Topham's Chance

by George Gissing

　　From The House of Cobwebs and Other Stories (1906).

　　CHAPTER I

　　On a summer afternoon two surly men sat together in a London lodging. Oneof them occupied an easy-chair, smoked a cigarette, and read the newspaper;the other was seated at the table, with a mass of papers before him, onwhich he laboured as though correcting exercises. They were much of an age,and that about thirty, but whereas the idler was well dressed, hiscompanion had a seedy appearance and looked altogether like a man whoneglected himself. For half an hour they had not spoken.Of a sudden the man in the chair jumped up.'Well, I have to go into town,' he said gruffly, 'and it's uncertain when Ishall be back. Get that stuff cleared off, and reply to the urgentletters--mind you write in the proper tone to Dixon--as soapy as you canmake it. Tell Miss Brewer we can't reduce the fees, but that we'll give hercredit for a month. Guarantee the Leicestershire fellow a pass if he beginsat once.'The other, who listened, bit the end of his wooden penholder to splinters.'All right,' he replied. 'But, look here, I want a little money.''So do I.''Yes, but you're not like me, without a coin in your pocket. Look here,give me half-a-crown. I have absolute need of it. Why, I can't even get myhair cut. I'm sick of this slavery.''Then go and do better,' cried the well-dressed man insolently. 'You wereglad enough of the job when I offered it to you. It's no good your lookingto me for money. I can do no more myself than just live; and as soon as Isee a chance, you may be sure I shall clear out of this rotten business.'He moved towards the door, but before opening it stood hesitating.'Want to get your hair cut, do you? Well, there's sixpence, and it's all Ican spare.'The door closed. And the man at the table, leaning back, stared gloomily atthe sixpenny piece on the table before him.His name was Topham; he had a university degree and a damaged reputation.Six months ago, when his choice seemed to be between staying in the streetsand turning sandwich-man, luck had made him acquainted with Mr. RudolphStarkey, who wrote himself M.A. of Dublin University and advertised asystem of tuition by correspondence. In return for mere board and lodgingTopham became Mr. Starkey's assistant; that is to say, he did by far thegreater part of Mr. Starkey's work. The tutorial business was butmoderately successful; still, it kept its proprietor in cigarettes, andenabled him to pass some hours a day at a club, where he was convinced thatbefore long some better chance in life would offer itself to him. Havingalways been a lazy dog, Starkey regarded himself as an example of industryunrewarded; being as selfish a fellow as one could meet, he reproachedhimself with the unworldliness of his nature, which had so hindered him ina basely material age. One of his ventures was a half-moral, half-practicallittle volume entitled Success in Life. Had it been either more moral ormore practical, this book would probably have yielded him a modest income,for such works are dear to the British public; but Rudolph Starkey, M.A.,was one of those men who do everything by halves and snarl over theineffectual results.Topham's fault was that of a man who had followed his instincts but toothoroughly. They brought him to an end of everything, and, as Starkey said,he had been glad enough to take the employment which was offered withoutany inconvenient inquiries. The work which he undertook he did competentlyand honestly for some time without a grumble. Beginning with a certaingratitude to his employer, though without any liking, he soon grew todetest the man, and had much ado to keep up a show of decent civility intheir intercourse. Of better birth and breeding than Starkey, he burnedwith resentment at the scant ceremony with which he was treated, andloathed the meanness which could exact so much toil for such poorremuneration. When offering his terms Starkey had talked in that bland waycharacteristic of him with strangers.'I'm really ashamed to propose nothing better to a man of your standing.But--well, I'm making a start, you see, and the fact of the matter is that,just at present, I could very well manage to do all the work myself. Still,if you think it worth your while, there's no doubt we shall get oncapitally together, and, of course, I need not say, as soon as our progressjustifies it, we must come to new arrangements. A matter of six or sevenhours a day will be all I shall ask of you at present. For my own part, Iwork chiefly at night.'

　　CHAPTER II

　　By the end of the first month Topham was working, not six or seven, but tenor twelve hours a day, and his spells of labour only lengthened as timewent on. Seeing himself victimised, he one day alluded to the promise ofbetter terms, but Starkey turned sour.'You surprise me, Topham. Here are we, practically partners, doing our bestto make this thing a success, and all at once you spring upon me anunreasonable demand. You know how expensive these rooms are--for we musthave a decent address. If you are dissatisfied, say so, and give me time tolook out for some one else.'Topham was afraid of the street, and that his employer well knew. Theconversation ended in mutual sullenness, which thenceforward became thenote of their colloquies. Starkey felt himself a victim of ingratitude, andconsequently threw even more work upon his helpless assistant. That thework was so conscientiously done did not at all astonish him. Now and thenhe gave himself the satisfaction of finding fault: just to remind Tophamthat his bread depended on another's goodwill. Congenial indolence grewupon him, but he talked only the more of his ceaseless exertions. Sometimesin the evening he would throw up his arms, yawn wearily, and declare thatso much toil with such paltry results was a heart-breaking thing.Topham stared sullenly at the sixpence. This was but the latest of manyinsults, yet never before had he so tasted the shame of his subjection.Though he was earning a living, and a right to self-respect, morestrenuously than Starkey ever had, this fellow made him feel like amendicant. His nerves quivered, he struck the table fiercely, shoutingwithin himself, 'Brute! Cad!' Then he pocketed the coin and got on with hisduties.It was toil of a peculiarly wearisome and enervating kind. Starkey'sadvertisements, which were chiefly in the country newspapers, put him incommunication with persons of both sexes, and of any age from seventeenonwards, the characteristic common to them all being inexperience andintellectual helplessness. Most of these correspondents desired to passsome examination; a few aimed--or professed to aim--merely atself-improvement, or what they called 'culture.' Starkey, of course,undertook tuition in any subject, to any end, stipulating only that hisfees should be paid in advance. Throughout the day his slave had beencorrecting Latin and Greek exercises, papers in mathematical or physicalscience, answers to historical questions: all elementary and manygrotesquely bad. On completing each set he wrote the expected comment;sometimes briefly, sometimes at considerable length. He now turned to abundle of so-called essays, and on opening the first could not repress agroan. No! This was beyond his strength. He would make up the parcels forpost, write the half-dozen letters that must be sent to-day, and go out.Had he not sixpence in his pocket?Just as he had taken this resolve some one knocked at the sitting-roomdoor, and with the inattention of a man who expects nothing, Topham badeenter.'A gen'man asking for Mr. Starkey, sir,' said the servant.'All right. Send him in.'And then entered a man whose years seemed to be something short of fifty, ahale, ruddy-cheeked, stoutish man, whose dress and bearing made it probablethat he was no Londoner.'Mr. Starkey, M.A.?' he inquired, rather nervously, though his smile andhis upright posture did not lack a certain dignity.'Quite right,' murmured Topham, who was authorised to represent hisprincipal to any one coming on business. 'Will you take a seat?''You will know my name,' began the stranger. 'Wigmore--Abraham Wigmore.''Very glad to meet you, Mr. Wigmore. I was on the point of sending yourlast batch of papers to the post. You will find, this time, I have beenable to praise them unreservedly.'The listener fairly blushed with delight; then he grasped his short beardwith his left hand and laughed silently, showing excellent teeth.'Well, Mr. Starkey,' he replied at length in a moderately subdued voice, 'Idid really think I'd managed better than usual. But there's much thanks dueto you, sir. You've helped me, Mr. Starkey, you really have. And that's onereason why, happening to come up to London, I wished to have the pleasureof seeing you; I really did want to thank you, sir.'

　　CHAPTER III

　　Topham was closely observing this singular visitor. He had always taken'Abraham Wigmore' for a youth of nineteen or so, some not over-bright, butplodding and earnest clerk or counter-man in the little Gloucestershiretown from which the correspondent wrote; it astonished him to see thismature and most respectable person. They talked on. Mr. Wigmore had aslight west-country accent, but otherwise his language differed little fromthat of the normally educated; in every word he revealed a good and kindly,if simple, nature. At length a slight embarrassment interfered with theflow of his talk, which, having been solely of tuitional matters, began totake a turn more personal. Was he taking too much of Mr. Starkey's time?Reassured on this point, he begged leave to give some account of himself.'I dare say, Mr. Starkey, you're surprised to see how old I am. It seemsstrange to you, no doubt, that at my age I should be going to school.' Hegrasped his beard and laughed. 'Well, it is strange, and I'd like toexplain it to you. To begin with, I'll tell you what my age is; I'mseven-and-forty. Only that. But I'm the father of two daughters--bothmarried. Yes, I was married young myself, and my good wife died long ago,more's the pity.'He paused, looked round the room, stroked his hard-felt hat, Tophammurmuring a sympathetic sound.'Now, as to my business, Mr. Starkey. I'm a fruiterer and greengrocer. Imight have said fruiterer alone; it sounds more respectable, but the honesttruth is, I do sell vegetables as well, and I want you to know that, Mr.Starkey. Does it make you feel ashamed of me?''My dear sir! What business could be more honourable? I heartily wish I hadone as good and as lucrative.''Well, that's your kindness, sir,' said Wigmore, with a pleased smile. 'Thefact is, I have done pretty well, though I'm not by any means a rich man:comfortable, that's all. I gave my girls a good schooling, and what withthat and their good looks, they've both made what may be called bettermarriages than might have been expected. For down in our country, you know,sir, a shopkeeper is one thing, and a gentleman's another. Now my girlshave married gentlemen.'Again he paused, and with emphasis. Again Topham murmured, this timecongratulation.'One of them is wife to a young solicitor; the other to a young gentlemanfarmer. And they've both gone to live in another part of the country. Idare say you understand that, Mr. Starkey?'The speaker's eyes had fallen; at the same time a twitching of the browsand hardening of the mouth changed the expression of his face, marking itwith an unexpected sadness, all but pain.'Do you mean, Mr. Wigmore,' asked Topham, 'that your daughters desire tolive at a distance from you?''Well, I'm sorry to say that's what I do mean, Mr. Starkey. My son-in-lawthe solicitor had intended practising in the town where he was born;instead of that he went to another a long way off. My son-in-law thegentleman farmer was to have taken a farm close by us; he altered his mind,and went into another county. You see, sir! It's quite natural: I find nofault. There's never been an unkind word between any of us. But--'He was growing more and more embarrassed. Evidently the man had somethinghe wished to say, something to which he had been leading up by thisdisclosure of his domestic affairs; but he could not utter his thoughts.Topham tried the commonplaces naturally suggested by the situation; theywere received with gratitude, but still Mr. Wigmore hung his head andtalked vaguely, with hesitations, pauses.'I've always been what one may call serious-minded, Mr. Starkey. As a boy Iliked reading, and I've always had a book at hand for my leisure time--thekind of book that does one good. Just now I'm reading The Christian Year.And since my daughters married--well, as I tell you, Mr. Starkey, I've donepretty well in business--there's really no reason why I should keep on inmy shop, if I chose to--to do otherwise.''I quite understand,' interrupted Topham, in whom there began to stir athought which made his brain warm. 'You would like to retire from business.And you would like to--well, to pursue your studies more seriously.'Again Wigmore looked grateful, but even yet the burden was not off hismind.'I know,' he resumed presently, turning his hat round and round, 'that itsounds a strange thing to say, but--well, sir, I've always done my best tolive as a religious man.''Of that I have no doubt whatever, Mr. Wigmore.''Well, then, sir, what I should like to ask you is this. Do you think, if Igave up the shop and worked very hard at my studies--with help, of course,with help,--do you think, Mr. Starkey, that I could hope to get on?'He was red as a peony; his voice choked.'You mean,' put in Topham, he, too, becoming excited, 'to become a reallywell-educated man?''Yes, sir, yes. But more than that. I want, Mr. Starkey, to makemyself--something--so that my daughters and my sons-in-law would never feelashamed of me--so that their children won't be afraid to talk of theirgrandfather. I know it's a very bold thought, sir, but if I could--''Speak, Mr. Wigmore,' cried Topham, quivering with curiosity, 'speak moreplainly. What do you wish to become? With competent help--of course, withcompetent help--anything is possible.''Really?' exclaimed the other. 'You mean that, Mr. Starkey? Then, sir'--heleaned forward, blushing, trembling, gasping--'could I get to be--acurate?'Topham fell back into his chair. For two or three minutes he was mute withastonishment; then the very soul of him sang jubilee.'My dear Mr. Wigmore,' he began, restraining himself to an impressivegravity. 'I should be the last man to speak lightly of the profession of aclergyman or to urge any one to enter the Church whom I thought unfittedfor the sacred office. But in your case, my good sir, there can be no suchmisgiving. I entertain no doubt whatever of your fitness--your moralfitness, and I will go so far as to say that with competent aid you might,in no very long time, be prepared for the necessary examination.'The listener laughed with delight. He began to talk rapidly, all diffidencesubdued. He told how the idea had first come to him, how he had broodedupon it, how he had worked at elementary lesson-books, very secretly--thenhow the sight of Starkey's advertisement had inspired him with hope.'Just to get to be a curate--that's all. I should never be worthy of beinga vicar or a rector. I don't look so high as that, Mr. Starkey. But acurate is a clergyman, and for my daughters to be able to say their fatheris in the Church--that would be a good thing, sir, a good thing!'He slapped his knee, and again laughed with joy. Meanwhile Topham seemed tohave become pensive, his head was on his hand.'Oh,' he murmured at length, 'if I had time to work seriously with you,several hours a day.'Wigmore looked at him, and let his eyes fall: 'You are, of course, verybusy, Mr. Starkey!''Very busy.'Topham waved his hand at the paper-covered table, and appeared to sink intodespondency. Thereupon Wigmore cautiously and delicately approached thenext thought he had in mind, Topham--cunning fellow--at one momentfacilitating, at another retarding what he wished to say. It came out atlast. Would it be quite impossible for Mr. Starkey to devote himself to onesole pupil.

　　CHAPTER IV

　　'Mr. Wigmore, I will be frank with you. If I asked an equivalent for thevalue of my business as a business, I could not expect you to agree to sucha proposal. But, to speak honestly, my health has suffered a good deal fromoverwork, and I must take into consideration the great probability that inany case, before long, I shall be obliged to find some position where theduties were less exhausting.''Good gracious!' exclaimed the listener. 'Why, you'll kill yoursel, sir.And I'm bound to say, you look far from well.'Topham smiled pathetically, paused a moment as if to reflect, and continuedin the same tone of genial confidence. Let us consider the matter indetail. Do you propose, Mr. Wigmore, to withdraw from business at once?'The fruiterer replied that he could do so at very short notice. Questionedas to his wishes regarding a place of residence, he declared that he wasready to live in any place where, being unknown, he could make, as it were,a new beginning.'You would not feel impatient,' said Topham, 'if, say, two or three yearshad to elapse before you could be ordained?''Impatient,' said the other cheerily. 'Why, if it took ten years I would gothrough with it. When I make up my mind about a thing, I'm not easilydismayed. If I could have your help, sir--'The necessity of making a definite proposal turned Topham pale; he was soafraid of asking too much. Almost in spite of himself, he at length spoke.'Suppose we say--if I reside with you--that you pay me a salary of, well,L200 a year?'The next moment he inwardly raged. Wigmore's countenance expressed suchcontentment, that it was plain the good man would have paid twice that sum.'Ass!' cried Topham, in his mind. 'I always undervalue myself.'

　　* * * * *

　　It was late that evening when Starkey came home; to his surprise he foundthat Topham was later still. In vain he sat writing until past one o'clock.Topham did not appear, and indeed never came back at all. The overworkedcorresponding tutor was taking his ease at the seaside on the strength of aquarter's salary in advance, which Mr. Wigmore, tremulously anxious toclinch their bargain, had insisted on paying him. Before leaving London hehad written to Starkey, apologising for his abrupt departure, 'The resultof unforeseen circumstances.' He enclosed six penny stamps in repayment ofa sum lent, and added--'When I think of my great debt to you I despair of expressing my gratitude.Be assured, however, that the name of Starkey will always be cherished inmy remembrance.'Under that name Topham dwelt with the retired shopkeeper, and assiduouslydischarged his tutorial duties. A day came when, relying upon thefriendship between them, and his pupil's exultation in the progressachieved, the tutor unbosomed himself. Having heard the whole story,Wigmore laughed a great deal, and declared that such a fellow as Starkeywas rightly served.'But,' he inquired, after reflection, 'how was it the man never wrote toask why I sent no more work?''That asks for further confession. While at the seaside I wrote, in adisguised hand, a letter supposed to come from a brother of yours in whichI said you were very ill and must cease your correspondence. Starkey hadn'tthe decency to reply, but if he had done so I should have got his letter atthe post-office.'Mr. Wigmore looked troubled for a moment. However, this too was laughedaway, and the pursuit of gentility went on as rigorously as ever.But Topham, musing over his good luck, thought with a shiver on how smallan accident it had depended. Had Starkey been at home when the fruiterercalled, he, it was plain, would have had the offer of this engagement.'With the result that dear old Wigmore would have been bled for who knowshow many years by a mere swindler. Whereas he is really being educated,and, for all I know, may some day adorn the Church of England.' Suchthoughts are very consoling.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *