SOME NATURAL HISTORY.

BY THE REV. DEAN LATHAM.

III.

THE Imperial United Kingdom Stores are a knockout at that business,' said Mr. Cox, thoughtfully; and Albert tried to look as if he quite followed the argument. Jessie comprehended more of the meaning, for she had had experience of the business; but her attention was more devoted to defending her lover's purse from her father's easily aroused business instincts than to an æsthetic contemplation of the seamy side of the auctioneering trade. Indeed, she was wisely bending her mind upon the ultimate application of her parent's observations rather than upon their immediate bearings.

'A knockout they are,' repeated Mr. Cox. There was a pair of combatteers, marble stands an' bronze figgers, an' there was sixty of 'em shared six bob apiece in the knockout. Why, there was an 'undred an' twenty pound paid for 'em at the finish, an' they was no bigger than you could put in yer pockets. I wasn't taking any myself-not me, when I saw 'oo was bidding. I let 'em bid till they was done, an' then I done my little bit while they was talking about it at the public-'ouse. That's 'ow I got that carpet I jest sold you; got it dirt cheap, I did. The missus cut off the stained bit, an' fixed the border on agin, an' there it was as good as new. But the toffs don't think of that. They look at the 'ole in the corner, an' off they goes an' gits a new carpet; an' I makes fifty per cent. out of a blooming mug,' he added incautiously. 'Seems to me,' said Albert, as I might do a bit better by going to an auction myself, 'stead of giving you a profit.'

You wouldn't do it twice, not you,' retorted Mr. Cox, with a grin. 'Why not?' asked Albert.

"'Cause they'd see you coming, my lad, that's why not. You? What chance 'ld you 'ave with the Sheenies? Now, I was at a sale at some flats a week or two back. 'Spose the lady 'ad quarrelled with 'er bloke or something. Any'ow, the rent weren't paid, an' she was sold up. It weren't much of a sale, but there was one or two things I wanted. I'd been put in possession, see? an' that

was 'ow I knew. There wasn't much in the place as I 'adn't priced up. Well, I says to 'er, I says, "If there's anything you wants bought in, mum, you tell me, an' I'll get it for you cheap; an’ you gives me my ten per cent." But she wouldn't; not 'er. She 'ld do it 'erself, she would; an' so she did.'

'Well,' said Albert, 'what 'appened?'

'What 'appened? Prices 'appened. Every time she made a bid I jest nodded to the auctioneer an' run 'er up. 'Course she didn't know as I was bidding-'twasn't likely. I don't shout “ten bob more" when I go buying; I buys on the quiet. But some'ow I don't reckon as she'll refuse a good offer from them as knows next time. An' that's what they'd do with you. S'pose, now, it was an eight-day clock, marble outside an' sawdust inside for all you know, with chimes an' all complete, an' no guarantee, same as I could buy for fifteen-and-a-tanner any Sunday morning, an' dear at the price, you'd think it dirt cheap at thirty bob, an' you'd get a bit excited, an' they'd run you up sky 'igh.'

'An' why don't they run you up sky 'igh?' said Albert.

They tried it once,' said Mr. Cox confidentially, but never no more. It was when the Dukeries 'Otel was pulled down, an' there was a walnut cupboard as suited me down to the ground. I knew its value to 'alf a farden, an' Ike Solomons an' 'is little lot run me up to the full value, an' done me out of a pretty sale I 'ad ready eye'd for it. I didn't say nothing; I jest waited till a marble top chiffoneer come up. Then I bid a bit eager like, and Ike, 'oo was new to the game, thought 'e'd 'ave me agin. It might 'ave been worth two guineas, an' I run 'im up to five, an' then I got out of it an' left 'im. They ain't tried it on since then. Look 'ere, now,' he added, with a sudden guilelessness that brought Jessie to instant attention. "'Ow's these watches-gold, mind you —at ten-an'-six? Got 'em last night at the bankruptcy sale up the road. They'd jest do the bridesmaids all right.'

"'Ere,' said Jessie, interposing, 'let me look at 'em.'

Mr. Cox shrugged his shoulders. 'Oh, they're all right. Worth fifteen bob any day. If it was anybody but Bert I wouldn't let 'em go under a quid apiece.'

'Albert ain't got too many quids, nor 'alf quids, neither,' retorted Jessie. 'Let 'im get the furniture first, before 'e buys things like that.'

To furniture they turned their minds accordingly. It was one of several similar occasions, for the wedding day was rapidly

approaching. Only the previous Sunday the vicar had been disturbed by a smothered guffaw as he read the words, 'For the first time of asking.' Jessie had gone to hear the banns read, for luck; and Albert had gone, too, unknown to her, and their eyes had met unexpectedly at the critical moment. A little flat, with a certain number of modern conveniences and a great many modern small dimensions, had been secured in a new block of buildings; and, in the guise of furnishing, a Homeric duel between Mr. Cox and his daughter was proceeding over the pocket of Albert.

Daily the three turned their steps to the storerooms of some large second-hand dealers for whom Mr. Cox was an agent; and there, in the dusty, ill-lighted warehouse, amidst ghostly piles of tables and chairs, romance materialised into chattels.

It is to be supposed, as a working hypothesis, that Mr. Cox kept his conscience divided into watertight compartments. As a man of business, he knew what was due to the trade and to himself; as a father, he knew what was due to his daughter. So he made the best bargains out of his future son-in-law that his daughter's vigilance would allow, he handed the whole of his profits and commissions to Jessie on her wedding-day, and he took care that Albert should buy only durable stuff, and buy it at top price.

'It ain't no manner of good for you to go 'ire-systeming to them sort of people,' he said, in response to Albert's hints, as they passed a flashy looking upholsterer's which advertised miraculous bargains. All the veneer 'ld be swep' into the dust-bin an' all the glue'd be unstuck afore you'd paid the third instalment. They looks all right at the start, same as the three-pun'-ten bikes do, an' they last jest about as long. What you want is something as you can sit down in when you come 'ome from work without breaking your neck. I don't want you telling Jess as you're off to the public-'ouse to find a seat with springs in it. Now, 'ere's a chair,' he added, entering the warehouse and going to a particularly musty corner, a chair as 'as got some wear in it. Well seasoned that is, an' fit for a dook to smoke a pipe in over 'is fire; an' that's leather on it, none of your cheap American cloth as splits in the sun, but good honest leather as 'll last a lifetime. You feel that, Jess; you knows a bit of leather when you feels it, you do.' And so the armchair came into the family.

Then came the wedding. It was on Easter Day, and the day, as so often happens on Easter Day, was gloriously fine.

Quite early in the morning, at the six o'clock service, Albert and Jessie had already met. It was her thought, for it was long since Albert had been confirmed in his choir-boy days, and almost as long since he had knelt at the altar; but Jessie had appealed to him to come, and he had given way to her. So they had already knelt side by side once that day, and the pure memory of it was a sheet-anchor in the days to come.

At nine o'clock the bridal party arrived, and, in company with several other bridal parties, disturbed the devotions of a large congregation, which had not yet dispersed. But the Blessing was pronounced, the people disappeared, and the old clerk marshalled the inextricably mixed brides, bridegrooms, and supporters at the chancel steps. For a moment it seemed as if Jessie would be married to her father and Albert tied for life to an elderly lady who was embarking upon her third experiment in matrimony; for the curate was approaching, book in hand and resplendent in a new surplice, and the ten bridegrooms were but half-conscious of their acts. But the clerk was a man of many summers, who so disentangled the pairs that, without knowing clearly how, they stood in proper order, party behind party, far down the long aisle.

There was no sweet-voiced choir to render specially composed anthems; there were no lady reporters to make history out of the clergyman's remarks and the bridesmaids' dresses; but the church was bright and scented with the Easter flowers. And Mr. Cox was there, expansively conscious of his waistcoat and watch-chain; and Mrs. Cox was there, absorbing everything with twinkling black eyes; and Mrs. Hawkins was there, happy and motherly in a renovated bonnet which had once adorned the West End and a lady of title; and Mr. Hawkins was there, with his fiery red moustache and grizzled hair, looking vastly too big for the place and for his new clothes. And somehow Albert and Jessie were at the head of all the couples, and felt that the service was their very own.

6

Albert, wilt thou have this woman

??

'Yus,' said Albert gruffly, startled to find that he was called upon to speak. But the ceremony proceeded smoothly, in spite of the tittering of ten sets of bridesmaids, and in spite of the resounding kiss which one new-made husband bestowed by way of Amen upon his bride; and presently the vestry was crammed with husbands, wives, and witnesses.

'Sign 'ere, please,' said the old clerk, who felt increasingly as

the years went on that the clergy were incapable of performing the simplest acts without his assistance. 'Your maiden name, mum, for the last time. You won't use it no more. When you draws your 'ouse'old cheques you must use your wedded name. 'Ere are the lines, and the fees are seven-an'-six, and a penny for the stamp. Thank you, sir, and wishing you may be 'appy and comfortable.'

Jessie rearranged her hat after the much kissing, and left the vestry on her husband's arm; while the old clerk's voice was faintly heard in the distance: 'Sign 'ere, please; your maiden name for the last time.'

+ The day seemed to be spent for the most part in eating and drinking. Mr. Cox was a man of hospitable instincts, and was never happier than when he presided over a large and hungry party at his own house. The more tightly his kitchen was packed the better pleased was he. But on one point he was adamant. 'Drink?' he said sternly to an over-forward guest who had hinted on the subject; you can drink their 'ealth in lemonade, an' if that ain't good enough, there's plenty of places outside where you can get the other thing, but not in my 'ouse. I've seen enough of it. I've seen many an' many a pore gell 'ave 'er fust taste on 'er wedding-day, an' never leave it off till she laid in 'er coffin. I see my old father die in the work'us infirmary of delirium tremmings, an' I ain't touched a drop, nor I ain't allowed a drop in my 'ouse, from that day to this, nor I don't intend to neither.'

So the health was drunk in lemonade, and Albert failed dismally in attempting to respond, so that Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Cox responded simultaneously but independently for him.

The day wore away. Wedding-meals, wedding-jokes, and wedding-tears were ended, and Albert and Jessie were alone together, oddly shy, in their own little home. The full moon shone through the open window, even as the Paschal moon had shone into another upper chamber many, many years before. Albert felt a great peace and content swell in his heart as he lay back in the big armchair which had caused such heart-searchings in the buying; and Jessie snuggled on a low stool at his side, and proudly watched the smoke curling up from her husband's pipe. Their own home! The magic of it! But Albert's vocabulary was unequal to his sentiments. My word, Jessie,' he said, 'this is all right, ain't it?'