Tales of the Five Towns | Page 2

place of weather as a topic of

salutation.
'Business!' echoed the gooseherd.
In that one unassisted noun, scorning the aid of verb, adjective, or
adverb, the gooseherd, by a masterpiece of profound and subtle
emphasis, contrived to express the fact that he existed in a world of
dead illusions, that he had become a convert to Schopenhauer, and that
Mr. Curtenty's inapposite geniality was a final grievance to him.
'There ain't no business!' he added.
'Ah!' returned Mr. Curtenty, thoughtful: such an assertion of the entire
absence of business was a reflection upon the town.
'Sithee!' said the gooseherd in ruthless accents, 'I druv these 'ere geese
into this 'ere town this morning.' (Here he exaggerated the number of
miles traversed.) 'Twelve geese and two gander--a Brent and a Barnacle.
And how many is there now? How many?'
'Fourteen,' said Mr. Gordon, having counted; and Mr. Curtenty gazed at
him in reproach, for that he, a Town Councillor, had thus
mathematically demonstrated the commercial decadence of Bursley.
'Market overstocked, eh?' Mr. Curtenty suggested, throwing a
side-glance at Callear the poulterer's close by, which was crammed
with everything that flew, swam, or waddled.
'Call this a market?' said the gooseherd. 'I'st tak' my lot over to
Hanbridge, wheer there is a bit doing, by all accounts.'
Now, Mr. Curtenty had not the least intention of buying those geese,
but nothing could be better calculated to straighten the back of a
Bursley man than a reference to the mercantile activity of Hanbridge,
that Chicago of the Five Towns.
'How much for the lot?' he inquired.
In that moment he reflected upon his reputation; he knew that he was a

cure, a card, a character; he knew that everyone would think it just like
Jos Curtenty, the renowned Deputy-Mayor of Bursley, to stand on the
steps of the Tiger and pretend to chaffer with a gooseherd for a flock of
geese. His imagination caught the sound of an oft-repeated inquiry,
'Did ye hear about old Jos's latest--trying to buy them there geese?' and
the appreciative laughter that would follow.
The gooseherd faced him in silence.
'Well,' said Mr. Curtenty again, his eyes twinkling, 'how much for the
lot?'
The gooseherd gloomily and suspiciously named a sum.
Mr. Curtenty named a sum startlingly less, ending in sixpence.
'I'll tak' it,' said the gooseherd, in a tone that closed on the bargain like a
vice.
The Deputy-Mayor perceived himself the owner of twelve geese and
two ganders--one Brent, one Barnacle. It was a shock, but he sustained
it. Involuntarily he looked at Mr. Gordon.
'How are you going to get 'em home, Curtenty?' asked Gordon, with
coarse sarcasm; 'drive 'em?'
Nettled, Mr. Curtenty retorted:
'Now, then, Gas Gordon!'
The barmaid laughed aloud at this sobriquet, which that same evening
was all over the town, and which has stuck ever since to the Chairman
of the Gas and Lighting Committee. Mr. Gordon wished, and has never
ceased to wish, either that he had been elected to some other committee,
or that his name had begun with some other letter.
The gooseherd received the purchase-money like an affront, but when
Mr. Curtenty, full of private mirth, said, 'Chuck us your stick in,' he
give him the stick, and smiled under reservation. Jos Curtenty had no

use for the geese; he could conceive no purpose which they might be
made to serve, no smallest corner for them in his universe. Nevertheless,
since he had rashly stumbled into a ditch, he determined to emerge
from it grandly, impressively, magnificently. He instantaneously
formed a plan by which he would snatch victory out of defeat. He
would take Gordon's suggestion, and himself drive the geese up to his
residence in Hillport, that lofty and aristocratic suburb. It would be an
immense, an unparalleled farce; a wonder, a topic for years, the crown
of his reputation as a card.
He announced his intention with that misleading sobriety and
ordinariness of tone which it has been the foible of many great
humorists to assume. Mr. Gordon lifted his head several times very
quickly, as if to say, 'What next?' and then actually departed, which was
a clear proof that the man had no imagination and no soul.
The gooseherd winked.
'You be rightly called "Curtenty," mester,' said he, and passed into the
Tiger.
'That's the best joke I ever heard,' Jos said to himself 'I wonder whether
he saw it.'
Then the procession of the geese and the Deputy-Mayor commenced.
Now, it is not to be assumed that Mr. Curtenty was necessarily bound
to look foolish in the driving of geese. He was no nincompoop. On the
contrary, he was one of those men who, bringing common-sense and
presence of mind to every action of their lives, do nothing badly, and
always escape the ridiculous. He