 | Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
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“SMITH & —.”
It gives us a mournful feeling every time the above
sign, on a business street, meets our eye. It is simply
a white pine sign, with the letters upon it done in
black. There is nothing peculiar in its construction;
but the blank termination, with the ampersand, — once
the connecting character of a prosperous firm, maybe,
but now seeming to exist only with reference to some
future contingency, — denotes separation, and thus, as
indicating this, the sign becomes an important “sign of
the times.” The name that formerly graced it, though
no longer needed there, is still to be traced through the
white coat spread over it, as if yet asserting its claim to
consideration. “Alas! poor ghost!” It is better to
let Smith have it all to himself.
What caused the separation? Did the “Jones,”
whom we see dimly through the white lead, which covers
him like a shroud, “shuffle off this mortal coil,” and
leave Smith there alone, like a boy tilting on one end of
a plank? Had Jones a wife and children; and do they
yet look up wistfully at the sign as they pass it by, as if
with a sort of undefined hope in their minds that Jones
may be in there somewhere now? Or do they weep as
they gaze upon it at its suggestion of their own loneliness?
Or has the widow forgotten, long ago, the man
under the mould, and another Jones, with another name,
taken his place in the domestic firm? Or does she yet
other Jones to write his name on the blank space in her
heart, and begin anew?
It may have been a separation in strife, where uncongeniality
of mind, temper, and habits, engendered bitterness,
and the hours flew by freighted with mutual curses
upon the ill-starred union of “Smith & Jones,” and
separation was the result. How happy were they, maybe,
at the beginning, as they sat down to talk over their
business schemes, while Hope held her candle for them
as they ciphered out a path to fortune through the
intricacies of trade, — talking as lovers talk; never
dreaming, like lovers, that the elements might exist in
themselves for the destruction of their hopes and happiness!
We can fancy the bitter days, the reproaches,
abuse, and violence, that ended in the painter's brush
upon the sign, and the announcement in the Post, of
“dissolution.” But why is that ampersand left there?
Does Smith, with his bitter experience, want another
Jones to torment him?
Perhaps Smith & Jones were well-meaning men, who
tried the firm on and found it unable to carry double,
and then divided, good-naturedly, and are now carrying
on trade, each by himself, and each happy in a knowledge
of the good qualities of the other; each ready to
endorse the other's note; each having for the other a
cordial salutation when meeting, and “How are ye,
Smith?” and “How are ye, Jones?” sounding heartily,
as if they meant something more than the words
usually imply, and inquiring about each other's business
with as much earnestness as formerly, when together;
of “my old partner Smith” or “Jones,” with
affection and respect. It is some comfort to conjure up
a picture like this, and we regret that “Jones” should
be “cut off” in his goodness.
“Smith & —!” We don't like to see it, any
how. If “Smith” should choose to let his name stand
there forever, as now, he may do so if he can, — nobody
can hinder him, or will want to. But Smith should not
allow that ampersand to remain there, as if hinting at
something it is afraid to say, — trembling upon the verge
of it, and holding back without venturing upon it. The
bond is broken that united the twain, and why should
Mr. Smith offend our chaste eye by leaving that ampersand
to drag along behind his name, now there is no use
for it, like the end of a broken chain beneath a cart?
“Pull away, ma'am, pull away!” said old Roger,
in the omnibus, as he saw a heavy lady dragging vigorously
at the check-string; “another such a jerk as that
and he must come through.”
“Through where?” asked she sharply.
“Why, through the hole there, to be sure; you
were trying to get him through it, was n't you?”
“No, I was n't; I was only stopping the horses, Mr.
Impudence.”
“O,” said the old gentleman, “was that all? excuse
me.”
She got out, and the 'bus moved on.
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