip of his finger, threw it up in the air and caught it in the palm of his hand, spat on it for luck, and put it in his pocket. "Mine for allus! Mine for. allus!" he shouted. Then after dancing a pas seul in the middle of the highway, he ran off to tell his mother of his good fortune. THE STORY.

Chapter I

A large cellar warehouse in a Manchester street; on the floor, piles of gray calicoes ; on the broad polished counter, which runs under the windows, a few bundles of samples, weigh scales, and a couple of yardsticks. At the end furthest from the entrance, two offices — a general and a private — divided from the wareroom by a half-wooden, half-glass partition. As yet, the hour being early, the only occupants of the place are a cat, licking milk from a saucer, and Ben Clough, who is taking a frugal breakfast in the general office. On the hob stands a small kettle ; in the fender, a cracked jug, containing a liquid which it pleases Clough so call coffee, and of which he occasionally drinks. The more substantial part of his meal consists of a black pudding, which he cuts with his pocket knife and eats raw, a small loaf, and a pat of butter, which he spreads with his thumb.

Clough is of medium height, broad-shouldered, and long - armed. He has a large red face, coarse mouth, and small gray eyes ; his heavy chin is closely shaven, his round head well thatched with short sandy hair. He wears a decent black coat and gray trousers ; and though nobody could possibly mistake him for a gentle man, he looks quite respectable enough to drum for orders and go on 'Change. Like a good many other folks, Clough has had his ups and downs. He has been weaver, over looker, coal dealer, and small manufacturer. In the last of these capacities he made a smash of it, owing to bad times and shortness of capital ; but as he was 'cute, impudent, and energetic, and possessed some "connection," Wanstead and Co. (the tenants of the cellar) offered him a place as half warehouseman, half salesman, at a modest salary, and an infinitesimal commission on any new business he might introduce.

Clough, who was in a mood to be thankful for small mercies, accepted the offer with effusion, and has already done the firm good service. Buyers, who regard him as a rough diamond, like his bluff manner, which they erroneously ascribe to simplicity; and he often gets orders when his more polished and courtly competitors get only the cold shoulder. Albeit Clough carries all his family under his hat, he practises a rigid economy, for he means to get on his legs again, and without money it is difficult either to get on your legs or keep on them. Ben lodges up Collyhurst way, and pays seven shillings a week for his room. When his landlady wanted to charge him ninepence for breakfast (served in the parlour) he demurred, and now makes his own breakfast at the warehouse, thereby saving fourpence halfpenny a day, equal to two and threepence a week, and that, as he observes in his self-communings, is a good deal better than a poke in the eye with a burnt stick.

Clough has finished his breakfast and is in the act of lighting his pipe, when a postman runs down the steps, throws several letters on the counter, and then goes away as fast as he came. Ben takes them up, and glances at his watch. " It'll be half an hour before anybody comes," he mutters; "I'll have a look at 'em. It'll be summat to do and U.K." (Useful knowledge, for which Ben has an insatiable thirst.) Returning to the office, he puts the kettle on the fire and resumes his seat ; when the lid begins to lift he removes it, steams the envelopes, one after the other, and as soon as the gum is softened opens them gently, and lays each, face downward, on the table beside him. His next proceeding is to make himself master of their contents. " Fro' Tom Pearson," he soliloquised. " Deli very note of fifteen hundred seventy-two reeds, and he'll want four hundred pounds to-day.

They're a needy lot, them Burnley chaps. They send goods off one day and want th' brass next. Some wants it th' day afore. I hope Tommy '11 get it. But I'm rayther feared as th' gaffer is getting hardish up hissel'. He hasn't been as flush lately as he used to be, and there is oft th' same look in his een as there used to be i' mine when I wur i' Queer Street. . . . Here is another — sainted, too, (putting it to his nose), and summat inside. . . . Dash my buttons if it isn't a likeness and a lock of hair ! A woman ! What says hoo ? " ' Darling Fred, "'I send what you asked me for, and hope you will like it. Vergiss mich nicht. I shall expect you on Sunday. With dearest love, " ' Your own, "'Mad. A.' " Well, that's th' cobbest name for a woman, or anybody else, as ever I heard on. What can it stand for, I wonder?

Madagascar, happen. Well, hoo's getten a bonny face of her own any way. I did not know as th' gaffer had getten mixed up wi' a lass. But lads will be lads. They allus wor ; so wor lasses. I was a bit of a foo' that way mysel' once. Vergiss mich nicht. That's French, and summat about kissing, I reckon. Here's another ' private.' He's not carrying on wi' two women at th' same time sure-ly. Whew ! By the Jenkins ! ' ' Falatine Bank. "'Dear Sir, " ' I shall be glad to see you in reference to your account at your earliest convenience. Meanwhile be good enough to draw no more cheques. " ' Yours truly, " ' Philip Johnson, " ' Manager.' "Whew!" whistled Clough again. "This is waur than I expected. I' love and i' Queer Street at th' same time ! No wonder he looks moydered sometimes. It's just th' way wi' these banks.

When you don't want brass they let you have it, and when you are hard up they want it back. Pearson will not get his four hundred pounds — that's sure ; and, bithmon, I think I had better be looking out for another shop, or else I shall be in Queer Street mysel', and it's a country I don't much like." The reading of these letters so dulled the edge of Clough's curiosity and gave him so much to think about that he closed the others without looking at them, and, after clearing away his breakfast things, betook himself to the warehouse, where there presently appeared the office boy and the porter, followed at short intervals by the salesman and the bookkeeper. At half-past nine came Wanstead and Co., for, like Clough's family, the firm was all under one hat, being concentrated in the person of Mr. Frederick Lyte.

He was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and looked younger, sported a " buttonhole," carried a cane, and walked with a quick jaunty step, the aforesaid hat slightly on one side, not from design, but owing to the shape of his head, which was large, massive, and, as his hatter once told him, " bumpy and bad to fit." Though his features were irregular, his face was good — firm mouth, shaded by a brown moustache, bright, wideawake eyes, and a keen, eager, " all there " look, which denoted quickness of apprehension and a sanguine temperament. His father had bought him a share in Wan stead's business some years previously, and when the father died Fred bought Wanstead and Co. out and became sole proprietor of the concern. He was shrewd, enterprising, and full of resource — too enterprising, some people said — for besides his commission business, which he pushed with great energy, he ran a loom shed at Chorley, was suspected of having an occasional spec, in cotton, lived en garcon at Alderley Edge, kept a couple of hunters at Tarporley, and business and weather permitting, rode three or four times a fortnight with the North Cheshire.

Some of his censors regarded this as reprehensible ex travagance. But as Clough one day sagaciously, albeit cynically, observed, when the subject was under discussion, " a wife and family would ha' cost a vast sight more than two or three hosses ; and if th' gaffer liked hosses best that wur nowt to nobody. Besides, a hoss is a hasset and a wife is a liability — that's another point to be considered." Mr. Lyte stepped briskly, with head bent as if in thought, into his office. After reading his letters, making sundry calculations, and con ferring with the bookkeeper, he returned to the warehouse, to Clough's utter surprise, looking as unconcerned as though the portentous summons which he had just received from his bankers were an ordinary business incident. " Got a new suit of clothes, Ben ?

" he said, smiling. "You are quite a swell. Moses and Son ? " " Nay ; Moses is about fifty per cent, too dear for me. I mun go to a chepper chap than Moses." " Cheaper than Moses ! But this is fine broadcloth. Who is he ? I think I must give him an order, if you will favour me with his address." " To be sure I will. His name is Aaron, and he keeps a pop shop at th' top o' Deansgate. He'll fit you up with a good second-hand suit for about four-and-twenty shillings." Mr. Lyte laughed, though a little uneasily. It amused him to chaff Clough (of whose character he took the same view as his customers), but he did not altogether enjoy being sold. Changing the subject rather abruptly, he gave the two salesmen their orders for the day. "Pearson writes that he is sending up a thousand 'seventy-two's,' and asks for four hundred pounds," he said.

" If either of you see him on 'Change, tell him that he can have a cheque at four o'clock — if the goods are delivered in the meantime. It does not follow that they have been sent off because he says so. I am rather afraid that Pearson is in Queer Street ; and I see that his account is nearly a hundred pounds to the bad — quite enough to risk." And then, after observing that he should not be back until twelve, Mr. Lyte ran up the cellar steps and made off at his usual swift walk. " Well, I'm jiggered ! " thought Clough. "Queer Street! Why, he's i' Queer Street hissel' ; and it caps me awtogether where he's going to get that brass for Tommy — if he does get it. And he trotted me about my new suit just as if nowt wor. It beats cockfighting. It's a nigamy — that's what it is — a regular nigamy. What next, I wonder ? "

Chapter II

The enigma or " nigamy," as he called it, which so sorely puzzled Mr. Benjamin Clough, was not very difficult of solution. If he had read the whole of Mr. Lyte's letters it would have been no puzzle for him at all. One of them contained a remittance of two thousand pounds, which, though fervently hoped for, he had no right to expect, and it came as an agreeable surprise. This and the charming little billet doux from his sweetheart more than counterbalanced Mr. Philip Johnson's extremely unpleasant dun, and rendered him for the moment oblivious to the other worries, which had lately troubled his peace. From his warehouse Lyte went to the bank, and after paying in his two thousand pound cheque asked for an interview with the manager, and was shown into his room. Mr. Johnson was a stout, middle-aged gentleman with a great deal of shirt-front, cat-like whiskers, and a grave, yet not unkindly face.

" I was sorry to have to write as I did, Mr. Lyte," he observed, after they had shaken hands, " but really, you know, I had no alternative. The cheques presented yesterday went beyond the utmost limits we have agreed to allow you, and your debit balance now stands at five thousand five hundred " " Excuse me, Mr. Johnson, three thousand five hundred, and there are no more cheques out." " Ah ! You have paid something in this morning, then ? " " Two thousand pounds." " I am very glad," returned the manager, his grave face relaxing into a smile. " We have a board meeting at eleven, and if the debit balance had not been reduced I should have been severely blamed for paying those cheques yesterday, and I very much fear that your overdraft would not have been continued. You don't watch your account, I think."

" Yes, I do, closely." An indiscreet answer. Lyte had done better to acknowledge the impeachment or hold his tongue. "And yet you overdraw five hundred pounds beyond the very liberal credit we place at your disposal ! " This time Lyte made no reply. It would not have done to say that he had drawn the cheques in question on the assumption that the bank, to which he was so largely indebted, would not damage his credit by refusing them. "Well, don't do it again," resumed the manager, softening a little, "nor anything else which is likely to challenge the attention of the directors, for, to tell the truth, you are not in very good odour with them just now." " Not in good odour with them ! Why, I should like to know ? " asked Lyte, with a look of pained surprise. "There is an idea that you are too extended, doing too large a business for your capital, and not sticking to your business.

Are you speculating in cotton ? " c " Does anybody say that lam?" " That is no answer to my question, Mr. Lyte ; not that I press for an answer. I leave it entirely to your discretion." Lyte, perceiving that openness was his best policy, did answer. " If I say that I am not speculating in cotton I shall be speaking the literal truth. But I will be frank with you. I have had a deal or two and made money by them, but that is past, and at the present moment I have no interest in cotton whatever." " And don't intend to have, I hope. There is nothing," added the manager, expanding his shirt front and looking severely oracular, " there is nothing that so much injures a man's credit and diverts his attention from his business as engaging in outside speculation ; and if you have a fault, Mr. Lyte, it is being over sanguine, and in too great haste to be rich."

Lyte thanked Mr. Johnson for his advice, which was no doubt kindly meant, yet he went away deeply humiliated and vexed. Being "called over the coals " is never an agreeable process, and he perceived, as much from his monitor's manner as his words, that the credit of Wanstead and Co. was on the wane. He had gone beyond his tether several times previously, and nothing had been said ; he had believed that his speculations were known only to himself and two or three others, and yet the bank had got wind of them ! The directors were evidently doing what Johnson accused him of not doing — watching his account. Worse, somebody was telling tales about him. Who could it be? His operations in cotton were known only to his bookkeeper, in whom he had implicit confidence, and his brokers, upon whom he had enjoined the strictest discretion, and it was to the last degree unlikely that any of them had " talked out of doors."

The more he pondered the matter the more he was puzzled, and in the end gave it up as an insoluble problem, resolving, however, to keep a sharp look-out, and try to ascertain the source of Mr. Johnson's information ; for Lyte felt sure that he had to thank the tale-bearer, whoever that individual might be, for the sharp rap on the knuckles he had just received, and c the humble pie which he had been compelled to eat. The charge of being in too great haste to be rich sat very lightly on his conscience. He knew that he was enterprising and sanguine, and he meant to be. How otherwise could he succeed ? — and he had a reason for desiring to succeed, and that quickly, of which the manager knew nothing. On his success depended the winning of Madge Arden ; and he was resolved to win her, though he should perish in the effort.

Madge was the most charming girl in the world ; a brunette, with big black eyes and peachlike cheeks, and as full of fun and mischief as of kindliness and good sense. But her father (of whom she was absurdly fond) was a rich old curmudgeon who, albeit his income ran into five figures and he doubled it by shrewd operations in stocks and shares, lived in a ten-roomed house at Whalley Range, and spent in a year less than he made in a week. He owned ground rents, and land, and houses all over the place, which he "stewarded" himself, and had ■21 a little office in Hopwood Avenue (furnished with a desk and four chairs), on the door whereof was inscribed this legend : Humphrey Arden Attends on Market Days. Lyte made Madge's acquaintance at the house of a common friend at Alderley Edge, and was straight way smitten ; and being as ardent in love as he was diligent in business, was not long in drawing from her an admission that she, too, had fallen a victim to the rosy god.

But until Fred had ob tained her father's sanction she declined to consider herself engaged. " He is very good," she observed dubiously, " and, to me, kindness itself. But father has his peculiarities, and one of them is a dislike of young men. The only man under fifty who ever comes to our house is George Winsford, and he is well on towards forty, and an insufferable puppy." "So much the better, darling. I shall have you all to myself. As for your father, never fear, I will make it all right with him. There is no con ceivable reason why he should make any difficulty. My family is highly respectable. I am very well connected. Nobody can say anything against my character, and though I am not rich, yet I am making money, and my means, as I shall be able to show him, fully justify me in marrying."

A few days after this conversation Lyte waited on Mr. Arden and asked him, in a manly, straight forward way, for his daughter's hand — laying particular stress on the respectability of the Lyte family, his flourishing business, and his fair prospects. The old millionaire, who, though nearly three score and ten, was as hard as nails, and had such a profusion of beard and whiskers that he looked all hair and spectacles, let Lyte finish his tale, and then said, rather sarcastically : " So your family is highly respectable, Mr, Lyte ? " " Yes. We have always held a good position in the county. My great-grandfather was sheriff in George Ill.'s jubilee year." "Well, my family is not highly respectable. My father was a common man, and as like as not my grandfather was hanged for sheepstealing the year your great - grandfather was high sheriff.

You are too good for the like of us, young sir." For a moment Lyte was rather " gloppened," as they say in Lancashire, but he got out of the difficulty with an adroitness that did him credit. " Too good for you, Mr. Arden ! " he exclaimed with well-affected surprise. " It is just the other way about. A man who is the architect of his own fortunes deserves far more credit than one who is born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Don't you think Lancashire is prouder of Humphrey Arden than Lord Derby ? But as I have not made my fortune — yet, I must needs make the most of such modest advantages as I possess." " Humph ! You are not a fool, Mr. Lyte. I will say that for you." " Thank you, Mr. Arden." " And I dare say you think that marrying my daughter would be a very quick way of making your fortune.

But you are quite mistaken. I shall, ten to one, leave everything to the Royal Infirmary and other charities." " You may leave it to the Asylum for Homeless Cats for aught I care," quoth Lyte warmly. " I love Madge for herself alone, and ask nothing in the world from you but your sanction of our en gagement." "All very fine. But how about your means? I could not let Madge become engaged to a man whose pecuniary position was precarious." " My pecuniary position is not precarious. I have a good income and a flourishing business." " I am glad to hear it. But just let us go into it a bit. What do you reckon you are worth ? " " Fifteen to twenty thousand pounds." " How invested ? Give us the items." "Well, there is my commission business, worth at least four thousand; that is what I gave the Wansteads for it, and it has increased since."

"You gave them too much, then. Suppose two or three of your best men leave you ? You cannot tie manufacturers as brewers tie beer shop keepers— unless you let 'em get into your debt, and that's the road to ruin. I cannot regard this as a tangible asset, Mr. Lyte. What else have you ? " " There is my loom shed at Chorley." " Is it your own ? " " No, I rent it ; but the looms are — five hundred, and nearly new, all broad, some of them sixty inch reed space, and worth ten pounds apiece of any body's money." " No such thing. A loom shed is a regular white elephant in these days. Looms ! God bless me, looms ! They are worth breaking up price; that is what they are worth — twenty or thirty shillings apiece. But I'll be liberal with you, and say forty. That makes a tangible asset of a thousand pounds.

Owt else ? " " What an old ruffian it is ! " thought Lyte, feeling as if bay-salt was being rubbed into his eyes ; yet for his sweetheart's sake constraining himself to answer civilly. " My working capital, some seven thousand pounds; surely that is tangible enough. I could liquidate that in a month." " Happen, if all your debtors are good ; but seven thousand does not seem much for a business like yours. Manufacturers generally want paying on the nail ; and you have to give a bit of credit to your customers, I suppose ? " " Yes, a month or so. But then I can get money from my bankers. They let me have an overdraft of five thou' ; sometimes a little more." " So you are dependent on the bank, then ? I'd rather live on potatoes and salt than be dependent on a bank. Suppose they pull you up?"

"They won't do that, Mr. Arden. They know my position." " You can never tell. They may get frightened, or change their minds, or be short of brass them selves ; and then where would you be ? I can tell you. You would be in Queer Street. Your show is worse than I expected. And I could not, I really couldn't, let Madge "marry a man who may have to appear before his creditors " " Mr. Arden ! " exclaimed Lyte indignantly. " Wait a minute. You think I am wrong, no doubt. You say you are doing a good business, and you seem to have taken Madge's fancy. Well, I don't want to be hard on you, and when you are ready to settle ten thousand pounds on her I'll talk to you. Till then " " Ten thousand pounds ! You are too hard, Mr. Arden. Strive as I may, it will be a long time before I can spare so large a sum from my busi ness.

And Madge ! If you have no regard for my happiness, think of hers." " I do. It is my duty, Mr. Lyte. If I didn't I should act very different. And I don't refuse your request, mind, I only lay down a reasonable con dition. And you may come now and then of a Sunday and take a quiet cup of tea with us. But no engagement nor owt o' that sort; and nowt of this to anybody else, mind. Do you agree ? " Seeing in this proposal a gleam of hope, Lyte accepted it, though without enthusiasm, for on the whole he was greatly disappointed. He might have to wait years for the fruition of his hopes. On the other hand, Mr. Arden had not rejected him, had indeed made him free of the house — with qualifications — and he had full faith in Madge's constancy. It might have been worse. When he talked the matter over with his sweetheart she counselled patience.

" I know my father," she said, " and though he is rather eccentric he is very good. There is nothing he has so much at heart as my happiness. But he has only me — he often calls me his pet lamb — and he is loth to lose me. And it does seem hard, doesn't it, that I should want to leave him, who has been so tender and kind to me all these years ? He has been both father and mother to me ; and you will try to love him for my sake, won't you, dear ? " " I will try," said the young fellow, and he meant it ; though how, by any conceivable effort, he could bring himself to love an old skinflint who, albeit able to dower his daughter hand somely without making any perceptible inroad on his fortune, yet made it a condition sine qua non that Lyte should settle ten thousand pounds on her did not seem quite obvious.

" I knew you would, dear," returned Madge with her sweetest smile. "Let me kiss you for being so good. . . . There, I did not say you were to give it me back. Some day I hope you will love him as well as I do. You may come nearly every Sunday ; and he has not forbidden us to write to each other ; we are both young ; we can wait ; and if we are patient all will come right in the end, like a good novel." "Yes, we can wait," answered Lyte, though with rather a long face ; for according to an elaborate mental calculation which he had just made it would be four years before he should be able to "plank down" the price old Arden had set on his daughter.