"George" What I 'ave I'll 'old.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 139, 14 June 1932, Page 15

"George" What I 'ave I'll 'old.

By . . . HOLLOWAY HORN.

CHAPTER X. Back to Business. However desirable it may be for a young couple to be able to look round unhurriedly, after a honeymoon, the decision to take furnished rooms in Mossfield was not altogether wise. As far back as George and Eth could remember the amount of leisure in their lives had not been excessive, but it was now their chief problem. They discovered that pictures may pall far more quickly than one might have imagined. George took up French at a "school of languages," in the town, and became keen on wireless. He made a set for himself, another for Mrs. Baggs, their landlady. But even wireless may pall. "I should like a little place o' mt own, George," Eth announced one afternoon. "Same here," agreed George. "I'm sick of hanging about all day. I'd 'arf a mind to take a lil business somewhere—a saloon, fitted up okay, and tobacco. I could 'ave an assistant and get orf sometimes. But I do miss the shop. There was always people dropping in for a chat. You did 'ave human intercourse." "I know," said Eth. "Besides, it s ud be an investment. You look out for one, George." "Shouldn't mind it being in London. Clapliam Junction, say; you can get anywhere from Clapliam Junction." "I dunno about that," said Eth doubtfully. George stuck to his original choice of Clapliam Junction. The fact that one can get away from a place with exceptional facility docs not usually commend it as a residence, but, whatever the reason behind his action, in a few days Mr. and Mrs. Kawlings emerged from the station armed with a list of more or less desirable hairdressing businesses, the owners of which, for one cause or another, were willing to sell. The one they finally chose was in Northesk Road, a busy thoroughfare leading to the Junction itself. It was owned by a Scot named McDougal, who asserted that the only reason which would have made him sell was a passionate desire to return to Glesca. It didn't seem too probable, but that is what Mr. McDougal said. The saloon was luxuriously fitted up with marble and silver-plated fittings. On these points George was expert and submitted McDougal to a searching cross-examination. Attached to the saloon was a tobacco shop in which a young lady was employed. McDougal had one assistant in the saloon, but insisted that there was work for at least two. He had been there fifteen years and was retiring, having made sufficient to that end.

That was the proposition, and the dour Scot left it to George. For the business, as a going concern, he was asking the Bum of seven hundred and fifty pounds, stock at valuation, but all fittings included. "Let's talk it over, Eth," said George. "Let's go and 'ave a bite o' lunch." Over steak-pudding and two veg. they considered the matter. "It's a place I've dreamed of," said George. "For years paet, while I was an assistant, I've dreamt of just such a place. Thirty private shaving sets! D'you see 'em?" "Those little pots in the cubby 'oles ?" George nodded. "Silver-plated taps," George said in a far-away voice. "Unlimited 'ot water. The shop nex' door might be going, McDougal said. Extend —we could extend, Eth. Start as kwaffer day Dames! There's money in it. That place 'ud bring in fifteen quid a week clear. And the flat an' all, just above." "That's what I liked. An' I liked Mr McDougal. That kitchen's fine, George. The bathroom's a bit small, but that doesn't matter." "Yon don't live in a bathroom. The sitting room's overlooking the street. See a bit of life from that. It looks okay to me, Eth. It does reely." "I'd be 'appy in that flat," said Eth. "I'd be 'appy in that saloon. You sec, if we wanted a day oIT, we could take it. All payments made to the girl in the shop, see? There's no chance o' diddling. I'd have an object in life, Eth, if I 'ad that shop. I'm all for it." "Then let's take it, George. 'Ave 6ome more sprouts 1" "Thcnks. Thcro's a special side door to the flat. No need for you to go through the shop." "I saw that." "Let's go back and tell McDougal thft we'll have it. I'll have to see Mr. Stra"v\bridge about the money part of it." And three weeks later, on a certain Monday morning, George Rawlings walked into number 54, Northesk Road, Clapham Junction, in the full glory of absolute possession. Mr. Strawbiulge, in the kindness of his heart, had made inquiries, interviewed the agent, examined accounts and generally, as George put it, "Okayed the 'ole affair." They were still living in rooms,' but it was only for a day or so. The big furniture shop became intensely interested in tliem when it awoke to the amazing fact that here were people who were actually buying furniture and payin" for it with real money. George stressed the point that he would not, under any circumstances, have plain The flat over the shop consisted of a sitting room, two bedrooms, a bath (h and c.)°and, as the house agents insist on putting it, the usual The sitting room possessed a bay-window. Curiously enough, it had been one or Eth's ambitions to control a house possessing a "bay" window, and there it was. Hectic, happy days. The assistant in the saloon proved to be a very decent fellow and trustworthy; the young ladv was the least bit on the superior side, but none the worse fox that. George and Eth were able to get, out, and found everything they wanted in one or other of the shops that abound in Clapham Junction. Curtains, carpets, bed-spreads— "We're spending a awful lot o money, George," she hazarded. "We're setting up, he replied. It. stock. An' it's a living. You can always get a living, and a-good living, with first-class hair-dressing saloon with i. good tobacco side-line. T isn t like spending the We got the business to show for it." , . ~ Fumed oak: Bronzes: A chesterfield "set" upholstered in "real hide.' Five —positively five—reproductions of the pictures of the late lamented and lamentablo Marcus Stone, all in frames that were in keeping with the significance of the reproductions. _ A clock and two vases in the same kind of china. God only knowe what kind it was, but

a strident magenta was its dominant colour. An Indian carpet—Bokhara, the salesman asserted, choice Bokhara —but as Bokhara is not in India, the salesman was either wrongly informed or a liar. But it is not for us to smile at the taste of people like George and Eth. It may fall short of certain standards that others have adopted, but who can be certain of his standards? And if Marcus Stone gives pleasure to a simple soul like Eth—pleasure which she would most certainly not obtain from Mr. Epstein, for example—one must remember that the power to give pleasure to simple souls is one of the rarest of gifts. And when the collection was complete, George and Eth looked on it and found it good. It was home. "Isn't it all lovely!" exclaimed Eth, and the passionate sincerity in her voice was beyond all question. Vases, Marcus Stone, frames, Bokhara, fumed oak . . all. When the little, long-haired artists win such a passionately sincere appreciation they will be no longer little and probably quite bald. Georg-e bought three new white coats, had the place re-decoratcd, and generally got down to it. And for the time being, at least, he achieved happiness there in Nortliesk Road, Clapliam Junction, 5.W.18. He became a Parliamentary elector, a ratepayer, a citizen, and discussed sagely with his customers the matters therein involved. Stannerlcy caine up to see him a few weeks after he had settled in and was duly impressed, but it was not in his rather warped nature to admit it. "Profits," he interrupted liis brother one evening. "Profits arc immoral." "So's your Aunt Millie," said George irreverently. "Cut it out, Stan. You'll never get on if you go on 'olding those silly opinions." "Don't want to get on, as you call it. It means treading on the necks of the proletariat." "It means shaving the chins of the proletariat, more likely. That's my game, Stan. An' it pays!" "I suppose you pay your assistant about half what 'e makes?" "Not quite. But lie does very well in 'is limited way. He's got no ambition, no real ambition. He's satisfied. Doesn't do to be satisfied, Stan." "Gawd knows I'm not satisfied." " 'Ow can you be ? I'm not, either. Got to expand, Stan. I 'card of another littlo tobacco shop going on Battersea Rise. Run properly, it 'ud be a gold mine. If only you'd got the business instinck, I'd think about putting you in it." "Tliank Gawd I 'aven't!" "That's blarspliemy, Stan, it is reely! You don't know what you're saying. It's a chance! And all you say is, 'Thank Gawd I 'aven't the business instinck'! Fair blarspliemy!" "You'll come up against a chap what's got the business instinck stronger than you 'ave, mc lad, if you aren't careful. And then it'll be all U.P. with you." "I know what I'm doing. I'm feeling my way. Tell you one thing, Stan. This littlo business o' mine 'ud cost you or anyone else now three 'undred quid more- than it cost mc!" "And where's the three hundred quid come from?" "Out o' me! Mc and my brains," said George stoutly. "And what's more, if it's run properly —an' it's goin' to be run properly —in a twelvemonth it'll be worth a good bit more." "I'm glad you're doing all right, of dourse," Stannerley admitted. "That's better." That evening the three of them had supper in a restaurant near the Junction, and afterwards went to a music hall. Even Stannerley was impressed. "I see that pal of yours, sometimes, Eth," ho said, casually, as they were walking homewards. "Myrtle, d'you mean, Stan?" "Yes." "She's all right," said Eth, but later, and privately, she told George that she thought Myrtle was wasting her time. "Yes. Pore old Stan!" said her husband thoughtfully. " 'E's not a lot of use to a girl. If only 'e'd buck up!" Life sometimes flows smoothly even in Clapham Junction, and the months which followed were pleasantly uneventful. Not a soul around them knew about the seven thousand pounds —Mr. Strawbridge had strongly urged secrecy, and what that gentleman said, went. The business did well. Mr. McDougal's figures had been strangely on the optimistic side for such a serious kind of man, but George was saving money, even apart from the interest on the bulk of liis capital, which had been invested under Mr. Strawbridge's supervision. There was, perhaps, one little fly in the ointment. George sometimes thought that Eth was getting a bit above herself. She had taken to going to church on Sunday evenings, even made one or two attempts to persuade George to accompany her. "Yes. I know I'm Church of England. That's admitted, Eth. But I'm not going. You go, me dear, if you want to." "I'm 6ure you'd like the curit! An' his wife, George. She's quite young — not more than twenty-six." "Tell you what, Eth. You give a guinea—it looks better than a. quid and it's only a bob more—to the free will offering you were talking about. I'd rather go up and listen to the meetings on the common. I would straight." But sometimes Eth had her way, noticeably in the matter of the maid. "Look 'ere, George," she said one evening. "I could be a lot more in the shop if I 'ad a maid. Trade's getting too much for Miss Minch; she tole me so on Satd'y evening when I went down to 'elp her." "Oh, orlriglit," said George, for things were really going very well. (To be continued daily.)