consisted of about a ton of coals—which
generally ran small—heaped up in a corner, a
little pile of firewood, a few strings of onions,
a few bunches of greens, a basket or two of
potatoes, a box of red herrings, a bottle of
peppermint-stick alluringly displayed with some
marrowless nuts and wizened apples on a board
outside the window, and a bed-wrench. This
last instrument was a wonderful auxiliary to
John's other resources. While the two upright
beams and the single transverse beam were the
support of the emporium architecturally, the
bed-wrench was the prop of the emporium
commercially. It was a thing not to be bought,
but borrowed; and the charge for the loan of
that bed-wrench was twopence. Chaldron-street
was given to borrowing, and it seemed to
be a street which did not lie easy in its bed, for
it was always taking its bed down and putting
its bed up again, the result being that John's
bed-wrench was in constant and urgent demand.
Such has been the eagerness to secure the
instrument, that two rival applicants have been
known actually to wrench each other in the
effort to possess it.

One half of John's shop was occupied by
the stock, the other half formed the ordinary
sitting-room. This latter room had a
fireplace, surmounted by a mantelshelf, on which
stood several works of art in china; and its
furniture consisted of two or three Windsor chairs
and a small round table. Little active domesticity
was ever witnessed in this department
except at the close of the day, when the family,
coming from the coals and the potatoes and
the firewood, made a rush at the little round
table, and scrambled for herrings and thick
bread-and-butter and tea. At such times old
Daddy, Martha's superannuated father, was to
be seen sitting in an arm-chair by the side of the
fire, his bald head encircled by a glory of onions,
and the coals rising on his right like a distant
mountain range, put in as a background to the
picture. Those family banquets were sharp
and short. All unnecessary conveniences of
luxury, such as knives and forks, slop-basins,
and the like, were dispensed with. Each one
as he finished his cup of tea turned round and
threw the dregs upon the heap of coals, and,
when he had finished picking his herring, turned
the other way and flung the bones into the
fire. After the meal, Mr. Beadle was accustomed
to sit down opposite old Daddy, while
Martha drew up between them, and devoted
herself to the mending of the family linen; but
as the number of chairs was limited, the younger
branches of the family usually reclined, in the
classic fashion, among the coals, from contact
with which they derived a swarthiness of
complexion which caused them to be known in
the neighbourhood as the "black Beadles."
John and Martha loved their offspring dearly,
and would not have had anything happen to
one of them for the world; but they began to
find that they were increasing both in numbers
and in appetite in a ratio altogether
disproportionate to the development of the trade in
coals and vegetables, notwithstanding that the
rolling stock had been increased by a new truck
and a second bed-wrench. John's ambition had
often taken a run at a horse and cart; but it had
never been able to vault so high, and always fell
back upon the truck and hurt itself in the region
of its dignity. A truck is not a glorious kind of
vehicle—especially a coal-truck. It is a vehicle
that takes the pavement rather than the middle
of the road, for choice, and although the thunder
which it makes as it traverses the coal-traps on
the pavement is considerable, it is not a source of
pride to its owner. Besides, it does not warrant
the assumption of that sceptre of authority, a
whip; and it is usually propelled by one of the
human species. Well, it would never do if we
all had the same ambition. While some persons
aspire to rule their fellow-men, there are others
who prefer to exercise authority over the brutes
in driving a horse and cart. This was John's
case. A horse and cart, with a corresponding
increase of business, and a drive down the road
to the Jolly Butchers on Sunday afternoon, with
the missus in all her best by his side, and the kids
with their faces washed behind, like a pen of clean
little pigs—this had been the dream of John's
life; but it was a dream that had not yet come
true. Indeed, so far from this, John's prospects
were becoming darker than brighter every day.

"What was to be done?"

This question, which had long suggested
itself both to John and Martha, found audible
expression one night, after the black Beadles
had scampered away to their holes for the night.
Old Daddy Dodd was sitting dozing in his chair
by the side of the fire, and John and Martha
were sitting opposite.

It was John who propounded the question:

"What was to be done?"

Martha made no audible reply; but, after a
pause, raised her eyes to John's face, and then
looked across significantly at Daddy.

John shook his head, and covered his face
with his hand.

"I have no right to ask you to do it any
longer, John," Martha said. "I had no right
ever to expect you to do it."

"But it was my duty and my pleasure to do
it, Martha," John replied. " He's your father,
and I couldn't see the poor old man starve!"

"But he needn't starve, you know, John,"
Martha said; and her lips trembled as she said
the words.

"I know what you mean," John returned;
"but I can't bear the thoughts of it. It's not
what ought to be, when he's had a house of his
own and drove his own chay, and paid rates and
taxes, and every comfort."

"Well, it is hard, when you think of it,"
Martha replied, sadly; "and the drawing-room
that we had, too, and the silver spoons, and the
real china cups and saucers!" And at the
thought of the china cups and saucers Martha
dropped a tear.

"Yes, it is hard," John returned; "and that's
why I have stood between him and it as long as
I could."