Confessions of a Tradesman

by Frank Thomas Bullen

But there was the money, the price of deliverance, and now I must explain the circumstances. The piano was an exceedingly good one which I had bought on the hire system long ago at the second-hand price of £40. I had presented it to her on some anniversary and thenceforward never thought of it as mine, never regarded it as a possible means of raising money for my needs. And here it had been the saving of a very bad situation, for although my experience was still green I dimly understood that the hour of deliverance was at hand. The side-issue of the terribly low figure for which that beautiful instrument was pledged—which if not repaid within a year would mean its loss—did touch me rather sharply, but I could not stop to think of that, nor could I be ungrateful enough to suggest to my wife that she might have done better, remembering her experience. Also I felt that in a year, who knew, I might happen on something which would enable me to redeem the piano.

So I had the price, and secure in that knowledge I went to bed and slept very soundly, no thought of the proceedings after the preliminary payment occasioning me the slightest uneasiness. And it was with a light heart that I rose early in the morning to complete the clearing up of my wrecked ship, to put, in fact, my house in order against what I dimly foresaw would be the next step, the visit of the official assessor whose duty it would be to estimate the whole of my possessions, with the exceptions of tools and an irreducible minimum of clothing and bedding, not bedsteads. By eleven o'clock I had made the poor place look quite respectable and hurried off, leaving, as a last message, instructions to my wife to dispose of our fowls for what they would fetch. We had bred them ourselves, and they had been a source of great pleasure to us and profit to the children, for they responded liberally in the matter of eggs. There were twenty-five of them altogether, beautiful birds of no particular breed, and all pets. I may as well finish off this particular transaction by saying that during the day they were sold en bloc for eighteen shillings, although any one of them would have cost three shillings dead had I been a buyer.

Away I went in high spirits to Carey Street, but before I got there, I felt the malign influence of the place upon me, and when I entered those fateful doors, I was subdued enough. No need for me to enquire the way now, I went straight to the desk of the official whom I had encountered before. He looked at me with the same air of nonchalant aloofness, as of a being from another sphere beyond all such hopes and fears and sorrows as I might have. Producing the money, I said submissively, "I have brought the fees you told me were necessary." "Ah, I think I remember something about it," he replied. "Wanted to file your own petition, didn't you?" Of course I retold my story, or as much of it as he would listen to, until he interrupted me with, "Who's your solicitor?" Again I assured him that I had no money wherewith to employ a solicitor, and, moreover, I had been assured that the business was so simple that any man of ordinary intelligence could manage it himself.

He gave me a pitying glance, and then grunted, "Oh, all right. Take these forms and fill them up. Anything you don't understand, I'll try to explain to you." So saying he handed me a most formidable sheaf of printed documents, wherein I read in the usual involved official verbiage all sorts of instructions as to my procedure. I had been fairly well accustomed to official forms, but my heart sank at the sight of these, for it seemed an utter impossibility that I should ever make head or tail of them.

However I attacked them boldly, and when I came to a snag I just left it and went on to the next. By the end of an hour, I had done something to all the forms, but it was very little, and I took them back to the man at the desk with a modest request that he would explain some of the difficulties to me. As he glanced over the sheets a deep frown gathered over his brow, and he presently growled. "Look here, why the devil don't you get a solicitor? You'll never do this yourself, and I can't be bothered showing you. I've got my work to do." (In my innocence I had imagined that what I was asking him to do was his work.) I patiently explained to him my position once more, for though naturally prone to resent injustice and high-handed officialdom, my spirit was sadly broken and lent itself to being bullied, up to a certain point.

So he did some more explaining, but with very bad grace, and with a manner exactly like that of a coarse-minded usher with a very dull and frightened small boy. I paid all the attention I could, took the forms away, and had another hour at them. Then I came to an absolute deadlock, and though I very much disliked going to him again, I was compelled to do so. He took the documents from me in grim silence, glanced at them, and then said with much emphasis, "Oh! this'll never do. Messenger!" The messenger appearing, my mentor queried of him, "Is old hard-hat about?" "I think so," replied the messenger. "Well, go and tell him I want him," and the messenger departed.

Pending his return I waited, still like the school-boy at the master's desk, wondering mightily who "old hard-hat" might be, and what he could have to do with me, or I with him. As he was rather long in coming, I grew mildly impatient, and ventured to ask who had been sent for. The man behind the desk replied sharply, "You've got to be identified, and you can't possibly do that yourself." "Well," I answered, "how in the name of common sense can a man whom I have never seen or heard of identify me?"

"Oh," he grunted, "you've got nothing to do with that. It's just a legal form, that's all." I might have said some more, but just then the person we were waiting for arrived. A tall slender figure in brown, with an auburn wig and no teeth. He had a placid yet decided way with him, and reminded me, oddly enough, of Charles Lamb, from what I had read of that gentle soul, and such portraits as I had seen of him.

Coming direct to my mentor, the new comer said, "You sent for me, I believe, Mr Blank." "Yes," replied the clerk, "take this man away, and see if you can get him out of the muddle he is in with those documents." Mr Hardhat, for so I must call my new acquaintance, turned to me and murmured, "Will you come over to this table with me?" I went, but on arriving there, I said, "Look here, before we go any further, are you a solicitor sent for to help me?" He replied, to the best of my recollection, that he was, but not in regular business; in short I gathered, I do not know how, that he had either never passed his examination, or that he had for some reason not been able to carry on a regular business, and that he now attended that building regularly in the hope of picking up such chance jobs as mine promised to be.

Upon finding this out, I immediately made it plain to him that I was utterly unable to incur a solicitor's bill, that I had been told by people in authority that there was nothing in Bankruptcy procedure to prevent an unhappy debtor from doing his own business; and although I had not in the least realised what an unpleasant business it was, I was bound to go through with it. He heard me out with great patience, and then said mildly, "Yes, I know that theoretically it is possible for a debtor to do his own business here, but practically it is not possible. As to paying me for the assistance I can give you, please don't let that trouble you at all. I am quite willing to do my best for you, and let the question of payment (it will be a mere trifle in any case) stand over until you come upon happier times. If you never pay me it will not ruin me, and I might as well be helping you as doing nothing. Please let us get to work, and say no more about it."