"Don't Mrs. Brown me," was the indignant rejoinder. "I tell you, I have never had a moment's peace, ease, and quiet, and never shall have—since you and your beggarly father entered this house."
For, by a strange perversion of ideas, Mrs. Brown persisted in asserting and thinking that it was Rachel and her father who had entered the house, and not she. And this, Rachel might have said; and she might have added that to bear daily reproaches and insults, formed no part of her agreement with Mrs. Brown. She might—but where would the use have been? She was free to depart any day she liked; and since she preferred to stay, why not bear it all patiently? And so she remained silent, whilst Mrs. Brown scolded and railed; for, as she had said to Mary, "we have all our lot to bear."
The lesson was lost on the young girl. No sooner was Mrs. Brown's back turned, than again Mary abused Mr. Saunders, Jane, Mr. Smithson and the new shop collectively, until she could go home to her father's. He already knew all, and gloomily exclaimed, "that it was no more than he expected; that it was all of a piece; and that there was neither honesty, gratitude, nor goodness left in this wicked world."
From which comprehensive remark we can clearly see that Mr. Jones is turning misanthropic. And yet the matter was very simple—an everyday occurrence. Smithson had seen that he might find it profitable to cut the ground under Jones's feet. Why should he not do it? Is not profit the abject of commerce? and is not competition the fairest way of securing profit?
CHAPTER XVI.
The reader may easily imagine Jane and Joseph Saunders married. It was an old engagement Imagine them, too, retained from their wedding tour to Gravesend. It is evening; and on the next morning, "The two Teapots" is to open.
Richard Jones spent a sleepless night, and took down his shutters as soon as a gray, dull light entered the street. It availed little; only a dirty child came in for a pennyworth of brown sugar. It was half-past eight when Saunders opened his shop; and just about that time a chill, drizzling rain began to fall.
The morning was miserable, and only a few wretched figures flitted about the wet street. No one entered the "Teapot;" but then not a soul either crossed the threshold of the rival shop.
And thus the dull morning wore on until the church clock struck ten. A sprinkling of customers then entered the shop of Richard Jones. They were one and all mightily indignant at the impudence of the opposite shop in coming there—a lady in a large, black, shabby straw bonnet in particular.
"Ay, ay, you may flare away—you may flare away," she added, knowingly wagging her head at it, "you'll have none of my custom, I can tell you. An ounce of your four shilling best, Mr. Jones, if you please?"