Original Penny Readings Part 5

CHAPTER SEVEN.

J. WELTUS.

Reformations, and improvements, and setrer, are all very well; but, mind yer, if your drink's been four ale all your life you won't take kindly to porter, "threepence a pot in your own jugs," if some one tells you all at once as it's better for you, and your ale's pison. Rome warn't built in a day, you know, and arter sitting for five-and-twenty year on my bench and using the lapstone and sterrup-leather, you ain't a-going to make me take nat'rally to a hupright bench.

Here I am, yer see; allus at home--airy spot; good light, and never no sun; pleasant prospect o' four foot in front, none to the right, and chock down into Fleet-street on the left. What more would you have?

Every convenience for carrying on a large and lucrative trade without moving from yer seat. Here's one's stool, and, altogether, close to one's hand, everything as a artis' in leather work could want. Now see here: paste? there you are; stuffin'? there you are; tub for soakin'?

there you are; and so on with every think--whether it's lapstone, foot, hemp, ball, wax, bristles, dubbin, grease, or ink. There's one's knives and stone all in a row; there's one's divisions with all one's nails and pegs--bra.s.s, iron, and wood; there's one's hammers; and--there, what more would you have for soleing and heeling a boot or a shoe right off without leaving yer seat? And all done in a regular business way, yer know; none o' yer new-fangled rivet and clinch and sewing-machine rubbish; but straightforward laid-in st.i.tches, put in with a sharp awl and a fine pair of ends, laid into and drawn tight with plenty of elbow grease, and the sole stoned and hammered as solid as a board, and more too.

Rivets indeed! Why, how can a boot be decent as is nailed together just as a chip would make a box? 'Tain't natural, no more nor gutta-percha was, nor india-rubber was. Course I had to take to gutta-percha soles, as it was the fashun, else yer lose yer trade; but there you were, sticking the things on with a lot o' grease tar stuff, and then as soon as they got warm, off they comes again, and serve 'em right too for not being sewed, and then touched round the wearing Darts with a few rows o'

sprigs neatly put in, or a facing o' sparrables.

And here's yer everlasting soles and yer machinery and clat! Don't tell me: why, they can't answer any more than indy-rubber goloshes can, as raises your corns, an' draws yer feet, an' makes a man miserable, as of course every one is as ain't got a decent shoe to his foot. It's all very fine having yer new fangles, and one introdoosing cork, and another iron, and another copper and copper toes. You may have yer grand warerusses over Southwark way; but my 'pinion is as it must come down to us at last, as only stands to reason.

Now here you are; you've bought yer pair o' ready-mades and worn 'em a bit, and then where are you? why, a-looking out for "J. Weltus, shoemaker, repairs neatly executed"--as it says on the board over the stall, as cost me a soleing and heeling for a painter chap outer work as did it for me, and put no dryers in his colour, so as the boys give it that pitted-with-the-small-pox look by aimin' at it with their popguns.

Well, you looks for J. Weltus, and finds him sittin' in his stall in the court, and shows him what's up, and very naterally he laughs at yer, as he does at all as runs away from your fine old conservative wax-end and leather, for your improved, reform, upright bench, and machine-made understandings.

But J. Weltus takes pity on you, and soon has yer boots in hand; and, as the swell says, he "a.n.a.lyses" '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 gla.s.ses, 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-cla.s.s 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 st.i.tching 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' gla.s.s, 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 'wertis.e.m.e.nts 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--p.a.w.n 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. Sat.u.r.day 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 n.o.body; 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 gla.s.ses, and rubbin' 'em on my leather ap.r.o.n--"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 a.n.a.lysing 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 Sat.u.r.day night, and stuff 'em up the spout again on Toosdays or Wensdays;" and arter a.n.a.lysing 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' Levy Haman's men was fetching the furnitur down, and I saw sev'ral things as must ha' been his at the broker's shop at the corner; for they do say as these loan 'cieties are precious hard on any one as gets behind with the payments, and 'll eat you outer house and home. But, bless yer, it's no 'ciety in most cases, but some precious hook-beaked knowing one as is company, directors, and sekketary all in himself and lives on the interest and sellings up of them as gets into his claws. 'Taint often as they do lend anything, but when they do they makes theirselves safe enough by getting about three names and a plugging rate of interest; and then, good luck to yer if yer don't pay up. Gettin' things on tick's all werry well, but though they call it so, 'taint no credit to n.o.body; and that's what I say; and if I ain't right, my name ain't J. Weltus.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

MY FARE.

Don't you make a mistake, now, and think I'm not a working man, because I am. Don't you run away with the idea that because I go of a morning and find my horse and cab waiting ready cleaned for me, and I jumps up and drives off, as I don't work as hard as any mechanic, because I do; and I used to work harder, for it used to be Sunday and week days, till the missus and me laid our heads together, and said, if we couldn't live on six days' work a week at cabbing we'd try something else; so now I am only a six days' man--Hansom cab, VR, licensed to carry two persons.

None o' your poor, broken-kneed knackers for me. I takes my money in to the governor regular, and told him flat that if I couldn't have a decent horse, I wouldn't drive; and I spoke a bit sharp, having worked for him ten years.

"Take your chice, Steve Wilkins," he says; and I took it, and drove Kangaroo, the wall-eyed horse with a rat tail.

I had a call one day off the stand by the Foundling, and has to go into New Ormond Street, close by; and I takes up an old widow lady and her daughter--as beautiful a girl of seventeen or eighteen as ever I set eyes on, but so weak that I had to go and help her down to the cab, when she thanked me so sweetly that I couldn't help looking again and again, for it was a thing I wasn't used to.

"Drive out towards the country, cabman, the nearest way," says the old lady; "and when we want to turn back, I'll speak."

"Poor gal!" I says, "she's an invalid. She's just such a one as my Fan would have been if she'd lived;" and I says this to myself as I gets on to my box, feeling quite soft; for though I knew my gal wouldn't have been handsome, what did that matter? I didn't like to lose her.