Mr. Poskitt's Nightcaps

Chapter 12

PROLOGUE

The cleverest man I ever knew was at the same time the wisest and kindest-hearted of men. Not that the possession of wisdom, nor the grace of kindness to his fellow-creatures, made him clever in a high degree, but that when I was in the journeyman stage of learning, feeling my feet, as it were, he gave me what I have ever since knownnot considered, mind you, but knownto be the best and most invaluable advice that one creature could give to another. It was thisput into short words (and, mind you, this man was a big man, and a very successful business man, inasmuch as he raised one of the biggest concerns in his own town out of sheer nothing, and died a rich man, having used his wealth kindly and wisely at a time when things were not what they are now)

"Poskitttha'rt nowt but a young 'un! Tha's goin' inta t' world, and tha'll find 'at theer'll be plenty o' men to gi' thee what they call advice. Now, I seen all t' world o' Human Nature, and I'll gi' thee better advice nor onnybody 'at tha'll ever find'cause I know! Listen to me

"(i.) I'steead o' trustin' nobody, trust ivverybodytill thou finds 'em out. When thou finds 'em out (if thou ivver does), trust 'em agen! No man's a bad 'un, so long as ye get on t' reight side on him. An' it's yer own fault, mind yer, if ye don't.

"(ii.) Don't think ower much about makkin' Brass. It's a good thing to mak' Brass, and a good thing to be in possession on it, but Brass is neyther here nor theer unless ye ware it on yer friends. Save yer Brass as much as ye can. Keep it for t' rainy Dayye never know when that rainy Day's comin'but don't skrike at a sixpence when ye know that a half-crown wodn't mak' a diff'rence. Don't tak' yer sweetheart to market, and let her come home wi' a penny ribbon when ye know in yer own heart 'at ye might ha' bowt her a golden ring.

"(iii.) To end up wi'trust ivvery man ye meetnot like a fool, but like a wiseacre. Love your neighboursbut tak' good care that they love you. If ye find that they don't, have nowt to do with 'embut go on loving 'em all the same. If theer's Retribution, it weern't fall on you, but on them. But at th' same time, ye must remember that ivvery one on us mak's the other. An', to sum up all the lot, ivvery man 'at were ivver born on this earth mak's himself."

I

In one of those old Latin books which I sometimes buy in the old book-shops in the market-towns that I visit, out of which I can pick out a word or two, a sentence or two (especially if they are interleaved with schoolboys' attempts at cribs), there is a line which I, at any rate, can translate with ease into understandable Englisha line that always puts me in mind of my old, wise friend's blunt sayings

Every man is the maker of his own fortune.

And that's why I am going to tell you this story of a man who did Three Things. First: Made Himself a Millionaire. Second: Lived in a Dream while he was in the Process. Third: Came out of the Dreamwhen it was all too late.

Now we will begin with him.

II

Samuel Edward Wilkinson, when I first knew him, was a small boy of twelve who, in the privacy of the back garden of a small provincial grammar-school, ate tarts and apples which he never shared with his school-fellows. He was the last of a large familyI think his mother succumbed to the strain of bearing him, the tenth or eleventhand he had the look of a starved fox which is not quite certain where the nearest hen-roost is. The costume of small boys in those daysthe early fortiesdid not suit him; the tassel of his peaked cap was too much dependent upon his right eyebrow, and the left leg of his nankeen trousers was at least an inch and a half higher than its corresponding member.

"Poskitt," he said to me, the first time that I ever indulged in any real private conversation with him, "what shall you do when you leave Doctor Scott's?"

"Go home," said I.

He was eating one of his usual jam-tarts at the time, and he looked at me sideways over a sticky edge of it.

"Poskittwhat's your father?" he asked.

"My father's a farmerbut it's our own land," said I.

He finished his tartthoughtfully. Then he took out a quite clean handkerchief and wiped the tips of his fingers on it. He looked round, more thoughtfully than before, at the blank walls of Doctor Scott's back garden. I was sensible enough even at that age to see that he was regarding far-away things.

"My father," he said, after an obvious cogitation, "is a butcher. He makes a lot of money, Poskitt. But there are eleven of us. I am the eleventh. When I leave school"

He stopped short there, and from his trousers pocket drew out two apples. You may think that he was going to give me oneinstead of that he looked them over, selected what he evidently considered the best, bit into it, and put the other back in his pocket.

"When I leave school," he resumed, "I mean to go into business. Now, what do you think of business, Poskitt?"

I was so astonished, boy as I was, to hear this miserable mannikin talking as he did, that I dare say I only gaped at him. Between his bites at his apple he continued his evidences of a shrewd character.

"You see, Poskitt," he said, "I've thought a great deal while I've been here at Doctor Scott's. I don't think much of Doctor Scotthe's very kind, but he doesn't tell any of us how to make money. Your father's got a lot of money, hasn't he?"

"How do you know?" I said, rather angrily.

"Because," said he, quite calmly, "I see him give you money when he comes to see you. Nobody gives money away who hasn't got it. And you see, Poskitt, although my father makes a lot of money, too, he doesn't give me muchsixpence a week."

"How do you get your tarts and your apples, then?" I asked.

He gave me one more of those queer glances

"My mother and my sisters send me a basket," he answered. "Of course, Poskitt, we've got to get all we can out of this world, haven't we? And I want to get on and to make money. What do you consider the best way to make money, Poskitt?"

I was so young and irresponsible at that time, so full of knowledge of having the old farmstead and the old folks and everything behind me, that I scarcely understood what this boy was talking about. I dare say I gave him a surly nod, and he went on againvery likely, for aught I remember, eating the other apple.

"You see, Poskitt," he said, "there's one thing that's certain. A man must be either a man or a mouse. I won't be a mouse."

I was watching his faceI was at that time a big, ruddy-faced lad, with limbs that would have done credit to an offspring of Mars and Venus, and he looked the sort that would eventually end in a shop, with white cheeks above and a black tie under a sixpenny collarand a strange revulsion came to me, farmer and landsman though I was. And I let him go on.

"I won't be a mouse, Poskitt!" he said, with a certain amount of determination. "I'll be a man! I'll make money. Now, what do you think the best way to make money, Poskitt?"

I don't think I made any answer then.

"I've thought it all out, Poskitt," he resumed. "You see, there are all sorts of professions and trades. Well, if you go into a profession, you've got to spend a great deal of money before you can make any. And in some trades you have to lay out a good deal before you can receive any profit. But there are trades, Poskitt, in which you get your money back very quicklywith profit. Now, do you know, Poskitt, the only trades are those which are dependent on what people want. You can't live without food, or clothes, or boots. Food, Poskitt, is the most important thing, isn't it? And why I talked to you is because I think you're the wisest boy in the schoolwhich trade would you recommend me to enter upon?"

"Go and be a butcher!" I answered. "Like your father."

He shook his head in mild and deprecating fashion.

"I don't like the smell of meat," he said. "NoI shall take up some other line."

Then, as the smell of dinner came from the dining-room, he added the further remark that as our parents paid Doctor Scott regularly once a quarter, we ought to have our money's worth, and so walked away to receive his daily share of it.

III

Samuel Edward Wilkinson duly left school, and became, of his own express will, an apprentice to a highly respectable grocer who enlarged upon his respectability by styling himself a tea merchant and an Italian warehouseman. The people who visited the shop (which was situate in a principal street in an important sea-port town) were invariably impressed by the powder-blueness of the sign and by the red-goldness of the letters which stood out so plainly from the powder-blue. It had a cachet of its own, and the proprietor had two daughters. But Samuel Edward was then scarcely over fourteen years of age, and as his parents and the proprietor were of a distinctly Dissenting nature, his time was passed much more in stealing sugar-candy out of newly-opened boxes, and in attending prayer-meetings at the nearest chapel, than in following the good example of London 'prentices of the other centuries. In fact, by the time Samuel Edward Wilkinson was nineteen years of age, he was not merely a money-grubber, but that worst of all thingsa tradesman who looks upon God Almighty and the Bible as useful weights to put under an illegal scale. And as Samuel Edward gained more of his experience in the knowledge of his fellow make-weighters, the more he began to believe less in his fellow-menwith the natural result that certain women who were not his fellows suffered.

As he grew up, Samuel Edward, naturally, had to live somewhere else. His master had no room in his house for apprentices who had approached to maturity. But, like all masters of that early-Victorian age, he knew where accommodation in a highly Christian family was to be had, and Samuel Edward found himself en famille with a middle-aged dressmaker and a pretty child whose sweet sixteenity was much more appealing than the maturer charms of his master's daughters. Samuel Edward was not without good looks, and the child fell in love with him, and remained so for longer years than she had counted upon. But Samuel Edward was as philandering in love as he was pertinacious in business, and the idea of marriage was not within his immediate purview.

"At what age do you think, a man ought to marry, Poskitt?" he said to me during one of his periodical visits to the old village, he being then about two-and-twenty.

"When he feels inclined, and means it," said I.

"Of course, Poskitt, a man should never marry unless he marries money," he continued. "For a young man in my position, now, what would you say the young woman ought to be able to bring?"

I had sufficient common sense even at that age to make no reply to this question. I let him go on, silent under his sublime selfishness.

"Don't you think, Poskitt, that it's only right that when a man marries a woman he should expect her to make a certain amount of compensation?" he said. "It's a very serious thing, is marriage, you know, Poskitt. Anybody with my ambitionwhich is to be a man and not a mouse, or, in other words, to pay twenty shillings in the pound, and keep myself out of the workhousehas to look forward a good deal. Now there's a young lady that I know ofwhere I lodge, in factthat's very sweet on me, but I don't think her mother could give her more than a couple of hundred, and, of course, that's next to nothing. You see, Poskitt, I want to have a business of my own, and you can't get a business without capital. And money's very hard to make, Poskitt. I thinkI really thinkI shall put off the idea of getting married."

"That's the very wisest thing you can do," I said. "But you'd better tell the young lady so."

"Well, you see, Poskitt," he answered, stroking his chin, "the fact isthere are two young ladies. The other one ismy cousin Keziah. Now, of course, I know Keziah will have money when her father dies, but then I don't know when he will die. If I could tell exactly when he'll die, and how much Keziah will have, I should make up my mindas it is, I think I shall have to wait. After all, it really doesn't make such a great deal of differenceone woman is about as good as another so far as marriage is concerned, Poskitt, isn't she? The money's the main thing."

"Why don't you go and find a rich heiress, then?" I asked.

"Ah!" he replied. "I only wish I could, Poskitt! But you must remember that I've no advantages. My father's only a butcher, and trade is trade, after all. You've great advantages over meyour people own their landyou're nobs compared to what I am. But I shall make myself a man, Poskitt. There's only one thing in the world that's worth anything, and that's money. I'm going to make money."

IV

I never saw Samuel Edward Wilkinson again for a great many yearsin fact, not until he came back to the village to marry his cousin Keziah. It was then publicly announced that Samuel and Keziah had been engaged since early youthbut anybody who knew anything was very well aware of the truth that the marriage was now hastened because Keziah's father was dead and had left her a thousand pounds. During those intervening years Samuel Edward had been steadily pursuing his way towards his conception of manhood. He had spent several years in London, and never wore anything in the way of head-covering but a silk hat.

"Yes, Poskitt," he said, "it's taken me a long time, but I've saved enough money at lastwith Keziah's little fortune thrown in, of courseto buy my first master's business. It's a very serious thing, is business, you know, Poskitt, and so is marriage. But Keziah's a capable girl, you know, Poskittvery capable."

As Keziah was then quite forty years of age, her capability was undoubted, but it seemed to me that Samuel Edward had been a long time making up his mind.

"And where's the young lady of the early days?" I asked him.

He stroked his whiskers and shook his head.

"Well, you know, Poskitt," he replied, "it's a very unfortunate thing that she, of course, resides in the very town where I've bought my business."

"Is she married?" I asked.

"No," he answered, "noshe's not married, Poskitt. Of course I couldn't think of marrying her when Keziah was able to put her hands on a thousand pounds. After all, everybody's got to look after Number One. It's a very anxious time with me just now, Poskitt, I do assure you. What with getting married and setting up a business, I feel a great deal of responsibility. If you're ever our way (and I expect you'll be coming to the cattle markets), call in, and I'll show you the improvements I've made. It's a very fine position, Poskitt, but it's a difficult thing in these days for a man to get his own."

V

Samuel Edward's name duly appeared in blazing gilt on the powder-blue of the old sign, and he and Keziah settled down in a suburban street in company with a handmaiden and a black-and-tan terrier. Their lives were discreet and orderly, and they went to the particular Dissenting community which they affected at least once every Sabbath Day. At eight o'clock every morning Samuel Edward repaired to business; at seven in the evening he returned home to pour out his woes to Keziah. One of his apprentices had done this; an assistant had done that; a customer had fled, leaving a bill unpaid. Keziah, who was as keen on money-making as her husband, was invariably sympathetic in these matters, which were about the only things she understood, apart from her knowledge that her thousand pounds was in the business. She and Samuel Edward were both resolved on making money.

And suddenly came a thunderstorm over their sky. The little dressmaking lady, having been formally engaged to Samuel Edward for long years, finding herself jilted, suddenly awoke to the knowledge that she had a spirit, and caused the faithless one to be served with a writ for breach of promise. And Samuel Edward's men of law, going into the matter, told him that he had no defence, and would have to pay.

Samuel Edward took to his bed, and refused to be comforted. Keziah wept, entreated, cajoled, threatenednothing was of use. All was over, in Samuel Edward's opinion. The other side wanted the exact amount represented by Keziah's dowryone thousand pounds. Samuel Edward lay staring at the stencilled wall-paper, and decided that life was a distinct disappointment. He would die.

Then Keziah took matters in hand. She, with the help of an astute man, paid the thousand poundswhereupon the little dressmaker, who was still well under forty, promptly married another. And then Keziah literally tore Samuel Edward out of bed, shook him into life, and gave him to understand that from that day forward he would have to work harder, earlier, and later than he had ever done before. And Samuel Edward fell tounder a ceaseless and never-varying supervision.

VI

"I'm a warm man, you know, Poskitt," he said to me many a long year after that. "A warm man, sir! There's nobody knows except myself, Poskitt, how much I have. No, sir! Made it all, you know. Look at my business, Poskitt!one of the biggest and best businesses in the country. Twenty different establishments. Four hundred employees. Bring my own tea from Ceylon and China in my own ships. All the result of energy, Poskittno sitting still with me, as you rustics dono, sir!"

Now let us analyze what this man really was. Because Keziah literally drilled him into the pulling of himself together after his first great slap in the face, he began to amass money, and very soon so deepened his boyish instincts that money became his fetish. Moneymoneymoneynothing but money! He estimated the value of a man by the depth of that man's purse; he thoroughly believed, with the Northern Farmer, that the poor in a lump are bad. And at last he was a very rich man indeedand then found, as all such men do, that he had no power to enjoy his wealth. He could traveland see nothing, for he did not understand what he saw. He could buy anything he likedand have no taste for it. The little dressmaker had childrenhe had none. And as his wealth increased, his temper grew sour. He had never read anything beyond his trade journal and his newspaper, and therefore he had nothing to think about but his money.

And so I come back to what my old friend said in his bluff Yorkshire fashion

"Don't think ower much about makkin' Brass! It's a good thing to mak' Brass, and a good thing to be in possession on it, but Brass is neyther here nor theer unless ye ware it on yer friends."

And whether Samuel Edward Wilkinson considered in the end of his days that he had made a man of himself, or whether he had, after all, a sneaking idea that he was little more than a mouse, I can't say. But his great idea (that he could buy so many people up ten times over and feel none the worse) had a certain pathos in that fact, that even to his dull brain there came at times the conviction that when the end came he would be as poor as any mouse that ever crept into its hole.