London's Heart: A NovelFarjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
General
London's Heart: A Novel
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
London (England) -- Fiction
"Well, Mr. Wheels," said Gribble junior, hammering softly on a
dislocated rib, "some _will_ have it it's because the Queen don't come
out more; but that's an old cry, and I don't believe in it. Though I
think it would be better if the Queen came amongst us more than she
does. It's queer how people _will_ stick to old cries. Old cries are
like old boots. You wear tight boots long enough, and they'll become
easy and comfortable, and you don't like to throw 'em off. Father says
it's the co-operative stores, and he's bitter on 'em accordingly. If
father's got a sore place, it's co-operation. You should start him on
the subject one night; he'd open your eyes for you. There isn't an
article you can mention that co-operation hasn't laid hands on--except
cats'-meat, perhaps. The co-operative men don't draw the line nowhere,
except at cats'-meat. There isn't a thing that father sells that they
haven't gone into: not that father's business is the only business
that's put upon. They go into coffins, and that's going far enough,
I'm sure--as a body might say. They take a penny off everything;
tallow-dips, yellow soap and mottled. As for scented and brown
windsor, father hasn't sold a cake for a month. And if things don't
sell, they spoil. Dust won't be denied. Then soap withers. It's like
us, Mr. Wheels; the bloom goes off, and we ain't worth as much a pound
as we were once on a time. We don't weigh so much neither: the sap
goes out. Flies make inroads. They're like co-operation; they touch
everything. The very mouse-traps get blown. As for what ought to be
inside of 'em--mice--I needn't tell you what a hole they make in
profits. I pity the small grocers now that co-operation's got hold of
things."
During the brief pause that followed, the old man listened for a sound
from the sick-room. Mrs. Gribble observed his anxiety, and knowing her
husband's weakness when he was on a favourite theme, rose and said,
"Do take a chair, Mr. Wheels. I'll go and sit in your room for a few
minutes."
The old man gave her a grateful look as she went out, and sat down
patiently. He had not, long to wait before Gribble junior resumed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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