Chapter XIII “Harris & Father.”
Mr Harris, senior partner in the firm of Harris & Son, provision dealers, Mount Street, S.E., was in a state of much tribulation. For Mr Harris, owing to an unfortunate propensity for backing horses which either came in last, or fell down and broke their legs, or behaved in some other unsatisfactory fashion, had, as the phrase is, outrun the constable, and on the day that witnessed his visit to Dr Taplow’s surgery, had found himself threatened with bankruptcy and ruin.
That evening—there being no other course to pursue—he had made a clean breast of his affairs to his son Isaac, a weedy, lynx-eyed youth of a greasy and unwashed appearance.
“So dat is the case, my son,” concluded Mr Harris, throwing out his hands in a gesture of despair; “and now—vot are ve to do—vot are ve to do?”
Mr Harris and his heir, it may be added, were East End Jews of a pronounced type, and their speech suggested a certain German strain in their ancestry.
“It is very sad, mine fader,” replied young Harris; “it vos foolish of you to bet on dose ’orses——.”
“It vos foolish of dose ’orses not to run faster!” cried Mr Harris, proceeding to cut his nails with the counter scissors.
“Don’t take the edge off dose scissors, mine fader,” said young Harris, snatching them away from his parent.
“And vy not? Dey are my scissors!” exclaimed Mr Harris, endeavouring to grab them back.
“Ven I haf bought dem dey vill not be yours,” explained young Harris, amiably turning the point of the scissors towards his sire, so that, should the latter persist in his endeavour to regain them, he might receive some hurt from the effort.
The old dealer gazed wonderingly at his fond child. “You—you vill buy dose scissors? Ah! at the sale?”
“No—from you, mine fader. I haf saved up some money, and I haf backed ’orses, too. But I did notice, mine fader, dat the ’orses you did bet on did always lose, so I did always bet on dose vot you didn’t, and so when you did lose I did often vin, and so, mine fader, I will buy the pizness from you—dat is to say,” concluded the young man with hasty caution, “I vill pay your debts, mine fader, if you vill gif me the pizness.”
“Isaac,” said Mr Harris, with emotion, “do not be hard on your old fader. Think of the money I skwandered on your education, my son—think of the peautiful school I put you to ven you vos a boy——”
“It vas only fivepence a veek!” retorted young Isaac, ungratefully.
“And ven you vos fourteen, my son Isaac, ven you vos an eddicated young gentleman, I took you from dat school and I put you behind the counter, and I taught you the pizness—and you had two soots of clothes a year, and a veek’s ’oliday at Margit—oh! I haf been a kind fader to you, my son Isaac! Vill you lend me the money to pay my debts vith, Isaac?”
“Not a farding!” exclaimed young Harris, roughly. “You’ve been ’ard on me, and now I’ll be ’ard on you. You’ve made me vork and slave while you’ve gone off to put money on ’orses that always fell down! Yes, you’ve been ’ard on me, and now I’ll be——”
Here young Harris paused in his harangue. An idea occurred to him. If he bought up his father’s business and turned his father out of the house, he would have to engage a shopman. That would come expensive. No, he must keep his father on, and make him help with the work.
Old Harris was quick to take advantage of the discontinuance of Isaac’s discourse.
“You von’t be too ’ard on me, my son?” he whined, “think of the pantermimes I took you to ven you vos a little boy.”
“Vell, I vill not be ’ard on you, mine fader,” responded young Harris, apparently softened by this tender reminiscence. “No, I vill tell you vot I vill do. I vill take you into partnership. You shall be as I vos—you shall haf what you haf gave me. Is not that dootiful of me, mine fader?”
Old Harris groaned. True, his son had been his partner of recent years, but Isaac’s share in the business had been so small that it could hardly have been called a share, save when viewed under a microscope. However, beggars can’t be choosers, so there and then young Harris drew up a temporary agreement—to be presently made permanent in a due and proper manner by a solicitor—under which Isaac undertook to pay his father’s debts (which amounted to a hundred pounds—a large sum for a small tradesman in a humble street), and Mr Harris, on his side, undertook to hand over the control of the shop to Isaac, he himself receiving board, lodging, and a share in the business, on condition he gave as much time to the business as his son had formerly devoted to it.
Thus were the tables completely turned on the unlucky provision dealer.
By way of showing that he was in earnest, and not being restrained by any false delicacy, Isaac, as soon as he had breakfasted on the following morning, went out in search of a painter. Having found a man, he brought him and his ladder and his paint-pot back with him, and set the man at once to alter the title over the shop window from “Harris & Son” to “Harris & Father.”
So it came about that when Jim, having received the promised fifty pounds from Koko, walked round to see Mr Harris concerning a suitable tenement wherein he might set up as a surgeon, he found the painter just completing his task, and young Harris, with his hands in his pockets, perkily surveying the alteration.
“Hullo!” said Jim, “changes in the firm, I observe.”
“Yes, doctor,” said Isaac; “mine fader, he vos ruined by ’orse-racing, and so it is now my shop, and mine fader, he is my partner.”
“Don’t quite see how it can be your shop if he is your partner,” said Jim.
“He vill tell you,” said Isaac, indicating the interior of the shop with a dirty forefinger; “he is cleaning the counter. Soon he vill vipe the plates and knives and forks. He is going to vork now as I did used to.”
And Isaac resumed his occupation of watching the painter with a most truculent and self-satisfied expression on his face.
Jim walked into the provision shop.
“Morning, Mr Harris.”
Mr Harris shook his head despondently.
“I ain’t Mr ’Arris no longer,” he said. “‘E’s Mr ’Arris. ‘E’s the boss. Ah, doctor,” continued the old man, wiping away a tear with his shirt-sleeve, “if I’d a-known this vas goin’ to ’appen—if I’d a-known that velp vos goin’ to buy me up by bettin’ on the ’orses I said vos no good, I——”
Mr Harris paused for breath. Jim waited for some interesting old Hebraic curse. But none came.
“—I’d never ’ave let ’im see my evenin’ paper. That’s vare ‘e got it. I marked the ’orses I vos goin’ to flutter on, and ‘e saw ’em and laid accordin’!”
“Rather smart!” laughed Jim. “The firm got square with the bookies that way.”
“And when I think,” almost shrieked old Harris, “that ’e betted vith money out of the till—that he used my money to play me that trick vith—when I think of that——”
Again Mr Harris paused for breath, again Jim expected a rich and fruity paternal curse, and again none such came.
“When I think of that,” resumed Mr Harris, “it goes to my ’eart to remember I vouldn’t buy a cash-registering machine that vos offered to me at ‘arf-price by a pawnbroker friend of mine ’oo vos giving up!”
“And why didn’t you?” asked Jim.
“Vy? Vy, becos that velp yonder—young Isaac—says: ‘Fader, do not buy that machine. If you do, the customers vill steal the sausages vile ve turn our backs to get the change.’ That is vy. And I gave ’im a shillin’ for bein’ so clever. And it’s a thousand pound to a little bit of cat’s meat, doctor,” concluded Mr Harris with great bitterness, “that ’e laid that bob on a ’orse that came ’ome!”
“Well, Mr Harris,” said Jim, “I’m sorry you have been so unfortunate. But I must get on with my business. I want to open a surgery in this street, and I want you to tell me if there’s a likely house about here for the purpose.”
Mr Harris fixed his gaze eagerly on Jim’s face, and as he did so his eyes lightened up with a great idea. What he wanted was a little ready money. Get that ready money he must, or his scheme would fail!
“Yes, doctor,” he said, “I know a ’ouse. That pawnbroker friend of mine, ’e shut up ’is shop when ’e retired from business, and asked me to get a tenant for it. You shall ’ave it cheap, my dear sir. You can ’ack it about a bit, and it’ll suit you fine. Come and see it—come on!”
In nervous haste the old man put on his coat and hat. “Come on, doctor,” he said.
But young Isaac confronted his father at the shop door. “Vare vos you goin’, mine fader?” he inquired.
“I vos goin’ vith the doctor. If I oblige ’im ’e will attend us for nozzing, my son. Is that not good? Come on, doctor.”
With this Mr Harris hastened past his son, and, accompanied by Jim, at length arrived at a dingy-looking shop, whose shutters bore sundry placards giving the world to understand that the place was “TO LET.”
“There, doctor, that vill make you a peautiful surgery. But you shall see it.”
When Jim had inspected the place he decided to take it.
“What’s the rent?” he asked old Harris.
“Sixty pounds a year, doctor, paid quarterly in advance.”
“Do I pay you, Mr Harris?”
“Yes, you pay me,” replied the dealer, hastily.
“All right. Then that’s fifteen pounds. You shall have it as soon as I have taken possession. You get a commission on this deal, eh?”
“I get a commission? Vy, yes, I vould not let anything vithout one. I get ten per cent, doctor dear—to come off the first quarter’s rent. That’s six pounds. You vill pay me in advance, doctor, eh?”
“Oh, rather!” said Jim.
At this point Mr Harris looked cunningly at his young medical adviser. “The top part of the ’ouse, doctor dear—you vill sleep in it?”
“Not I,” said Jim.
“Then you vill not vant it?”
“Well, I suppose not.”
“You vill lend me the outside, then. Eh? You vill lend me the vall?”
“Lend you the wall—what for?”
“First say you vill lend it me!”
“Well, I’ll lend it you. Now tell me what you’ll do with it,” said Jim.
Mr Harris rubbed his hands together. “I vill let it for advertisements. It vill be an ’oarding. I vill let it to one of those contractors—it vill be a fine ’oarding. It vill not ’urt you, and it vill bring me money.”
“Where do I come in?” demanded Jim, laughing.
“Vy, it vill ‘elp you, my dear doctor. People will look at the ’oarding, and then they vill see your plate, and then they vill come in for advice, and you’ll make a fortune, doctor dear—all through me! Vy, you ought to pay me for the idea!”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that light,” said Jim, much amused.
The old dealer chuckled with glee. “Ah, my son Isaac!” he cried, “you shall sing yet vith the uzzer side of your mouth. I shall ’ave money. The evenin’ paper shall come—Isaac vill mark the ’orses now—’e will back them, and I vill back vot ’e backs. Then ve vill see!”
“That will be a cute dodge—if it comes off!” said Jim.
“Come off—it must!” cried the old man, with the fatalism of the confirmed gambler, “it can’t ‘elp itself! Aha! And then ve vill see, Isaac my son, ve vill see!”