CHAPTER XXII

DIFFICULTIES

THE death of Groates was, of course, accidental; and no other verdict could well be returned by the coroner's jury; but the butcher boy came in for severe reprimand for his reckless driving, despite his excuse that he could not hold in the horse; and Stobbs himself was blamed also.

Steps were about to be taken to enforce, if possible, the payment of some amount of damages to the widow; but Stobbs was a sensible wan, and in view of perhaps finding himself liable for a good deal more, he voluntarily offered, by way of compensation, a sum which it was thought advisable to accept. Mrs. Groates did not move in this matter; and she seemed to shrink from the notion of "compensation," as if the loss which she had sustained could in any manner be "compensated for" by money. When told, however, that it was right for her children's sake, she submitted.

Everybody agreed that it was a melancholy affair altogether, and much sympathy was expressed, which no doubt was a comfort to Mrs. Groates. She needed comfort, for trouble was pressing hard upon her and Jack. Groates had been a singularly reserved man as to his business matters,—very much "shut up," his friends were wont to say; and no one, not, even his wife, knew the precise condition of those affairs. They only knew that money had seemed to be very short, and that the business had not of late increased; and the true state of things broke upon them gradually.

For years past, it seemed, Groates had been getting into deeper and deeper difficulties, had been running further and further into debt. It came as an absolutely new sensation to Jack, when he found that they had been actually living upon borrowed money; money borrowed, of course, at a heavy loss.

The first thing to be done was, if it might be, to clear off liabilities, to settle unpaid bills, and to meet the heritage of debt and confusion which the unhappy man had left to his family. It was extraordinary how he had managed to hide the state of matters from them so long; but no doubt he had buoyed himself up with hopes of improving business; hopes never realized. Had he lived, things might only have grown worse.

They were bad enough already. It soon became evident that one course alone lay before them. The business would have to be sold, and whatever sum they might obtain by that means would have to go in liquidation of Groates' debts; after which Jack would have to begin life anew with a family dependent on him. Will indeed was at sea, pretty well provided for; and Mimy might go out to work in some direction or other; but of the three next boys and the younger girl, only one boy was nearing an age to leave school and begin to "do something" for his livelihood.

All this had to be faced, and Jack did face it bravely. But one thought rose again and again in the midst of other perplexities,—

What about Jessie?

At first he tried to put the question aside. His father's affairs had to be thoroughly looked into; bills had to be examined; plans had to be formed—and the consideration of Jack's own future had to wait, dependent as it was upon the future of others.

Yet in the midst of all that had to be done, this thought would push itself anew to the front, refusing to be silenced,—

What about Jessie?

True, they had had no idea of marrying yet awhile. Jack and Jessie had both meant to work steadily, and to lay by a nice sum each, before they should become husband and wife. Jack had not been willing to condemn his wife in the future to such a bare and squalid existence as too often results from a hasty marriage, upon barely enough for daily food and lodging. He meant Jessie to know comfort in her home; he meant to provide beforehand for probabilities; he meant to have somewhat to fall back upon when the inevitable "rainy day" should occur.

All this had now become impossible. Jessie might work as she willed for the needs of by-and-by; but he was no longer free to do so. The utmost that he could hope to earn, perhaps for many a year, would do no more than keep his mother and the children afloat.

Could he ask Jessie to wait, in the hope that some day he might be free? That "some day" might lie far ahead. What if it should mean eight years, ten years, twelve years of waiting? Would Jessie be willing?

True, there was another mode of action which some young men in his position might have adopted. He might simply please himself in the matter. He might put his engagement to Jessie first and the claims of the widow and orphan second.

But the widow was his mother, and she had been the best and most loving of mothers to him. Jack's heart was set upon Jessie; but he loved that mother dearly, and he was also under the sway of a strong sense of duty. He knew well in what direction lay his plain duty for the present; and even apart from duty, he could not have neglected his mother. Jack would not have been Jack if such a thing had been possible to him. If Jessie did not wish to wait so long as might be necessary, he could set her free. Nothing could set aside the claims upon his strong young arm of his widowed mother.

In the midst of those cogitations Mokes came forward with an offer. He had talked much of "bad times" of late, and had, as we know, professed himself to be unable to give more than five shillings, to the lifeboat fund. It now appeared that he had a little more money somewhere within easy reach. He offered to buy up the whole contents of "Groates' Store," and even to take the house off the widow's hands, if she wished to move quickly into a less expensive domicile. He would pay down, for house and contents and custom, a certain round sum which, if not too liberal, might yet be looked upon as fair under the circumstances. At all events, it was more than would have been expected from Mokes.

Nobody who knew Mr. Mokes was deluded into supposing this to be an act of pure generosity. It might be granted that Mokes was sorry for the sudden death of his rival, and was concerned for the widow.

But, on the other hand, if Mokes himself neglected to purchase the goods and the custom and the remainder of the lease, somebody else might be expected to do so, and this would mean a continuance of opposition to Mokes' shop. Nay, it might mean a much more successful opposition if the shop should chance to fall into the hands of a better business man than Groates had proved to be. So Mokes was killing two birds with one stone when he made his offer.

"Seems to me it's the best thing we can do," Jack said to the Vicar, who had been throughout a kind adviser. "That'll help us to clear off a lot of things, and we'll be able to start freer. And Mr. Ward has offered to take me on, with better pay than I'd hoped to be able to get."

"Ward, the grocer, at New Maxham?"

"Yes, sir. He's got the biggest business for twenty miles round, and everybody trusts him. Mother's very pleased. She says she'd sooner have me with him than with anybody, and they say he's offered it me for mother's sake."

"Well, you'll make it worth his while to have done so, Jack. If he is taking you now for your mother's sake, he will keep you by-and-by for your own. And we shall have you with us still. Only a mile off."

"Some ways I'd sooner have been farther off than New Maxham."

"You would? What, you want to see more of the world?"

"No, sir; it ain't that. Though mother did say a while ago that perhaps I'd ought. But I think I'd sooner have begun afresh in a new place. Mother wants to have a cottage here, and me to walk into New Maxham every day. She says she'll feel it more home-like."

"I dare say she will. And the walk is nothing for a hale young fellow like you. Do you good."

"Only, sir, there's Jessie."

"True, there is Jessie. What of her?"

"I shouldn't be right to let Jessie think I'd be free to marry her as soon as we'd thought of—and maybe—"

"Maybe she won't want to wait. Is that it? I don't think commonly that it is the woman who won't wait, do you? Try her, Jack."

"I couldn't leave mother with no one to take care of her. She's been a good mother to me, and I couldn't do it. Not for Jessie's sake even."

"I should have a very poor opinion of you if you could! Your mother ought to be your first consideration. The young folks will be able soon to fight their own way in life; but your mother will be getting older, and she will need your care. But what then? If you and Jessie have to wait longer than you had intended where is the harm? Just tell Jessie frankly how things are, and see what she will say. That is my advice. What does your mother think?"

"I haven't bothered her much, sir. She's been but poorly, and she's left things mostly to me. I'll have to tell her all soon. She knows we've got to part with the shop and live in a smaller house, and she knows about Mr. Mokes' offer and Mr. Ward's. She seems to cling-like to the thought of Old Maxham, and not to want to go away. But if things are to be up between me and Jessie, I'd sooner be a good way off."

"Have a talk with Jessie first, and see what she will say. I fancy you will see ahead more clearly then. After that you can go into things with your mother. But don't hurry on arrangements too fast. She has had a heavy blow, and you must give her time. People who are very brave at the first often suffer more afterwards."

"Yes, I think that's mother's way, sir. She seems sort of dazed, as if she couldn't take it all in."

"Don't force her yet. Mokes will not hurry you out of the house I am sure. No—so I thought. He really is kind-hearted at the bottom. Jack, I am going to give you back the sovereign that was your father's donation to the lifeboat fund. We can do without it now, and I think your mother's needs are greater. You needn't say anything about it to her, unless you wish. Since that gift of ninety pounds came in, it has all gone swimmingly, and I hope to have no further difficulties. The boat is to be sent as soon as it can be ready. So you need have no scruples."

Jack's hand went behind him.

"I couldn't, please, sir; I couldn't do it. Don't ask me. I know father liked to give that sovereign, and I shouldn't be happy to take it back. Please let it be."

"Well, if you choose. I must not insist. But if you change your mind in the course of a week or two, mind you tell me."

"And you've no notion who it was as gave the ninety pounds, sir?"

"I have had a good many notions, but no certainty. Nothing beyond conjecture, and conjecture isn't worth much. Besides, it really isn't our business if the good man wishes to keep his secret."