“No,” said Edgar, forcing himself into attention.
“It is not a bad name; there are fine people, I believe, who bear it, and who hold up their heads with the best. But if you belonged to a middle-class London family, and had a mother and sisters, you would have no difficulty in identifying me. I am not a Tottenham with a Christian name like other people. I am Tottenham’s, in the possessive case.”
“I begin to understand,” said Edgar.
What an effort it was to him! But he grew more capable of making the effort as he tried to make it, and actually looked up now with a gleam of intelligence in his eye.
“You begin to realize me,” said his companion. “I am Tottenham’s. I have been Tottenham’s all my life. My father died when I was only a small boy. I hope, though I don’t know, that he might have had sense enough to habituate me to my fate from the beginning, which would have made it much easier. But my mother, unfortunately, was a lady, or thought herself so. She brought me up as if there was not such a thing as a shop in the world. She buys everything at Howell and James’s of set purpose and malice prepense, when she could get all she wants at cost price in our own place; to be sure she can afford it, thanks to the shop. I never knew anything about this said shop till I was at Eton, when I denied the connection stoutly, and fought for it, and came off triumphant, though the other fellow was the biggest. When I went home for the holidays, I told the story. ‘You were quite right not to give in to it, my dear,’ said my mother. ‘But is it true?’ said I. Poor dear, how she prevaricated! She would not have told a lie for the world, but a tiny little bit of a fib did not seem so bad. Accordingly I found it out, and had to go back to Eton, and beg the fellow’s pardon, and tell him it wasn’t a lie he told, but the truth, only I had not known it. I don’t think any of them thought the worse of me for that.”
“I should think not,” cried Edgar, beginning to rouse up.
“No, I don’t suppose they did; but from that day I became thin-skinned, as people call it, and scented the shop afar off in everything people said. My mother’s contempt for it, and shame of it, got deep into my mind. I grew sensitive. I did not like to give my name when I went anywhere. I felt sure some one would say, ‘Oh, Tottenham’s!’ when my card was taken in. I can’t tell you the misery this gave me all through school and college. I hated the shop, and was afraid of it. I was morbidly ashamed of my name. I went and wandered about in vacation, wearing other men’s names as I might have borrowed their coats. Not without their consent, mind you,” he added, sharply. “I did nothing dishonourable; but I had a horror of being Tottenham, a horror which I cannot describe.”
“That was strange!”
“You think so? Well, so do I now; and it was very unfortunate for me. It got me into many scrapes; it almost cost me my wife. You don’t know my wife? I must take you out to see her. I was introduced to her under somebody else’s name—not a very distinguished name, it is true, Smith, or Brown, or something, and under that name she accepted me; but when I told her how things really were, her countenance flamed like that of the angel, do you remember? in Milton, when Adam says something caddish—I forget what exactly. How she did look at me! ‘Ashamed of your name!’ she said, ‘and yet ask me to share it!’ There is pride and pride,” said Mr. Tottenham to himself with musing admiration. “The poor dear mother thought she was proud; Mary is so; that makes all the difference. I got into such trouble as I never was in all my life. She sent me right away; she would have nothing to say to me; she cast me off as you might cast away that cinder with that pair of tongs. For a time I was the most miserable fellow on the face of the earth. I wandered about the place where she lived night and day; but even then, if you will believe me, it cost me a very hard struggle indeed to get to the shop. When I was desperate, I did.”
“Why is he telling me all this, I wonder?” said Edgar to himself; but he was interested, he could not tell how, and had raised his head, and for the moment shaken off something of the burden from his own back.