"Coming, ma'am, di-rectly," was the prompt reply. .
"I never heard anythink like it—never," observed another lady, with solemn indignation. "Did the low fellow think we wanted his shop!"
An indignant "no," was chorused around.
Richard Jones's heart swelled, and his throat too. He was much moved.
"Gentlemen," he began, "no, ladies, I mean—ladies, I have always done my duty since I was a boy, and, with the help of God, I mean to do my duty till I die." Pause and approving murmur. "And, ladies, I am no speech-maker—all I say is this: God forgive that villain opposite! You know the story. I'll not trouble you with repeating it. All I say is this: ladies, if my customers'll stand by me, I'll stand by my customers —I'll stand by my customers!" he repeated, looking round the shop with a triumphant eye, and giving the counter a hearty thump with his fist; and, poor fellow, you may be sure that he did mean to stand by his customers.
The oration proved very successful; altogether, the day was successful. The two Teapots remained vacant; the Teapot was thronged. All Jones's liege subjects were anxious to prove their loyalty; and though, when the gas was lit, Jones could discern a few dark figures within his rival's shop, Jones did not care. He felt certain they were but some of the low creatures from the alley, and be did not care.
The second day resembled the first, and the third resembled the second. Jones felt quite satisfied "that it was all right," until he cast up his accounts at the end of the week. To his surprise, he found that his expenditure was barely covered, and that, somehow or other, his gains had considerably lessened. He reckoned over and over, and still he came to the same result. "Well, 'taint of much consequence for one week," he thought, a little impatiently, and he put the books by.
"What's the matter, father?" asked Mary, looking up into his overcast face.
"What's the matter!" he echoed cheerfully; "why, the matter is, that you are a saucy puss—that's what's the matter," and he chucked her chin, and Mary laughed.
But the next week's examination revealed a still deeper gap. Jones scratched his head, and pulled a long face. It was not that he minded the loss, for it was a trifling one after all; but be had a secret dread, and it stood in the background of his thoughts, like a ghost in a dark room, haunting him. Could it be—was it possible—that his customers were playing him false—that they were deserting him—and he began to think and think, and to remember, how many pennyworths of this, and of that, he had sold to the children, and how few shillings worth he had sold to the mothers.