Читать книгу Five Silver Daughters - Louis Golding - Страница 19

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Smirnof was courteous with the workmen, but he worked them without mercy. When the rush orders came, he kept them at it till the small hours, or got in other people’s workmen to help them thrust the drive home.

Silver demurred a little, but not on his own account. He worked as hard as the rest of them. So did Smirnof. The great thing was, Silver said to himself, he had an honest manager. It was true he had taught Smirnof practically everything he knew. After all he was only a book-keeper when he first came into the business, and how far did book-keeping help you in sewing a first-class collar? He was inclined to make a bit of a fetish of his works-order book, and his this and that. And, even here, Silver had often to help him out when it came to straightforward common sense.

But he was honest. He insisted the men should be honest, and he didn’t want to play any monkey-business with the contractors, either. Silver was well aware that many of his small contemporaries didn’t play the game. They got a roll of cloth with the order to make so many garments out of it. In one way or another it was possible to hang on to a certain number of yards of the material, after the garments had been cut out. Out of this surplus, the “cabbage” as they called it, they made a few extra garments “on the side.” They did not account for these items, and sold them secretly to small shops.

Quite a few of them did it. Old Mr. Horowitz used to do it. It didn’t in the least perturb his conscience. But Silver disliked it, and all the host of kindred practices, like the snipping off of half an inch from the chest measurement, a quarter-inch from the sleeves. And Smirnof disliked it, too.

Silver breathed easily. A manager who would not let the men cheat him, and who would not himself cheat the contractors, would play straight with the boss. Yes, he thought Smirnof was right. Why shouldn’t he come in on a commission basis, on top of his salary? More and more he left the mere detail of the business to Smirnof, though, of course, everything important went through his own hands. Smirnof insisted on it.

They used to take the garments round to Winberg’s to have the button-holes done. Smirnof went and bought a second-hand button-hole machine and a second-hand bar-tacking machine, so that they should do the work themselves. He negotiated with the landlord, and knocked out the intervening walls between Silver’s place and the two top floors of the next house. He went with Silver to interview the Town Hall people, for there was talk of a big contract to be placed. Silver looked a little bewildered, and Smirnof spoke like a First Secretary at an Embassy. They got the contract. The goods, first class in quality, were delivered ahead of time. The order was doubled.

The firm went on from strength to strength. There had been a fire in a hat-factory at the bottom of Poulter Street. In the new building that was put up in the spring of 1913, there was more space than the hat-manufacturer found he could use. Or Smirnof convinced him he could not use it all. He took over some of the spare space. That gave them elbow-room, without having to pay another builder’s bill.

More small contracts came their way. Smirnof would sometimes disappear for a day or two at a time, fixing them up. He would disappear so silently and completely that, for a gnawing moment or two, Silver would wonder if he had ever been there at all. But he came back right enough, with his quiver full of contracts. The firm worked night and day to execute them. There was a reserve of close on five hundred pounds by the middle of the year.

“When it is five hundred,” said Silver, “I shall buy the house for Hannah, like I promised her.”

“Not yet,” Smirnof suggested softly. “Not yet. Didn’t you say we must buy another dozen and a half machines?”

Silver didn’t quite remember saying it, but they bought more machines, and more machines. They now began to make rainproofs, in addition to waterproofs, for Smirnof was certain that bigger money lay that way. They began to develop a direct trade with the big shops, in addition to the warehouse trade.

A day came on which Silver brought home to Oleander Street a garment with a name patented by himself; or Smirnof, it may have been.

“Look, Hannah, look!” he cried. He held out the coat to her, and showed her the printed name on the tab. “Waterscapa! Look! Feel it! Have you ever seen anything like it? Isn’t it wonderful!” He snatched the garment out of her hand and rubbed it against his cheek. “A lining like real silk!”

“But, Sam——”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t forgotten?”

“The house? Forgotten? I will show you if I’ve forgotten! Give me my coat!”

“Won’t you wear your new coat?”

“What? My Waterscapa? No! This is the first one! Shall I wear it like it was an ordinary coat? Hang it up! They can say what they like!” he said defiantly. “I want them all to see it!”

“Where are you going?”

“To buy you a box of chocolates!” he said.

He bought her her house, her box of chocolates, though Smirnof had the deposit-money they required him to put down for it earmarked in one or two other directions. Smirnof was beginning to get a sense of the cotton market. There were some clearing-lines he had his eye on. He wanted to get some new machinery. He had got on the trail of a large bankrupt stock of garments.

But he did not press the matter. There would be other bankruptcies.