"That's all right enough," emphatically said Saunders; "still, Mr. Jones, you say I have ruined you. It isn't the first time either that you have said so, and with some people, I may as well tell you it has injured me."
"I am sorry if it has," meekly said Jones.
"And I don't care a button," frankly declared Saunders, "but as I was saying, that's your belief, your impression; and to be sure it's true enough in one sense, but then, Mr. Jones, you should not look at your side of the question only. Mr. Smithson meant to set up a grocer's shop long before you opened yours; he spoke to me about it, and if I had only agreed then, it was done; you came, to be sure, but what of that? the street was as free to us as to you; that I lodged in your house was an accident; I did not know when I took your room that I should supplant you some day. I did not know Smithson had still kept that idea in his head, and that finding no situation I should be glad to consent at last. Well, I did consent, and I did compete with you, and knocked you over, as it were, but Mr. Jones, would not another have done it? And was it not all honourable, fair play?"
"Well, I suppose it was," sadly replied Jones, "and since it was a settled thing that I was to be a ruined man, I suppose I ought not to care who did it."
"Come, that's talking sense," said Saunders, with a nod of approbation, "and now, Mr. Jones, we'll come to business, for I need not tell you nor Miss Gray either, that I did not come in here to rip up old sores. You must know that the young fellow who used to serve in my shop has taken himself off, he's going to Australia, he says, but that's neither here nor there; I have a regard for you, Mr. Jones, and having injured you without malice, I should like to do you a good turn of my own free will; and then there's my wife, who was quite cut up when she heard you had lost your little daughter, and who has such a regard for Miss Gray, but that's neither here nor there; the long and short of it is, will you serve in my shop, and have a good berth and moderate wages, and perhaps an increase if the business prospers?"
Poor Richard Jones! This was the end of all his dreams, his schemes, his anger, his threatened revenge! And yet, strange to say, he felt it very little. Every strong and living feeling lay buried in a grave. His soul was as a thing dead within him; his pride had crumbled into dust, as Mary would have said: his spirit was gone.
The humiliation of accepting Joseph Saunders proposal,—and, however strange, it was certainly well and kindly meant—Richard Jones did not consider. He looked at the advantages, and found them manifest; there lay the means of paying Rachel, of covering his few debts, and of securing to his wearied life the last and dearly-bought boon of repose. Awhile he reflected, then said aloud: "I shall be very glad of it, lam very much obliged to you, Mr. Saunders."
"Well, then, it's done," said Mr. Saunders, rising, "good night, Jones, cheer up, old fellow. Good night, Miss Gray; Jane sends her love, you know. Sorry the old gentleman's no better." And away he departed, very well satisfied with the success of his errand.
"Oh! Mr. Jones!" exclaimed Rachel, when she returned to the parlour.
"Don't mention it," he said with a faint smile, "I don't mind it, Miss
Gray."