On a basis of assumptions such as these, there was every possibility of profitable commerce without any approach to technical fraud.

By means of the familiar ‘goose-club,’ licensed victuallers make themselves the bankers of people who are too weak-minded to save their own money until they wish to spend it, and who are quite content to receive in ultimate return goods worth something less than half the deposit.  By means of the familiar teapot, grocers persuade their customers that an excellent trade can be done by giving away the whole profit on each transaction.  Beatrice French, an observant young woman, with a head for figures, had often noted and reflected upon these two egregious illustrations of human absurdity.  Her dressmaking enterprise assimilated the features of both, and added novel devices that sprang from her own fruitful brain.  The ‘Fashion Club,’ a wheel within a wheel, was merely the goose-club; strictly a goose-club, for the licensed victualler addresses himself to the male of the species.  The larger net, cast for those who lacked money or a spirit of speculation, caught all who, in the realm of grocery, are lured by the teapot.  Every sovereign spent with the Association carried a bonus, paid not in cash but in kind.  These startling advantages were made known through the medium of hand-bills, leaflets, nicely printed little pamphlets, gorgeously designed placards; the publicity department, being in the hands of Mr. Luckworth Crewe, of Farringdon Street, was most ably and vigorously conducted.

Thanks also to Luckworth Crewe, Beatrice had allied herself with partners, who brought to the affair capital, experience, and activity.  Before Christmas—­an important point—­the scene of operations was ready:  a handsome shop, with the new and attractive appendages (so-called ‘club-room,’ refreshment-bar, &c.) which Crewe and Beatrice had visioned in their prophetic minds.  Before the close of the year substantial business had been done, and 1888 opened with exhilarating prospects.

The ineptitude of uneducated English women in all that relates to their attire is a fact that it boots not to enlarge upon.  Beatrice French could not be regarded as an exception; for though she recognised monstrosities, she very reasonably distrusted her own taste in the choice of a garment.  For her sisters, monstrosities had a distinct charm, and to this class of women belonged all customers of the Association who pretended to think for themselves as to wherewithal they should be clothed.  But women in general came to the shop with confessed blankness of mind; beyond the desire to buy something that was modish, and to pay for it in a minus quantity, they knew, felt, thought nothing whatever.  Green or violet, cerulean or magenta, all was one to them.  In the matter of shape they sought merely a confident assurance from articulate man or woman—­ themselves being somewhat less articulate than jay or jackdaw—­ that this or that was ‘the feature of the season.’