Such were the old man and his establishment. His business was that of a miscellaneous salesman, the difficulty being rather to say what he did not than what he did offer to his various customers. The front part of his van was hung with all sorts of hardware, inside and out; but, besides this, there were, within, secret drawers and cupboards containing articles which would not bear exhibition to the public - such as smuggled goods, both wearable and drinkable, which Ruby knew how to procure at a very low price, and could always part with confidentially for a sum which both suited the pockets of the purchasers, and also brought considerable profit to himself. Among his secret wares were also immoral songs, and impure and infidel books, for which he had many eager buyers, especially in such places as Bridgepath. He had his regular rounds, and his special customers, and was in the habit of attending all the feasts and fairs for many miles round.
It need hardly be said that poor Ruby knew nothing and cared nothing about better things; his heart was wholly in the world, and in making money as fast as he could, by hook or by crook,—and in this he was succeeding. For though the poor man and his wife were utterly godless, and even profane, yet Ruby was no drunkard; he loved his glass, it is true, but he loved money more, and so he always contrived to keep a clear head and a steady eye and hand. He also took good care of his horse and dog for his own sake, as he wanted to make the best and the longest of their services, and was shrewd enough to know that you cannot get out of anything, whether animate or inanimate, more than is put into it. So self and wife, and horse and dog were all well fed and cared for, and worked harmoniously together.
This was the man to whom the poor drunkard pointed his pipe and sneeringly invited Horace Jackson to try and do him good. The young man shrunk at first instinctively from coming in contact with old Reuben. Surely there was abundance of self-denying work in looking after the inhabitants of the hamlet itself; why then need he concern himself about a man who was only a passer through, and had no special claim on his attention? Half-satisfied with these thoughts, Horace Jackson was about to proceed homewards, when it seemed to him that a voice, as it were, said within him, “Accept the work; it may not be in vain.” Though still reluctant, he now felt that he could no longer hang back; so he crossed the green, and greeted the old hawker kindly.
Ruby looked up at him with a comical twinkle in his one eye, and, knocking out the ashes from his pipe, observed, “So you be the young gent as is turning all things topsy-turvy in this here village—you and the colonel between you. I’ve heard all about it; and a precious mess you’ll make of it, I doubt.”
“My friend,” said Horace, now perfectly relieved from all feeling of disinclination to encounter the old man, “you make a little mistake there: when we came here we found things topsy-turvy already, and we are just trying, by God’s help, to set them upright and straight.”
“And I suppose you think as you’re going to do it,” said the other scornfully.
“Yes, I hope so,” was the reply. “Come, my friend, now tell me honestly, isn’t it happier for the people of this village to have a good school and a good schoolmaster set down amongst them than to be living as they used to do, without proper instruction for the children, and without any knowledge of God and a better world?”
“Can’t say as to that,” said Ruby Grigg doubtfully, and a little sulkily; “there’s lots of people here as likes the old ways better.”
“Perhaps so,” said Horace; “but they may be wrong in what they like. Now, I ask you again—tell me honestly—don’t you see a change for the better yourself in Bridgepath?”
“Well, I don’t know,” replied the old man, fidgeting about; “it’s been a worse change for me. I ain’t done anything like the business this time as I use doing here, leastways in some things.”