London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction
Kingcote’s abode was in one of the principal streets of Norwich.
The shop was narrow but ran back some distance, and above it were
two storeys for dwelling; to reach the house door you went up a yard,
beneath an archway, the side entrance to a respectable public-house
being opposite. The name of Gabriel had been left undisturbed along the
top of the shopfront; above it, in fresh gilt letters, was the name of
the present tradesman; a small “late” connected the two.
In the rear of the shop, a small dark room, with windows of which
the lower half was in ground glass, served during the day-time as
counting-house; after business hours it became the private sitting-room
of Mr. Billimore. It was to Mr. Billimore that Gabriel referred, when he
spoke in terms of confidence of the assistant who had so long been his
father’s right-hand man. He was middle-aged, rather above six feet in
stature, and entirely bald; not a hair remained upon his head. He had,
however, a thin moustache, reddish mixed with gray, and a goat-beard
beneath his chin; the chin itself, for some strange reason, he carefully
shaved. His cheeks were marked with healthful ruddiness, and he had
eyes which twinkled with a pleasant and kindly humour. When he met
a customer, he stood with bowed head, performing the action of
hand-washing; when discussing a matter with his employer, he invariably
took his handkerchief from the breast-pocket of his coat, and polished
his head with it, as if the act implied a seemly combination of
self-respect and deference. Never was a worthier assistant, never a more
capable. His knowledge of the outsides of books was considerable; his
acquaintance with them as literature was such as might be gained by
a complete perusal each Sunday morning of _The Athenoum_. In the
pleasantest manner possible, he set to work from the first day to
instruct Kingcote in the details of shopkeeping; without a smile of
presumption he answered questions which Kingcote himself put with a
half-ashamed laugh; his seriousness and honesty were beyond suspicion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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