_ A few days later Constance was arranging the more precious of her
wedding presents in the parlour; some had to be wrapped in tissue
and in brown paper and then tied with string and labelled; others
had special cases of their own, leather without and velvet within.
Among the latter was the resplendent egg-stand holding twelve
silver-gilt egg-cups and twelve chased spoons to match, presented
by Aunt Harriet. In the Five Towns' phrase, 'it must have cost
money.' Even if Mr and Mrs. Povey had ten guests or ten children,
and all the twelve of them were simultaneously gripped by a desire
to eat eggs at breakfast or tea--even in this remote contingency
Aunt Harriet would have been pained to see the egg-stand in use;
such treasures are not designed for use. The presents, few in
number, were mainly of this character, because, owing to her
mother's heroic cession of the entire interior, Constance already
possessed every necessary. The fewness of the presents was
accounted for by the fact that the wedding had been strictly
private and had taken place at Axe. There is nothing like secrecy
in marriage for discouraging the generous impulses of one's
friends. It was Mrs. Baines, abetted by both the chief parties,
who had decided that the wedding should be private and secluded.
Sophia's wedding had been altogether too private and secluded; but
the casting of a veil over Constance's (whose union was
irreproachable) somehow justified, after the event, the
circumstances of Sophia's, indicating as it did that Mrs. Baines
believed in secret weddings on principle. In such matters Mrs.
Baines was capable of extraordinary subtlety.
And while Constance was thus taking her wedding presents with due
seriousness, Maggie was cleaning the steps that led from the
pavement of King Street to the side-door, and the door was ajar.
It was a fine June morning.
Suddenly, over the sound of scouring, Constance heard a dog's low
growl and then the hoarse voice of a man:
"Mester in, wench?"
"Happen he is, happen he isn't," came Maggie's answer. She had no
fancy for being called wench.
Constance went to the door, not merely from curiosity, but from a
feeling that her authority and her responsibilities as house-
mistress extended to the pavement surrounding the house.
The famous James Boon, of Buck Row, the greatest dog-fancier in
the Five Towns, stood at the bottom of the steps: a tall, fat man,
clad in stiff, stained brown and smoking a black clay pipe less
than three inches long. Behind him attended two bull-dogs.
"Morning, missis!" cried Boon, cheerfully. "I've heerd tell as th'
mister is looking out for a dog, as you might say."
"I don't stay here with them animals a-sniffing at me--no, that I
don't!" observed Maggie, picking herself up.
"Is he?" Constance hesitated. She knew that Samuel had vaguely
referred to dogs; she had not, however, imagined that he regarded
a dog as aught but a beautiful dream. No dog had ever put paw into
that house, and it seemed impossible that one should ever do so.
As for those beasts of prey on the pavement ...!
"Ay!" said James Boon, calmly.
"I'll tell him you're here," said Constance. "But I don't know if
he's at liberty. He seldom is at this time of day. Maggie, you'd
better come in."
She went slowly to the shop, full of fear for the future.
"Sam," she whispered to her husband, who was writing at his desk,
"here's a man come to see you about a dog."
Assuredly he was taken aback. Still, he behaved with much presence
of mind.
"Oh, about a dog! Who is it?"
"It's that Jim Boon. He says he's heard you want one."
The renowned name of Jim Boon gave him pause; but he had to go
through with the affair, and he went through with it, though
nervously. Constance followed his agitated footsteps to the side-
door.
"Morning, Boon."
"Morning, master."
They began to talk dogs, Mr Povey, for his part, with due caution.
"Now, there's a dog!" said Boon, pointing to one of the bull-dogs,
a miracle of splendid ugliness.
"Yes," responded Mr. Povey, insincerely. "He is a beauty. What's
it worth now, at a venture?"
"I'll tak' a hundred and twenty sovereigns for her," said Boon.
"Th' other's a bit cheaper--a hundred."
"Oh, Sam!" gasped Constance.
And even Mr. Povey nearly lost his nerve. "That's more than I want
to give," said he timidly.
"But look at her!" Boon persisted, roughly snatching up the more
expensive animal, and displaying her cannibal teeth.
Mr. Povey shook his head. Constance glanced away.
"That's not quite the sort of dog I want," said Mr. Povey.
"Fox-terrier?"
"Yes, that's more like," Mr. Povey agreed eagerly.
"What'll ye run to?"
"Oh," said Mr. Povey, largely, "I don't know."
"Will ye run to a tenner?"
"I thought of something cheaper."
"Well, hoo much? Out wi' it, mester."
"Not more than two pounds," said Mr. Povey. He would have said one
pound had he dared. The prices of dogs amazed him.
"I thowt it was a dog as ye wanted!" said Boon. "Look 'ere,
mester. Come up to my yard and see what I've got."
"I will," said Mr. Povey.
"And bring missis along too. Now, what about a cat for th' missis?
Or a gold-fish?"
The end of the episode was that a young lady aged some twelve
months entered the Povey household on trial. Her exiguous legs
twinkled all over the parlour, and she had the oddest appearance
in the parlour. But she was so confiding, so affectionate, so
timorous, and her black nose was so icy in that hot weather, that
Constance loved her violently within an hour. Mr. Povey made rules
for her. He explained to her that she must never, never go into
the shop. But she went, and he whipped her to the squealing point,
and Constance cried an instant, while admiring her husband's
firmness.
The dog was not all.
On another day Constance, prying into the least details of the
parlour, discovered a box of cigars inside the lid of the
harmonium, on the keyboard. She was so unaccustomed to cigars that
at first she did not realize what the object was. Her father had
never smoked, nor drunk intoxicants; nor had Mr. Critchlow. Nobody
had ever smoked in that house, where tobacco had always been
regarded as equally licentious with cards, 'the devil's
playthings.' Certainly Samuel had never smoked in the house,
though the sight of the cigar-box reminded Constance of an
occasion when her mother had announced an incredulous suspicion
that Mr. Povey, fresh from an excursion into the world on a
Thursday evening, 'smelt of smoke.'
She closed the harmonium and kept silence.
That very night, coming suddenly into the parlour, she caught
Samuel at the harmonium. The lid went down with a resonant bang
that awoke sympathetic vibrations in every corner of the room.
"What is it?" Constance inquired, jumping.
"Oh, nothing!" replied Mr. Povey, carelessly. Each was deceiving
the other: Mr. Povey hid his crime, and Constance hid her
knowledge of his crime. False, false! But this is what marriage
is.
And the next day Constance had a visit in the shop from a possible
new servant, recommended to her by Mr. Holl, the grocer.
"Will you please step this way?" said Constance, with affable
primness, steeped in the novel sense of what it is to be the sole
responsible mistress of a vast household. She preceded the girl to
the parlour, and as they passed the open door of Mr. Povey's
cutting-out room, Constance had the clear vision and titillating
odour of her husband smoking a cigar. He was in his shirt-sleeves,
calmly cutting out, and Fan (the lady companion), at watch on the
bench, yapped at the possible new servant.
"I think I shall try that girl," said she to Samuel at tea. She
said nothing as to the cigar; nor did he.
On the following evening, after supper, Mr. Povey burst out:
"I think I'll have a weed! You didn't know I smoked, did you?"
Thus Mr. Povey came out in his true colours as a blood, a blade,
and a gay spark.
But dogs and cigars, disconcerting enough in their degree, were to
the signboard, when the signboard at last came, as skim milk is to
hot brandy. It was the signboard that, more startlingly than
anything else, marked the dawn of a new era in St. Luke's Square.
Four men spent a day and a half in fixing it; they had ladders,
ropes, and pulleys, and two of them dined on the flat lead roof of
the projecting shop-windows. The signboard was thirty-five feet
long and two feet in depth; over its centre was a semicircle about
three feet in radius; this semicircle bore the legend, judiciously
disposed, "S. Povey. Late." All the sign-board proper was devoted
to the words, "John Baines," in gold letters a foot and a half
high, on a green ground.
The Square watched and wondered; and murmured: "Well, bless us!
What next?"
It was agreed that in giving paramount importance to the name of
his late father-in-law, Mr. Povey had displayed a very nice
feeling.
Some asked with glee: "What'll the old lady have to say?"
Constance asked herself this, but not with glee. When Constance
walked down the Square homewards, she could scarcely bear to look
at the sign; the thought of what her mother might say frightened
her. Her mother's first visit of state was imminent, and Aunt
Harriet was to accompany her. Constance felt almost sick as the
day approached. When she faintly hinted her apprehensions to
Samuel, he demanded, as if surprised--
"Haven't you mentioned it in one of your letters?"
"Oh NO!"
"If that's all," said he, with bravado, "I'll write and tell her
myself." _