Some say that a miser is an odd contortion—that his mind is twisted. That is not so. A miser is a mathematical figure, an exact computation. But he always counts in low numbers. He likes to begin to gain and never to finish. He will say to his money, “Lie down, oddity!”
He believes in unity; if he holds one penny in his hand, it is all that he thinks he has. He hoards only units. He believes that his belly is a bank, and his guts hiding-places for gold. What passes from him, he regards as lost. His most constant fear is that his store may go into the belly of another. When he has lent anything, he would like to rip up his neighbour’s body and find his gold again.
A miser is aware of certain great truths. However far he runs forward, he always knows that he never really leaves the same spot. Nowhere does he see anything that he can call his own. He is altogether an unbeliever in concrete fact. If he does not take care to save more, he will have nothing. Of all earthly pleasures, a miser’s are the most sure. He is certain of earthly content, for he has only to gain one penny in order to be happy.
To take—in order to hide—is his wish. He hides his money by putting it out to breed.
A miser’s joys never fail him; he pretends he has little, then he counts his bags. From every man’s estate he takes something. From not spending himself, he gains by the waste of others.
He not only hoards money, but saves days and years too. A miser usually lives to be very old.
Where another would see nothing, he sees a great deal. A little coaldust in a shed, a despised heap of small sticks—these he sees as a fine estate. Nothing escapes his wary eye. He will not pass by the smallest nail, or piece of string. What other people throw away, he could live upon. He lives by adding one to one. He is a fine leveller.
He goes from one sale to another. He buys at one, a great house; at another, a rotten mattress. He sees these two purchases as the same, but the mattress pleases him the best. A bug in it is a good omen; when he rips up the mattress, he finds money.…
As James Dawe spent so little and saved so much, it was hard to understand how Susie could have grown so prettily. Perhaps she was loved by Madder Hill. One would like to know what the ground thinks when a girl steps upon it. Sometimes Madder Hill smiles like the Pope.
But, whoever else smiled, James Dawe never did. He did not smile, but he liked to see. Some possessions are worth looking at. When Susie had a bath, Mr. Dawe would watch her through his spyhole.
What he owned, he liked to see grow into money. For some years James Dawe had looked at her. He saw now that the apple was ripe. What price could he ask?
Mr. Dawe examined the market. He looked out for a buyer. Having a girl to part with, Mr. Dawe became all at once interested in the behaviour of men. He regretted that all men were not chaste. If men were allowed to misbehave with women, then Susie’s price would be lowered. With women common, a girl would go cheap. James Dawe hated a harlot.
Mr. Mere went to see Daisy Huddy, and it was Mr. Mere that James Dawe had thought of as a husband for Susie.
But Mr. Mere was the one to cheapen other folk’s goods. He did that and Daisy Huddy did more. She sold herself for a mere nothing, and people said that it took seven visits from Mr. Mere to provide Daisy with a thin summer frock.
But James Dawe was sly, and he watched Mr. Mere. Even though Daisy had lowered prices, there were ways of raising them. The human mind has many an odd fancy. A man’s enjoyments are manifold. Mr. Mere’s favourite entertainment was cruelty. For such a mystery, Daisy had not been a good subject. To use a fine art upon her had been only a waste of time. When Daisy was badly treated, or hurt unpleasantly, she would only cry, and she would go on crying until Mr. Mere let her alone. James Dawe knew that Susie had more spirit.
A good thing is often thrown away upon an object unworthy of it: pearls are cast to swine. Daisy Huddy was only a harmless village creature, like a sow; indeed, she was more docile than such a beast often is. If one ill-uses a sow, it squeals; Daisy did the same.
Susie was different. She might even show fight, and then Mr. Mere could enjoy himself. James Dawe made up his mind what to ask for his girl. He believed that a lucky, unlooked-for chance had come. He thought he knew where there was a hidden treasure.
A new-comer to Dodder never escaped his eyes. He had seen John Death.
John searched for something. Was that pretence? At first John had spent a long time in Joe Bridle’s field, then he searched everywhere about the village, and in the lanes. Dawe thought he did so only to draw people away from where he had really hidden his treasure. The truth was that John Death had hidden his gold in Mr. Bridle’s field.
When John had wished to find something of value with which to pay his rent, he had pretended to look for gold in the churchyard. That was only his trick. The treasure was hid in Bridle’s field.
James Dawe never missed a piece of news. John Death paid his landlord a rich weekly rent. What exactly he received John Card never said, though it was known at Tadnol that he gave a five-pound note for a pot of beer.
Greed and Hatred are two pretty sisters; they are often invited to the same party. When a man takes one by the hand, he must take the other too.
Dawe wished to have Bridle’s field.
Joe wished to get money, and why? James Dawe knew. He would sell his daughter to Mere, and the price would be Joe Bridle’s field.