The Mill on the Floss
fellow. Why, sir, forty years ago, when I was much such a strapping
youngster as you, a man expected to pull between the shafts the best
part of his life, before he got the whip in his hand. The looms went
slowish, and fashions didn’t alter quite so fast; I’d a best suit that
lasted me six years. Everything was on a lower scale, sir,—in point of
expenditure, I mean. It’s this steam, you see, that has made the
difference; it drives on every wheel double pace, and the wheel of
fortune along with ’em, as our Mr Stephen Guest said at the anniversary
dinner (he hits these things off wonderfully, considering he’s seen
nothing of business). I don’t find fault with the change, as some
people do. Trade, sir, opens a man’s eyes; and if the population is to
get thicker upon the ground, as it’s doing, the world must use its wits
at inventions of one sort or other. I know I’ve done my share as an
ordinary man of business. Somebody has said it’s a fine thing to make
two ears of corn grow where only one grew before; but, sir, it’s a fine
thing, too, to further the exchange of commodities, and bring the
grains of corn to the mouths that are hungry. And that’s our line of
business; and I consider it as honourable a position as a man can hold,
to be connected with it.”
Tom knew that the affair his uncle had to speak of was not urgent; Mr
Deane was too shrewd and practical a man to allow either his
reminiscences or his snuff to impede the progress of trade. Indeed, for
the last month or two, there had been hints thrown out to Tom which
enabled him to guess that he was going to hear some proposition for his
own benefit. With the beginning of the last speech he had stretched out
his legs, thrust his hands in his pockets, and prepared himself for
some introductory diffuseness, tending to show that Mr Deane had
succeeded by his own merit, and that what he had to say to young men in
general was, that if they didn’t succeed too it was because of their
own demerit. He was rather surprised, then, when his uncle put a direct
question to him.
“Let me see,—it’s going on for seven years now since you applied to me
for a situation, eh, Tom?”
“Yes, sir; I’m three-and-twenty now,” said Tom.
“Ah, it’s as well not to say that, though; for you’d pass for a good
deal older, and age tells well in business. I remember your coming very
well; I remember I saw there was some pluck in you, and that was what
made me give you encouragement. And I’m happy to say I was right; I’m
not often deceived. I was naturally a little shy at pushing my nephew,
but I’m happy to say you’ve done me credit, sir; and if I’d had a son
o’ my own, I shouldn’t have been sorry to see him like you.”
Mr Deane tapped his box and opened it again, repeating in a tone of
some feeling, “No, I shouldn’t have been sorry to see him like you.”
“I’m very glad I’ve given you satisfaction, sir; I’ve done my best,”
said Tom, in his proud, independent way.
“Yes, Tom, you’ve given me satisfaction. I don’t speak of your conduct
as a son; though that weighs with me in my opinion of you. But what I
have to do with, as a partner in our firm, is the qualities you’ve
shown as a man o’ business. Ours is a fine business,—a splendid
concern, sir,—and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t go on growing;
there’s a growing capital, and growing outlets for it; but there’s
another thing that’s wanted for the prosperity of every concern, large
or small, and that’s men to conduct it,—men of the right habits; none
o’ your flashy fellows, but such as are to be depended on. Now this is
what Mr Guest and I see clear enough. Three years ago we took Gell into
the concern; we gave him a share in the oil-mill. And why? Why, because
Gell was a fellow whose services were worth a premium. So it will
always be, sir. So it was with me. And though Gell is pretty near ten
years older than you, there are other points in your favour.”
Tom was getting a little nervous as Mr Deane went on speaking; he was
conscious of something he had in his mind to say, which might not be
agreeable to his uncle, simply because it was a new suggestion rather
than an acceptance of the proposition he foresaw.
“It stands to reason,” Mr Deane went on, when he had finished his new
pinch, “that your being my nephew weighs in your favour; but I don’t
deny that if you’d been no relation of mine at all, your conduct in
that affair of Pelley’s bank would have led Mr Guest and myself to make
some acknowledgment of the service you’ve been to us; and, backed by
your general conduct and business ability, it has made us determine on
giving you a share in the business,—a share which we shall be glad to
increase as the years go on. We think that’ll be better, on all
grounds, than raising your salary. It’ll give you more importance, and
prepare you better for taking some of the anxiety off my shoulders by
and by. I’m equal to a good deal o’ work at present, thank God; but I’m
getting older,—there’s no denying that. I told Mr Guest I would open
the subject to you; and when you come back from this northern business,
we can go into particulars. This is a great stride for a young fellow
of three-and-twenty, but I’m bound to say you’ve deserved it.”
“I’m very grateful to Mr Guest and you, sir; of course I feel the most
indebted to _you_, who first took me into the business, and have taken
a good deal of pains with me since.”
Tom spoke with a slight tremor, and paused after he had said this.
“Yes, yes,” said Mr Deane. “I don’t spare pains when I see they’ll be
of any use. I gave myself some trouble with Gell, else he wouldn’t have
been what he is.”
“But there’s one thing I should like to mention to you uncle. I’ve
never spoken to you of it before. If you remember, at the time my
father’s property was sold, there was some thought of your firm buying
the Mill; I know you thought it would be a very good investment,
especially if steam were applied.”
“To be sure, to be sure. But Wakem outbid us; he’d made up his mind to
that. He’s rather fond of carrying everything over other people’s
heads.”
“Perhaps it’s of no use my mentioning it at present,” Tom went on, “but
I wish you to know what I have in my mind about the Mill. I’ve a strong
feeling about it. It was my father’s dying wish that I should try and
get it back again whenever I could; it was in his family for five
generations. I promised my father; and besides that, I’m attached to
the place. I shall never like any other so well. And if it should ever
suit your views to buy it for the firm, I should have a better chance
of fulfilling my father’s wish. I shouldn’t have liked to mention the
thing to you, only you’ve been kind enough to say my services have been
of some value. And I’d give up a much greater chance in life for the
sake of having the Mill again,—I mean having it in my own hands, and
gradually working off the price.”
Mr Deane had listened attentively, and now looked thoughtful.
“I see, I see,” he said, after a while; “the thing would be possible if
there were any chance of Wakem’s parting with the property. But that I
_don’t_ see. He’s put that young Jetsome in the place; and he had his
reasons when he bought it, I’ll be bound.”
“He’s a loose fish, that young Jetsome,” said Tom. “He’s taking to
drinking, and they say he’s letting the business go down. Luke told me
about it,—our old miller. He says he sha’n’t stay unless there’s an
alteration. I was thinking, if things went on that way, Wakem might be
more willing to part with the Mill. Luke says he’s getting very sour
about the way things are going on.”
“Well, I’ll turn it over, Tom. I must inquire into the matter, and go
into it with Mr Guest. But, you see, it’s rather striking out a new
branch, and putting you to that, instead of keeping you where you are,
which was what we’d wanted.”
“I should be able to manage more than the Mill when things were once
set properly going, sir. I want to have plenty of work. There’s nothing
else I care about much.”
There was something rather sad in that speech from a young man of
three-and-twenty, even in uncle Deane’s business-loving ears.
“Pooh, pooh! you’ll be having a wife to care about one of these days,
if you get on at this pace in the world. But as to this Mill, we
mustn’t reckon on our chickens too early. However, I promise you to
bear it in mind, and when you come back we’ll talk of it again. I am
going to dinner now. Come and breakfast with us to-morrow morning, and
say good-bye to your mother and sister before you start.”
Chapter VI.
Illustrating the Laws of Attraction
It is evident to you now that Maggie had arrived at a moment in her
life which must be considered by all prudent persons as a great
opportunity for a young woman. Launched into the higher society of St
Ogg’s, with a striking person, which had the advantage of being quite
unfamiliar to the majority of beholders, and with such moderate
assistance of costume as you have seen foreshadowed in Lucy’s anxious
colloquy with aunt Pullet, Maggie was certainly at a new starting-point
in life. At Lucy’s first evening party, young Torry fatigued his facial
muscles more than usual in order that “the dark-eyed girl there in the
corner” might see him in all the additional style conferred by his
eyeglass; and several young ladies went home intending to have short
sleeves with black lace, and to plait their hair in a broad coronet at
the back of their head,—“That cousin of Miss Deane’s looked so very
well.” In fact, poor Maggie, with all her inward consciousness of a
painful past and her presentiment of a troublous future, was on the way
to become an object of some envy,—a topic of discussion in the newly
established billiard-room, and between fair friends who had no secrets
from each other on the subject of trimmings. The Miss Guests, who
associated chiefly on terms of condescension with the families of St
Ogg’s, and were the glass of fashion there, took some exception to
Maggie’s manners. She had a way of not assenting at once to the
observations current in good society, and of saying that she didn’t
know whether those observations were true or not, which gave her an air
of _gaucherie_, and impeded the even flow of conversation; but it is a
fact capable of an amiable interpretation that ladies are not the worst
disposed toward a new acquaintance of their own sex because she has
points of inferiority. And Maggie was so entirely without those pretty
airs of coquetry which have the traditional reputation of driving
gentlemen to despair that she won some feminine pity for being so
ineffective in spite of her beauty. She had not had many advantages,
poor thing! and it must be admitted there was no pretension about her;
her abruptness and unevenness of manner were plainly the result of her
secluded and lowly circumstances. It was only a wonder that there was
no tinge of vulgarity about her, considering what the rest of poor
Lucy’s relations were—an allusion which always made the Miss Guests
shudder a little. It was not agreeable to think of any connection by
marriage with such people as the Gleggs and the Pullets; but it was of
no use to contradict Stephen when once he had set his mind on anything,
and certainly there was no possible objection to Lucy in herself,—no
one could help liking her. She would naturally desire that the Miss
Guests should behave kindly to this cousin of whom she was so fond, and
Stephen would make a great fuss if they were deficient in civility.
Under these circumstances the invitations to Park House were not
wanting; and elsewhere, also, Miss Deane was too popular and too
distinguished a member of society in St Ogg’s for any attention toward
her to be neglected.
Thus Maggie was introduced for the first time to the young lady’s life,