Once, his mind was made up, he turned desperate, went and secured the shop. He had all the time been in a perfect fever, lest some other should forestall him, after which he became calm. "Did not much care about Miss Gray's opinion—did not see why he should care about any one's opinion," and in this lofty mood it was that Richard Jones went and gave a loud, clear, and distinct knock at Mrs. Gray's door.
Dinner was over—the apprentices were working—Rachel was dreaming, rather sadly, poor girl! for she thought of what was, and of what might have been. Mrs. Gray was reading the newspaper, when the entrance of Richard Jones, admitted by his daughter, disturbed the quiet little household. At once Mrs. Gray flew into politics.
"Well, Mr. Jones," she cried, "and how are you? I suppose you know they are raising the taxes—and then such rates as we have, Mr. Jones—such rates!"
Mrs. Gray was habitually a Tory, and not a mild one; but on the subject of taxes and rates, Mrs. Gray was, we are sorry to say, a violent radical. "She couldn't abide them," she declared.
"And so they axe raising the taxes, are they!" echoed Mr. Jones, chuckling. "Eh! but that won't do for me, Mrs. Gray. I'm turning householder—and hard by here too!" he added, winking.
Mrs. Gray did not understand at all. She coughed, and looked puzzled. Mr. Jones saw that Rachel had not spoken to her. He continued winking, chuckling, and rubbing his hands as he spoke.
"I am going into business, Mrs. Gray."
Mrs. Gray was profoundly astonished; Mary's work dropped on her lap as she stared with open mouth and eyes at her father, who chucked her chin for her.
"Yes," he resumed, addressing Mrs. Gray; "I had always a turn that way."
"Oh, you had!"