Part 30 (2/2)

”This is going to hit us, sir,” said Mr. Mears gloomily. ”It is going to hit us hard if it continues much longer.”

”But it won't continue,” said Marsden irritably. ”They're bound by contract to finish before the twentieth of next month. Besides, you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs.”

There could be no doubt, thought Mears, as to the broken eggs; but the question was, Would Mr. Marsden's omelette ever come to table, or would it get tossed into the fire with so much else that seemed finding an end there?

Towards the completion of the contract time, Marsden more than once forced his wife to come through the door of communication, and have a look round the altered shop. She was admittedly convalescent now. She had not demurred when the master of the house gave Dr. Eldridge what he called ”a straight tip” to cease paying professional visits. She had not protested when, in her presence, an almost straighter tip was given to Yates that the boring fuss about a malady of the imagination must cease.

In fact she herself had said that there was nothing the matter with her.

She could not therefore refuse to show herself when he explicitly commanded her to do so.

Many changes--as she pa.s.sed by Woollens and China and Gla.s.s, it was like walking in a dream, among the distorted shadows of familiar objects.

Miss Woolfrey ran out of China and Gla.s.s to welcome her; but the other a.s.sistants, male and female, seemed shy of attracting her attention.

Changes on all sides, which she looked at with indifferent eyes--but one change that slowly compelled a more careful observation. Perhaps downstairs this, the greatest of the changes, would not be observable?

But no, it was noticed as plainly downstairs as upstairs.

There were fewer customers.

She glanced at the clock outside the counting-house. Three-twenty! In the middle of the afternoon, at this season of the year, the shop should be thronged with customers; and it appeared to be, comparatively speaking, empty.

Marsden was waiting to receive her behind the gla.s.s, in her old sanctum.

”Come in, Jane. Here I am--hard at it.”

Her bureau had disappeared. Where it used to stand there was a large but compact American desk; and in front of this Mr. Marsden sat enthroned.

She glanced round the room, and saw a small new writing-table in the s.p.a.ce between the second safe and the wall.

”I thought you could sit over there, Jane,” said Marsden, pointing with his patent self-feeding pen. ”You'd be out of the draught--for one thing.”

She was to be pushed into a corner, to be made to understand her insignificant position under the new order of things,--but she did not protest.

”Now then. Come along.”

He took her first of all through the Furniture, and showed her his sub-department for the sale of desks and all other office requisites similar to those which he had purchased for his own use. This was what he called agency work.

”No risk, don't you see, old girl! Doing the trick with other people's capital.” And he explained how the German firm that supplied England with these American goods had given him most advantageous terms. ”A splendid agreement for _us_! If the things don't go off quick, we just shovel the lot back at them--and try something else. That's _trade_.

Keep a move on--don't go to sleep.”

Then presently he took her upstairs, to what he called his j.a.pan Exhibition.

The Cretonne Department had been compressed and curtailed to make room for this new feature, and she pa.s.sed through the archway of an ornate part.i.tion in order to admire and wonder at the Oriental novelties.

”Now, Jane, this is what I'm really proud of.”

There was plenty to see and to think about--Marsden made her handle carved and tinted ivory warriors with glittering swords and tiny burnished helmets, dragons with jewelled eyes and enamelled jaws, exquisite little cloisonne boxes; made her stoop to look at the malachite plinths of huge squat vases; and made her stretch her neck to look at gold-embossed friezes of great tall screens.

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