The Female Prose Writers of America/Elizabeth Wetherell/Little Ellen and the Shopman
LITTLE ELLEN AND THE SHOPMAN.
“Mamma!” exclaimed Ellen, suddenly starting up, “a bright thought has just come into my head! I’ll do it for you, mamma!”
“Do what?”
“I’ll get the merino and things for you, mamma. You needn’t smile,—I will, indeed, if you will let me.”
“My dear Ellen,” said her mother, “I don’t doubt you would, if good will only were wanting; but a great deal of skill and experience is necessary for a shopper, and what would you do without either?”
“But see, mamma,” pursued Ellen eagerly, “I’ll tell you how I’ll manage, and I know I can manage very well. You tell me exactly what coloured merino you want, and give me a little piece to show me how fine it should be, and tell me what price you wish to give, and then I’ll go to the store and ask them to show me different pieces, you know, and if I see any I think you would like, I’ll ask them to give me a little bit of it to show you; and then I’ll bring it home, and if you like it, you can give me the money, and tell me how many yards you want, and I can go back to the store and get it. Why can’t I, mamma?”
“Perhaps you could; but, my dear child, I am afraid you wouldn’t like the business.”
“Yes, I should; indeed, mamma, I should like it dearly if I could help you so. Will you let me try, mamma?”
“I don’t like, my child, to venture you alone on such an errand, among crowds of people; I should be uneasy about you.”
“Dear mamma, what would the crowds of people do to me? I am not a bit afraid. You know, mamma, I have often taken walks alone,—that’s nothing new; and what harm should come to me while I am in the store? You needn’t be the least uneasy about me;—may I go?”
Mrs. Montgomery smiled, but was silent.
“May I go, mamma?” repeated Ellen. “Let me go at least and try what I can do. What do you say, mamma?”
“I don’t know what to say, my daughter, but I am in difficulty on either hand. I will let you go and see what you can do. It would be a great relief to me to get this merino by any means.”
“Then shall I go right away, mamma?”
“As well now as ever. You are not afraid of the wind?”
“I should think not,” said Ellen; and away she scampered up stairs to get ready. With eager haste she dressed herself; then with great care and particularity took her mother’s instructions as to the article wanted; and finally set out, sensible that a great trust was reposed in her, and feeling busy and important accordingly. But at the very bottom of Ellen’s heart there was a little secret doubtfulness respecting her undertaking. She hardly knew it was there, but then she couldn’t tell what it was that made her fingers so inclined to be tremulous while she was dressing, and that made her heart beat quicker than it ought, or than was pleasant, and one of her cheeks so much hotter than the other. However, she set forth upon her errand with a very brisk step, which she kept up till on turning a corner she came in sight of the place she was going to. Without thinking much about it, Ellen had directed her steps to St. Clair & Fleury’s. It was one of the largest and best stores in the city, and the one where she knew her mother generally made her purchases; and it did not occur to her that it might not be the best for her purpose on this occasion. But her steps slackened as soon as she came in sight of it, and continued to slacken as she drew nearer, and she went up the broad flight of marble steps in front of the store very slowly indeed, though they were exceedingly low and easy. Pleasure was not certainly the uppermost feeling in her mind now; yet she never thought of turning back. She knew that if she could succeed in the object of her mission her mother would be relieved from some anxiety; that was enough; she was bent on accomplishing it.
Timidly she entered the large hall of entrance. It was full of people, and the buzz of business was heard on all sides. Ellen had for some time past seldom gone a shopping with her mother, and had never been in this store but once or twice before. She had not the remotest idea where, or in what apartment of the building, the merino counter was situated, and she could see no one to speak to. She stood irresolute in the middle of the floor. Everybody seemed to be busily engaged with somebody else; and whenever an opening on one side or another appeared to promise her an opportunity, it was sure to be filled up before she could reach it, and, disappointed and abashed, she would return to her old station in the middle of the floor. Clerks frequently passed her, crossing the store in all directions, but they were always bustling along in a great hurry of business; but they did not seem to notice her at all, and were gone before poor Ellen could get her mouth open to speak to them. She knew well enough now, poor child, what it was that made her cheeks burn as they did, and her heart beat as if it would burst its bounds. She felt confused, and almost confounded, by the incessant hum of voices, and moving crowd of strange people all around her, while her little figure stood alone and unnoticed in the midst of them; and there seemed no prospect that she would be able to gain the ear or the eye of a single person. Once she determined to accost a man she saw advancing toward her from a distance, and actually made up to him for the purpose, but with a hurried bow, and “I beg your pardon, Miss!” he brushed past. Ellen almost burst into tears. She longed to turn and run out of the store, but a faint hope remaining, and an unwillingness to give up her undertaking, kept her fast. At length one of the clerks in the desk observed her, and remarked to Mr. St. Clair, who stood by, “There is a little girl, sir, who seems to be looking for something, or waiting for somebody; she has been standing there a good while.” Mr. St. Clair, upon this, advanced to poor Ellen’s relief.
“What do you wish, Miss?” he said.
But Ellen had been so long preparing sentences, trying to utter them and failing in the attempt, that now, when an opportunity to speak and be heard was given her, the power of speech seemed to be gone.
“Do you wish anything, Miss?” inquired Mr. St. Clair again.
“Mother sent me,” stammered Ellen,— “I wish, if you please, sir,—mamma wished me to look at merinoes, sir, if you please.”
“Is your mamma in the store?”
“No, sir,” said Ellen, “she is ill and cannot come out, and she sent me to look at merinoes for her, if you please, sir.”
“Here, Saunders,” said Mr. St. Clair, “show this young lady the merinoes.”
Mr. Saunders made his appearance from among a little group of clerks, with whom he had been indulging in a few jokes by way of relief from the tedium of business. “Come this way,” he said to Ellen; and sauntering before her with a rather dissatisfied air, led the way out of the entrance hall into another and much larger apartment. There were plenty of people here, too, and just as busy as those they had quitted. Mr. Saunders having brought Ellen to the merino counter, placed himself behind it; and leaning over it and fixing his eyes carelessly upon her, asked what she wanted to look at. His tone and manner struck Ellen most unpleasantly, and made her again wish herself out of the store. He was a tall, lank young man, with a quantity of fair hair combed down on each side of his face, a slovenly exterior, and the most disagreeable pair of eyes, Ellen thought, she had ever beheld. She could not bear to meet them, and cast down her own. Their look was bold, ill-bred, and ill-humoured; and Ellen felt, though she couldn’t have told why, that she need not expect either kindness or politeness from him.
“What do you want to see, little one?” inquired this gentleman, as if he had a business in hand he would like to be rid of. Ellen heartily wished he was rid of it, and she, too. “Merinoes, if you please,” she answered without looking up.
“Well, what kind of merinoes? Here are all sorts and descriptions of merinoes, and I can’t pull them all down, you know, for you to look at. What kind do you want?”
“I don’t know without looking,” said Ellen, “won’t you please to show me some?”
He tossed down several pieces upon the counter, and tumbled them about before her.
“There,” said he, “is that anything like what you want? There’s a pink one,—and there’s a blue one,—and there’s a green one. Is that the kind?”
“This is the kind,” said Ellen; “but this isn’t the colour I want.”
“What colour do you want?”
“Something dark, if you please.”
“Well, there, that green’s dark; won’t that do? See, that would make up very pretty for you.”
“No,” said Ellen, “mamma don’t like green.”
“Why don’t she come and choose her stuffs herself, then? What colour does she like?”
“Dark blue, or dark brown, or a nice gray, would do,” said Ellen, “if it’s fine enough.”
“‘Dark blue,’ or ‘dark brown,’ or ‘a nice gray,’ eh! Well, she’s pretty easy to suit. A dark blue I’ve showed you already,—what’s the matter with that?”
“It isn’t dark enough,” said Ellen.
“Well,” said he, discontentedly, pulling down another piece, “how’ll that do? That’s dark enough.”
It was a fine and beautiful piece, very different from those he had showed her at first. Even Ellen could see that, and fumbling for her little pattern of merino, she compared it with the piece. They agreed perfectly as to fineness.
“What is the price of this?” she asked, with trembling hope that she was going to be rewarded by success for all the trouble of her enterprise.
“Two dollars a yard.”
Her hopes and her countenance fell together. “That’s too high,” she said with a sigh.
“Then take this other blue; come,—it’s a great deal prettier than that dark one, and not so dear; and I know your mother will like it better.”
Ellen’s cheeks were tingling and her heart throbbing, but she couldn’t bear to give up.
“Would you be so good as to show me some gray?”
He slowly and ill-humouredly complied, and took down an excellent piece of dark gray, which Ellen fell in love with at once; but she was again disappointed; it was fourteen shillings.
“Well, if you won’t take that, take something else,” said the man; “you can’t have everything at once; if you will have cheap goods, of course you can’t have the same quality that you like; but now, here’s this other blue, only twelve shillings, and I’ll let you have it for ten if you’ll take it.”
“No, it is too light and too coarse,” said Ellen, “mamma wouldn’t like it.”
“Let me see,” said he, seizing her pattern and pretending to compare it; “it’s quite as fine as this, if that’s all you want.”
“Could you,” said Ellen timidly, “give me a little bit of this gray to show to mamma?”
“O no!” said he impatiently, tossing over the cloths and throwing Ellen’s pattern on the floor; “we can’t cut up our goods; if people don’t choose to buy of us they may go somewhere else, and if you cannot decide upon anything I must go and attend to those that can. I can’t wait here all day.”
“What’s the matter, Saunders?” said one of his brother clerks, passing him.
“Why I’ve been here this half hour showing cloths to a child that doesn’t know merino from a sheep’s back,” said he, laughing. And some other customers coming up at the moment, he was as good as his word, and left Ellen, to attend to them.
Ellen stood a moment stock still, just where he had left her, struggling with her feelings of mortification; she could not endure to let them be seen. Her face was on fire; her head was dizzy. She could not stir at first, and in spite of her utmost efforts she could not command back one or two rebel tears that forced their way; she lifted her hand to her face to remove them as quietly as possible.
“What is all this about, my little girl?” said a strange voice at her side.
Ellen started, and turned her face, with the tears but half wiped away, toward the speaker. It was an old gentleman, an odd old gentleman, too, she thought; one she certainly would have been rather shy of, if she had seen him under other circumstances. But though his face was odd, it looked kindly upon her, and it was a kind tone of voice in which his question had been put; so he seemed to her like a friend. “What is all this?” repeated the old gentleman. Ellen began to tell what it was, but the pride which had forbidden her to weep before strangers gave way at one touch of sympathy, and she poured out tears much faster than words as she related her story, so that it was some little time before the old gentleman could get a clear notion of her case. He waited very patiently till she had finished; but then he set himself in good earnest about righting the wrong. “Hallo! you, sir!” he shouted, in a voice that made everybody look round; “you merino man! come and show your goods: why aren’t you at your post, sir?”—as Mr. Saunders came up with an altered countenance—“here’s a young lady you’ve left standing unattended to I don’t know how long; are these your manners?”
“The young lady did not wish anything, I believe, sir,” returned Mr. Saunders, softly.
“You know better, you scoundrel,” retorted the old gentleman, who was in a great passion; “I saw the whole matter with my own eyes. You are a disgrace to the store, sir, and deserve to be sent out of it, which you are like enough to be.”
“I really thought, sir,” said Mr. Saunders, smoothly,—for he knew the old gentleman, and knew very well he was a person that must not be offended,—“I really thought—I was not aware, sir, that the young lady had any occasion for my services.”
“Well, show your wares, sir, and hold your tongue. Now, my dear, what did you want?”
“I wanted a little bit of this gray merino, sir, to show to mamma;—I couldn’t buy it, you know, sir, until I found out whether she would like it.”
“Cut a piece, sir, without any words,” said the old gentleman. Mr. Saunders obeyed.
“Did you like this best?” pursued the old gentleman.
“I liked this dark blue very much, sir, and I thought mamma would; but it’s too high.”
“How much is it?” inquired he.
“Fourteen shillings,” replied Mr. Saunders.
“He said it was two dollars,” exclaimed Ellen.
“I beg pardon,” said the crest-fallen Mr. Saunders, “the young lady mistook me; I was speaking of another piece when I said two dollars.”
“He said this was two dollars, and the gray fourteen shillings,” said Ellen.
“Is the gray fourteen shillings?” inquired the old gentleman.
“I think not, sir,” answered Mr. Saunders—“I believe not, sir,—I think it’s only twelve,—I’ll inquire, if you please, sir.”
“No, no,” said the old gentleman, “I know it was only twelve—I know your tricks, sir. Cut a piece off the blue. Now, my dear, are there any more pieces of which you would like to take patterns, to show your mother?”
“No, sir,” said the overjoyed Ellen; “I am sure she will like one of these.”
“Now, shall we go, then?”
“If you please, sir,” said Ellen, “I should like to have my bit of merino that I brought from home; mamma wanted me to bring it back again.”
“Where is it?”
“That gentleman threw it on the floor.”
“Do you hear, sir?” said the old gentleman; “find it directly.”
Mr. Saunders found and delivered it, after stooping in search of it till he was very red in the face; and he was left, wishing heartily that he had some safe means of revenge, and obliged to come to the conclusion that none was within his reach, and that he must stomach his indignity in the best manner he could. But Ellen and her protector went forth most joyously together from the store.