At the end of the ten years, Goodenough was precisely
where he was when he began; neither richer nor poorer;
neither wiser nor happier; all that he had added to
his stock was a cross wife and two cross children.
He, to the very last moment, persisted in the belief
that he should be the richest of the three, and that
Wright and Marvel would finish by being bankrupts.
He was in unutterable astonishment, when, upon the
appointed day, they produced their account-books to
Mr. Constantine, the executor, and it was found that
they were many thousand pounds better in the world
than himself.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Constantine,
“to which of you am I to give your uncle’s
legacy? I must know which of the partners has
the greatest share in the manufactory.”
“Wright has the greatest share,” cried
Marvel; “for without his prudence I should have
been ruined.”
“Marvel has the greatest share,” cried
Wright: “for without his ingenuity I should
never have succeeded in the business, nor indeed should
I have undertaken it.”
“Then, gentlemen, you must divide the legacy
between you,” said Mr. Constantine, “and
I give you joy of your happy partnership. What
can he more advantageous than a partnership between
prudence and justice on the one side, and generosity
and abilities on the other?”
June, 1800. THE LIMERICK GLOVES.
It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn; the
bells of Hereford cathedral rang, and all the world
smartly dressed were flocking to church.
“Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill!—Phoebe!
Phoebe! There’s the cathedral bell, I say,
and neither of you ready for church, and I a verger;”
cried Mr, Hill, the tanner, as he stood at the bottom
of his own staircase. “I’m ready,
papa,” replied Phoebe; and down she came, looking
so clean, so fresh, and so gay, that her stern father’s
brows unbent, and he could only say to her, as she
was drawing on a new pair of gloves, “Child,
you ought to have had those gloves on before this
time of day.”
“Before this time of day!” cried Mrs.
Hill, who was now coming down stairs completely equipped,
“before this time of day! she should know better,
I say, than to put on those gloves at all: more
especially when going to the cathedral.”
“The gloves are very good gloves, as far as
I see,” replied Mr. Hill. “But no
matter now. It is more fitting that we should
be in proper time in our pew, to set an example, as
becomes us, than to stand here talking of gloves and
nonsense.”
He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and
set out for the cathedral; but Phoebe was too busy
in drawing on her new gloves, and her mother was too
angry at the sight of them, to accept of Mr. Hill’s
courtesy: “What I say is always nonsense,
I know, Mr. Hill,” resumed the matron:
“but I can see as far into a millstone as other
folks. Was it not I that first gave you a hint
of what became of the great dog, that we lost out
of our tan-yard last winter? And was it not I
who first took notice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as
you are, of the hole under the foundation of the cathedral?
Was it not, I ask you, Mr. Hill?” “But,
my dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with Phoebe’s
gloves?”
