Part 49 (1/2)

”How can I serve you, sir?”

”I should like to look at the silver clasps in the window,” said Deronda; ”the larger ones, please, in the corner there.”

They were not quite easy to get at from the mother's station, and the son seeing this called out, ”I'll reach 'em, mother; I'll reach 'em,”

running forward with alacrity, and then handing the clasps to Deronda with the smiling remark--

”Mother's too proud: she wants to do everything herself. That's why I called her to wait on you, sir. When there's a particular gentleman customer, sir, I daren't do any other than call her. But I can't let her do herself mischief with stretching.”

Here Mr. Cohen made way again for his parent, who gave a little guttural, amiable laugh while she looked at Deronda, as much as to say, ”This boy will be at his jokes, but you see he's the best son in the world,” and evidently the son enjoyed pleasing her, though he also wished to convey an apology to his distinguished customer for not giving him the advantage of his own exclusive attention.

Deronda began to examine the clasps as if he had many points to observe before he could come to a decision.

”They are only three guineas, sir,” said the mother, encouragingly.

”First-rate workmans.h.i.+p, sir--worth twice the money; only I get 'em a bargain from Cologne,” said the son, parenthetically, from a distance.

Meanwhile two new customers entered, and the repeated call, ”Addy!”

brought from the back of the shop a group that Deronda turned frankly to stare at, feeling sure that the stare would be held complimentary.

The group consisted of a black-eyed young woman who carried a black-eyed little one, its head already covered with black curls, and deposited it on the counter, from which station it looked round with even more than the usual intelligence of babies: also a robust boy of six and a younger girl, both with black eyes and black-ringed hair--looking more Semitic than their parents, as the puppy lions show the spots of far-off progenitors. The young woman answering to ”Addy”--a sort of paroquet in a bright blue dress, with coral necklace and earrings, her hair set up in a huge bush--looked as complacently lively and unrefined as her husband; and by a certain difference from the mother deepened in Deronda the unwelcome impression that the latter was not so utterly common a Jewess as to exclude her being the mother of Mirah. While that thought was glancing through his mind, the boy had run forward into the shop with an energetic stamp, and setting himself about four feet from Deronda, with his hands in the pockets of his miniature knickerbockers, looked at him with a precocious air of survey. Perhaps it was chiefly with a diplomatic design to linger and ingratiate himself that Deronda patted the boy's head, saying--

”What is your name, sirrah?”

”Jacob Alexander Cohen,” said the small man, with much ease and distinctness.

”You are not named after your father, then?”

”No, after my grandfather; he sells knives and razors and scissors--my grandfather does,” said Jacob, wis.h.i.+ng to impress the stranger with that high connection. ”He gave me this knife.” Here a pocket-knife was drawn forth, and the small fingers, both naturally and artificially dark, opened two blades and a cork-screw with much quickness.

”Is not that a dangerous plaything?” said Deronda, turning to the grandmother.

”_He_'ll never hurt himself, bless you!” said she, contemplating her grandson with placid rapture.

”Have _you_ got a knife?” says Jacob, coming closer. His small voice was hoa.r.s.e in its glibness, as if it belonged to an aged commercial soul, fatigued with bargaining through many generations.

”Yes. Do you want to see it?” said Deronda, taking a small penknife from his waistcoat-pocket.

Jacob seized it immediately and retreated a little, holding the two knives in his palms and bending over them in meditative comparison. By this time the other clients were gone, and the whole family had gathered to the spot, centering their attention on the marvelous Jacob: the father, mother, and grandmother behind the counter, with baby held staggering thereon, and the little girl in front leaning at her brother's elbow to a.s.sist him in looking at the knives.

”Mine's the best,” said Jacob, at last, returning Deronda's knife as if he had been entertaining the idea of exchange and had rejected it.

Father and mother laughed aloud with delight. ”You won't find Jacob choosing the worst,” said Mr. Cohen, winking, with much confidence in the customer's admiration. Deronda, looking at the grandmother, who had only an inward silent laugh, said--

”Are these the only grandchildren you have?”

”All. This is my only son,” she answered in a communicative tone, Deronda's glance and manner as usual conveying the impression of sympathetic interest--which on this occasion answered his purpose well.

It seemed to come naturally enough that he should say--

”And you have no daughter?”