Two working men have been seen standing at the corner of a street, whispering together: at length one has taken off his coat, gone to the pawnbroker's, come out with the proceeds, and accompanied the other to the nearest gin-shop, where they have remained until all the money raised upon the garment was expended. Again, during the absence from home of the hard-working mechanic, his intemperate wife has collected together their few necessaries, carried them to the pawnbroker's, and spent the few shillings, thus procured, on gin. The thief, when he has picked a pocket of a watch, finds a ready means of disposing of it at the pawnbroker's. Hundreds of working-men pledge their Sunday garments regularly every Monday morning, and redeem them again on Saturday night.
Are pawnbrokers' shops a necessary evil? To some extent they are. They afford assistance to those whom some pressing urgence suddenly overtakes, or who are temporarily out of work. But are not the facilities which they thus present to all classes liable to an abuse more than commensurate with this occasional advantage? Decidedly. They supply a ready means for drink to those who would hesitate before they sold their little property out-and-out; for every one who pawns, under such circumstances, entertains the hope and intention of redeeming the articles again. The enormous interest charged by pawnbrokers crushes and effectually ruins the poor. We will suppose that a mechanic pledges his best clothes every Monday morning, and redeems them every Saturday night for wear on the Sabbath: we will presume that the pawnbroker lends him one pound each time:—they will thus be in pawn 313 days in each year, for which year he will pay 3s. 8d. interest, and 4s. 4d. for duplicates—making a total of 8s. Thus he pays 8s. for the use of his own clothes for 52 days!
If the government were really a paternal one—if it had the welfare of the industrious community at heart, it would take the system of lending money upon deposits under its own supervision, and establish institutions similar to the Mont de Piété in France. Correctly managed, demanding a small interest upon loans, such institutions would become a blessing:—now the shops of pawnbrokers are an evil and a curse!
Sir Rupert Harborough entered the pawnbroker's shop by the front door, while Mr. Chichester awaited him in the Lowther Arcade. The baronet was well known in that establishment; and he accordingly entered into a friendly and familiar chat with one of the young men behind the counter.
"That is a very handsome painting," said Sir Rupert, pointing to one suspended to the wall.
"Yes, sir. It was pledged fifteen months ago for seven pounds, by a young nobleman who had received it along with fifty pounds in cash the same morning by way of discount for a thousand pound bill."
"And what do you expect for it?"
"Eighty guineas," answered the young man coolly. "But here is one much finer than that," continued the pawnbroker's assistant, turning towards another painting. "That expired a few days ago. It was only pledged for thirty guineas."
"And how much have you the conscience to ask for it?"
"One hundred and twenty," whispered the young man. "There is something peculiar connected with that picture. It belonged to an upholsterer who was once immensely rich, but who was ruined by giving credit to the Duke of York."