Original Penny Readings: A Series of Short Sketches

“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’ 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 nobody; and that’s what I say; and if I ain’t right, my name ain’t J. Weltus.