Confessions of a Tradesman

by Frank Thomas Bullen

I declare that when I pushed open the swing doors of the vast hall I felt just as a boy does upon entering a school for the first time. So utterly ignorant, so helpless, so willing to learn. I advanced a few paces and met a cheery soul in uniform, who said heartily, "Wotyer lookin' fur, Govnor?" Now, as the Americans say, wouldn't that get you busy? I looked at him and to him, I make no doubt, like a perfect fool. He looked at me keenly and enquiringly, until I had to say, "Well, the fact is—I am unfamiliar with these places, but I have had misfortunes and I wish to file my petition in Bankruptcy." You will observe from its frequent repetition how proud I was of having got what I considered one legal phrase at least pat and complete. He replied with the utmost nonchalance, "Right O, second door on the left, and ask at the desk. They'll put you up to it."

I followed his instructions, feeling that I was getting on, and entered the room he indicated. There were several men, I dare not say clerks for they had not any of the characteristics of that much derided tribe, and I doubt whether even Mr H. G. Wells would have satirised them in his usual curious fashion concerning clerks, but all were engaged, nay engrossed with some work, until I came to the last, and he was reading the Daily Chronicle. As I was only one of his employers, I acted as usual, that is, I humbly waited before him until he had finished the article he was reading, when he languidly lifted his eyes to me and said with an air, not exactly of contempt, but of the most utter and complete detachment, "Well! what is your business?"

Still with bated breath and lowly demeanour, I replied, "I wish to file my petition in Bankruptcy." "All right," he answered as he folded his paper, "that'll be £10—£5 for the stamp and £5 security for costs." I caught my breath and said, "But I've got no money at all; I can't pay anybody, that is why I came here." To which he rejoined casually, "Who's your solicitor?" This, I am afraid, rather disturbed me, for how I, who had avowed myself penniless, could afford to pay a solicitor (the very word savoured of affluence to me) I could not conceive, and I did really regard his question as an insolent one. It was not, of course. It was perfectly business like and proper from his point of view, which from mine was as wide as the poles asunder. But still, realising my position, I told him civilly that I had no money to employ a solicitor, that so far from having £10, my stock of ready cash was under five shillings, that if I had £10 I should certainly not be there, but handing that £10 out to some of those who were entitled to it.

Much more I said to the same non-effect, for he listened with an expression of infinite weariness, and when I had finished he said abruptly, "How much do you owe?" I answered, about £300. "Very well, then," he replied, "if you had £10 wouldn't it be much better to come to us with it and empower us to treat with your creditors than to fritter that crumb away paying two or three and annoying all the rest? But, after all, that's not the point; it's none of my duty to stand here telling you what you ought to do. You get £10 and come here with it, and I'll give you your papers and set you going. Good morning."

Thus he ceased and busied himself with a heap of papers, leaving me standing aghast at the idea that a man who had no money to pay his debts should have to pay £10 for the privilege of saying so in public, that any money he might have should not be devoted to paying his debts, but to making legal excuses why he should not do so. However, this particular official had obviously had quite sufficient of such a fool as I was, and it was of no use wasting time there, so I quietly slunk away in worse plight than ever, to my way of thinking. For I could not possibly bring my mind to bear upon the inherent dishonesty of the situation.

As thus—declaring myself a bankrupt, all my belongings of whatever kind as well as my future earnings, until my debts were satisfied, became automatically the property of the official receiver to hold in trust for my creditors. Therefore to sell it, or any portion of it for any purpose, was a felony. Yet having no money how was I to raise these fees? I could not borrow, for if I revealed my position, no sane person would lend, and I could not possess any security. If anybody gave me money for the purpose of paying those fees, it would be a fraud upon my creditors to put the money to that purpose. Whichever way I looked I could see no way out but by falsehood and fraud, and I was only at the beginning of my experience.

In this extremity I went to a man of great experience in business, but with a high reputation for probity as far as meeting all his liabilities went. He was also credited with very sharp practice despite his high moral and religious standing. Consequently, I do not suppose I could have consulted any one better qualified to give me advice. He fully agreed with me that nothing was more eminently calculated to destroy the moral sense than going through the Bankruptcy Court, of your own initiative—if your creditors made you a bankrupt it was another matter. In a case like mine it was obvious that a man had to pay a considerable sum down for the privilege of swearing that he had no money at all, which money could not legally be his. Yet, since the law itself created this dishonest state of affairs, I was clearly absolved from the charge of dishonesty if I raised and paid this money, providing those from whom I obtained it were not defrauded by being made the victims of false representations on my part.

He finished his advice by lending me £2 towards the amount required, and I went on my sorrowful way homewards. When I reached home I found a fresh batch of dunning letters and two judgment summonses waiting for me, but I paid no heed to them, I had more engrossing business to attend to. I spent a long time explaining the position to my wife and endeavouring to furbish up some of the stock in the event of my being driven to raise money on it, and then went on the doleful business of trying to borrow £8 without any reasonable prospect of being able to repay it. That was indeed a pilgrimage of pain. But I must not say that; although the fruit of a long half day's search was only £1, I met with very much sympathy and many kind cheering words, also much commendation for having taken the step I had at last.

I went back to the office in the morning, after a sleepless night, feeling as unfit for my clerical duties as I could well be, as may be imagined. My sympathetic chief was of course anxious to know how I had fared, and listened with the greatest attention to my story. Then he suggested that I had better take at least a couple of days off, as I could not possibly do my work under such mental conditions, and leave no means untried to raise that money, even if I had to sell such of the stock as I could make saleable at any price it would fetch. And he wound up by lending me a sovereign, to be repaid when I could.

So I got through the day somehow, though I am afraid I sorely exasperated other care-free individuals, who had to work with me and could not realise the condition of my mind. At last five o'clock came, and I hurried home. My wife met me midway of the shop with a beaming face, and held out her hand with eight sovereigns in it. I staggered back as if I had received a blow, and gasped, "Wh-a-at, where, how did you get it?" "Pawned the piano," she replied promptly, a statement which filled me with amazement, for, although I was only too familiar with the side entrance to establishments flaunting the three golden balls, she, to the best of my knowledge and belief, had never been in such a place in her life. I had always taken that unpleasant necessity upon myself.