It was unfortunate for the future intrinsic comfort of the firm that that member of it who was certainly not the least enterprising should have found himself unable to join in the ceremony of opening the house; but, nevertheless, it must be admitted that that ceremony was imposing. Maryanne Brown was looking her best, and dressed as she was in the correctest taste of the day, wearing of course the colours of the house, it was not unnatural that all eyes should be turned on her. "What a big man that Robinson is!" some one in the crowd was heard to observe. Yes; that huge lump of human clay that called itself William Brisket, the butcher of Aldersgate Street, was actually taken on that occasion for the soul, and life, and salt of an advertising house. Of Mr. William Brisket, it may here be said, that he had no other idea of trade than that of selling at so much per pound the beef which he had slaughtered with his own hands.
But that ceremony was imposing. "Ladies and gentlemen," said those five there assembled—speaking as it were with one voice,—"we bid you welcome to Magenta House. Nine times nine is eighty-one. Never forget that." Robinson had planned the words, but he was not there to assist at their utterance! "Ladies and gentlemen, again we bid you welcome to Magenta House." And then they retired backwards down the shop, allowing the crowd to press forward, and all packed themselves for awhile into Mr. Brown's little room at the back.
"It was smart," said Mr. Brisket.
"And went off uncommon well," said Jones, shaking the scent from his head. "All the better, too, because that chap wasn't here."
"He's a clever fellow," said Brisket.
"And you shouldn't speak against him behind his back, Jones. Who did it all? And who couldn't have done it if he hadn't been here?" When these words were afterwards told to George Robinson, he forgave Mr. Brown a great deal.
The architect, acting under the direction of Mr. Robinson, had contrived to arch the roof, supporting it on five semicircular iron girders, which were left there visible to the eye, and which were of course painted magenta. On the foremost of these was displayed the name of the firm,—Brown, Jones, and Robinson. On the second, the name of the house,—Magenta House. On the third the number,—Nine times nine is eighty one. On the fourth, an edict of trade against which retail houses in the haberdashery line should never sin,—"Terms: Ready cash." And on the last, the special principle of our trade,—"Five-and-a-half per cent. profit." The back of the shop was closed in with magenta curtains, through which the bald head of Mr. Brown would not unfrequently be seen to emerge; and on each side of the curtains there stood a tall mirror, reaching up to the very ceiling. Upon the whole, the thing certainly was well done.
"But the contractor,"—the man who did the work was called the contractor,—"the contractor says that he will want the rest of his money in two months," said Mr. Brown, whining.
"He would not have wanted any for the next twelve months," answered Robinson, "if you had not insisted on paying him those few hundreds."
"You can find fault with the bill, you know," said Jones, "and delay it almost any time by threatening him with a lawyer."