Chapter Twelve.My First Night in Town.I did not sit thinking long, for I felt that I must be up and doing. The long barge had crept silently away and was out of sight, but I felt that after my dismissal I ought not to follow it; so I crossed a bridge over the canal and went on and on between rows of houses and along streets busy with vehicles coming and going, and plenty of people.For the first half-hour I felt that everybody knew me and was staring at the boy who had run away from Mr Blakeford’s office; but by degrees that idea passed off and gave place to another, namely, that I was all alone in this great city, and that it seemed very solitary and strange.For above an hour I walked on, with the streets growing thicker and the noise and bustle more confusing. I had at last reached a busy thoroughfare; gas was burning, and the shops looked showy and attractive. The one, however, that took my attention was a coffee-shop in a side street, with a great teapot in the window, and a framed card on which I read the list of prices, and found that a half-pint cup of coffee would be one penny, and a loaf and butter twopence.My money was getting scarce, but I was tired and hungry, and after staring at that card for a long time I thought I would venture to go in, and walked right up to the door. I dared, however, go no farther, but walked straight on, turned, and came back, and so on several times, without being able to make up my mind; but at last, as I was still hovering about the place, I caught sight of a policeman advancing in the distance, and, fully assured that it must be Mary’s friend, Mr Revitts, in search of me, I walked breathlessly into the coffee-house and sat down at the nearest table.There were several men and lads seated about, but they were all, to my great relief, reading papers or periodicals, and I was recovering my equanimity somewhat, when it was upset by a bustling maid, who came as I thought fiercely up to me with a sharp “What’s for you?”“A cup of coffee, if you please,” I stammered out.“And roll and butter?”“Yes, please,” I said, somewhat taken aback that she should, as I felt, have divined my thoughts; and then, in an incredibly short space of time, a large cup of steaming coffee and a roll and pat of butter were placed on the table.After timidly glancing round to find that it was no novel thing for any one to enter a coffee-house and partake of the fare before me, I proceeded to make my meal, wishing all the while that Jack had been there to share it, and wondering where he was, till at last the coffee was all drunk, the roll and butter eaten, and after paying what was due I stole off once more into the streets. I went on and on in a motiveless way, staring at the wonders ever unfolding before me, till, utterly wearied out, the thought struck me that I must find a resting-place somewhere, for there were no haystacks here, there was no friendly tarpaulin to share with Jack, and, look where I would, nothing that seemed likely to suggest a bed.I had wandered on through wide, well-lighted streets, and through narrow, poverty-stricken places, till I was in a busy, noisy row, along the pavement of which were broad barrows with flaming lamps, and laden with fish, greengrocery, and fruit. There was noise enough to confuse anyone used to London; to me it was absolutely deafening.I had seen by a clock a short time before that it was nearly ten, and my legs ached so that I could scarcely stand; and yet, in the midst of the busy throng of people hurrying here and there, I alone seemed to be without friend or home.I had been wandering about in a purposeless way for a long time, trying to see some one who would win my confidence enough to make me ask where I could obtain a night’s lodging, when I suddenly became aware that a big lad with a long narrow face and little eyes seemed to be watching me, and I saw what seemed to me so marked a resemblance to the young scoundrel who had stolen my bundle, that I instinctively grasped it more tightly and hurried away.On glancing back, I found that the boy was following, and this alarmed me so that I hastened back into the big street, walked along some distance, then turned and ran as hard as I could up one street and down another, till at last I was obliged to stop and listen to make sure whether I was pursued.To my horror I heard advancing steps, and I had just time to shrink back into a doorway before, by the dim light of the gas, I saw the lad I sought to avoid run by, and as soon as his heavy boots had ceased to echo, I crept out and ran in the other direction, till, completely worn out, I sat down upon a doorstep in a deserted street, and at last dropped off fast asleep.I was startled into wakefulness by a strange glare shining in my face, and, looking up, there was a round glowing eye of light seeming to search me through and through.For a few moments I could do nothing but stare helplessly and then started nervously as a gruff voice exclaimed—“Here; what’s in that bundle?”“My clothes and clean shirt, sir,” I faltered. “Let’s look.”My hands shook so that I was some time before I could get the handkerchief undone; but in the meantime I had been able to make out that the speaker was a policeman, and in my confusion at being awakened out of a deep sleep, I associated his coming with instructions from Mr Blakeford.At last, though, I laid my bundle open on the step, and my questioner seemed satisfied.“Tie it up,” he said, and I hastened to obey. “Now, then, young fellow,” he continued, “how is it you are sitting here asleep? Why don’t you go home?”“Please, sir, I came up from the country to-day, and I ran away from a boy who wanted to steal my bundle, and then I sat down and fell asleep.”“That’s a likely story,” he said, making the light of the lantern play upon my face. “Where were you going?”“I don’t know, sir. Yes I do—to Mr Rowle.”“And where’s Mr Rowle’s?”“It’s—it’s—stop a minute, sir. I’ve got the address written down. It’s at a great printing-office.”As I spoke I felt in my pockets one after the other for the address of Mr Rowle’s brother, but to my dismay I found that it was gone, and, search how I would, there was no sign of it in either pocket. At last I looked up full in the policeman’s face, to exclaim pitifully—“Please, sir, it’s gone.”“Is it now?” he said in a bantering, sneering tone. “That’s a wonder, that is: specially if it warn’t never there. Look here, young fellow, what have you come to London for?”“Please, sir, I’ve come to seek my fortune.”“Oh, you have, have you? Now look here, which are you, a young innocent from the country, or an artful one? You may just as well speak out, for I’m sure to find out all about it.”“Indeed I’ve come up from the country, sir, to try and get a place, for I was so unhappy down there.”“Then you’ve run away from your father and mother, eh?”“No, sir; they are both dead.”“Well, then, you’ve run away from home, eh?”“No, sir,” I said sadly; “I haven’t any home.”“Well, what’s got to be done? You can’t stop here all night.”“Can’t I, sir?”“Can’t you, sir? Why, what a young gooseberry it is! Have you been to London before?”“No, sir.”“When did you come up?”“Only this evening, sir.”“And don’t you know that if I leave you here some one’ll have your bundle, and perhaps you too, before morning?”“I was so tired, sir, I fell asleep.”“Come along o’ me. The best thing I can do for you’s to lock you up till morning.”“Thank you, sir.”He burst out into a roar of laughter as he turned off the light of his bull’s-eye.“Come along, youngster,” he said, “it’s all right, I see. Why, you are as green as a gooseberry.”“Am I, sir?” I said piteously, for I felt very sorry that I was so green, as he called it, but I was too much confused to thoroughly understand what he meant.“Greener, ever so much. Why, if you’d gone down Covent Garden to sleep amongst the baskets you’d have got swept up for cabbage leaves.”“Covent Garden Market, sir? Is that close here?” I said.“As if you didn’t know,” he replied, returning to his doubting vein.“I’ve heard my papa speak of it,” I said, eager to convince him that I was speaking the truth. “He said the finest of all the fruit in the country went there, and that the flowers in the central—central—”“Avenue?” suggested the constable.“Yes, central avenue—were always worth a visit.”“That’s so. And that’s what your papa said, eh?”“Yes, sir, I have heard him say so more than once.”“Then don’t you think, young fellow, as it looks very suspicious for a young gent as talks about hispapato be found sleeping on a doorstep?”“Yes, sir, I suppose it does,” I said, “but I have no friends now.”“Well, you’d better come along o’ me, and tell your tale to the inspector. I’m not going to leave you here. He’ll soon get to know the rights of it. You’ve run away, that’s what you’ve done.”“Yes, sir,” I said; “I did run away, but—”“Never mind the buts, youngster. You’ll have to be sent back to your sorrowing friends, my absconding young sloper.”“No, no, no?” I cried wildly, as he took hold of my cuff. “Don’t send me back, pray don’t send me back.”“None o’ that ’ere now,” he said, giving me a rough shake. “You just come along quietly.”“Oh, I will, sir, indeed I will!” I cried, “but don’t, pray don’t send me back.”“Why not? How do you know but it won’t be best for yer? You come along o’ me sharp, and we’ll soon physic your constitution into a right state.”The agony of dread that seized me at that moment was more than I could bear. In imagination I saw myself dragged back to Mr Blakeford, and saw the smile of triumph on his black-looking face, as he had me again in his power, and, boy as I was then, and full of young life and hopefulness, I believe that I would gladly have jumped into the river sooner than have had to trust to his tender mercies again.In my horror, then, I flung myself on my knees before the policeman, and clasped his leg as I appealed wildly to him to let me go.“If you sent me back, sir,” I cried piteously, “he’d kill me.”“And then we should kill him,” he said, laughing. “Not as that would be much comfort to you. Here, get up.”“You don’t know what I suffered, sir, after poor papa and mamma died. He used me so cruelly, and he beat me, too, dreadfully. And now, after I have run away, if he gets me back he will be more cruel than before.”“Well, I s’pose he wouldn’t make it very pleasant for you, youngster. There, come: get up, and you shall tell the inspector, too, all about it.”“No, no, no,” I cried wildly, as in spite of his efforts to get me up I still clung to his leg.“Come, none of that, you know. I shall have to carry you. Get up.”He seized me more roughly, and dragged me to my feet, when with a hoarse cry of dread, I made a dash to escape, freed my arm and ran for freedom once again, as if it were for my life.
I did not sit thinking long, for I felt that I must be up and doing. The long barge had crept silently away and was out of sight, but I felt that after my dismissal I ought not to follow it; so I crossed a bridge over the canal and went on and on between rows of houses and along streets busy with vehicles coming and going, and plenty of people.
For the first half-hour I felt that everybody knew me and was staring at the boy who had run away from Mr Blakeford’s office; but by degrees that idea passed off and gave place to another, namely, that I was all alone in this great city, and that it seemed very solitary and strange.
For above an hour I walked on, with the streets growing thicker and the noise and bustle more confusing. I had at last reached a busy thoroughfare; gas was burning, and the shops looked showy and attractive. The one, however, that took my attention was a coffee-shop in a side street, with a great teapot in the window, and a framed card on which I read the list of prices, and found that a half-pint cup of coffee would be one penny, and a loaf and butter twopence.
My money was getting scarce, but I was tired and hungry, and after staring at that card for a long time I thought I would venture to go in, and walked right up to the door. I dared, however, go no farther, but walked straight on, turned, and came back, and so on several times, without being able to make up my mind; but at last, as I was still hovering about the place, I caught sight of a policeman advancing in the distance, and, fully assured that it must be Mary’s friend, Mr Revitts, in search of me, I walked breathlessly into the coffee-house and sat down at the nearest table.
There were several men and lads seated about, but they were all, to my great relief, reading papers or periodicals, and I was recovering my equanimity somewhat, when it was upset by a bustling maid, who came as I thought fiercely up to me with a sharp “What’s for you?”
“A cup of coffee, if you please,” I stammered out.
“And roll and butter?”
“Yes, please,” I said, somewhat taken aback that she should, as I felt, have divined my thoughts; and then, in an incredibly short space of time, a large cup of steaming coffee and a roll and pat of butter were placed on the table.
After timidly glancing round to find that it was no novel thing for any one to enter a coffee-house and partake of the fare before me, I proceeded to make my meal, wishing all the while that Jack had been there to share it, and wondering where he was, till at last the coffee was all drunk, the roll and butter eaten, and after paying what was due I stole off once more into the streets. I went on and on in a motiveless way, staring at the wonders ever unfolding before me, till, utterly wearied out, the thought struck me that I must find a resting-place somewhere, for there were no haystacks here, there was no friendly tarpaulin to share with Jack, and, look where I would, nothing that seemed likely to suggest a bed.
I had wandered on through wide, well-lighted streets, and through narrow, poverty-stricken places, till I was in a busy, noisy row, along the pavement of which were broad barrows with flaming lamps, and laden with fish, greengrocery, and fruit. There was noise enough to confuse anyone used to London; to me it was absolutely deafening.
I had seen by a clock a short time before that it was nearly ten, and my legs ached so that I could scarcely stand; and yet, in the midst of the busy throng of people hurrying here and there, I alone seemed to be without friend or home.
I had been wandering about in a purposeless way for a long time, trying to see some one who would win my confidence enough to make me ask where I could obtain a night’s lodging, when I suddenly became aware that a big lad with a long narrow face and little eyes seemed to be watching me, and I saw what seemed to me so marked a resemblance to the young scoundrel who had stolen my bundle, that I instinctively grasped it more tightly and hurried away.
On glancing back, I found that the boy was following, and this alarmed me so that I hastened back into the big street, walked along some distance, then turned and ran as hard as I could up one street and down another, till at last I was obliged to stop and listen to make sure whether I was pursued.
To my horror I heard advancing steps, and I had just time to shrink back into a doorway before, by the dim light of the gas, I saw the lad I sought to avoid run by, and as soon as his heavy boots had ceased to echo, I crept out and ran in the other direction, till, completely worn out, I sat down upon a doorstep in a deserted street, and at last dropped off fast asleep.
I was startled into wakefulness by a strange glare shining in my face, and, looking up, there was a round glowing eye of light seeming to search me through and through.
For a few moments I could do nothing but stare helplessly and then started nervously as a gruff voice exclaimed—“Here; what’s in that bundle?”
“My clothes and clean shirt, sir,” I faltered. “Let’s look.”
My hands shook so that I was some time before I could get the handkerchief undone; but in the meantime I had been able to make out that the speaker was a policeman, and in my confusion at being awakened out of a deep sleep, I associated his coming with instructions from Mr Blakeford.
At last, though, I laid my bundle open on the step, and my questioner seemed satisfied.
“Tie it up,” he said, and I hastened to obey. “Now, then, young fellow,” he continued, “how is it you are sitting here asleep? Why don’t you go home?”
“Please, sir, I came up from the country to-day, and I ran away from a boy who wanted to steal my bundle, and then I sat down and fell asleep.”
“That’s a likely story,” he said, making the light of the lantern play upon my face. “Where were you going?”
“I don’t know, sir. Yes I do—to Mr Rowle.”
“And where’s Mr Rowle’s?”
“It’s—it’s—stop a minute, sir. I’ve got the address written down. It’s at a great printing-office.”
As I spoke I felt in my pockets one after the other for the address of Mr Rowle’s brother, but to my dismay I found that it was gone, and, search how I would, there was no sign of it in either pocket. At last I looked up full in the policeman’s face, to exclaim pitifully—“Please, sir, it’s gone.”
“Is it now?” he said in a bantering, sneering tone. “That’s a wonder, that is: specially if it warn’t never there. Look here, young fellow, what have you come to London for?”
“Please, sir, I’ve come to seek my fortune.”
“Oh, you have, have you? Now look here, which are you, a young innocent from the country, or an artful one? You may just as well speak out, for I’m sure to find out all about it.”
“Indeed I’ve come up from the country, sir, to try and get a place, for I was so unhappy down there.”
“Then you’ve run away from your father and mother, eh?”
“No, sir; they are both dead.”
“Well, then, you’ve run away from home, eh?”
“No, sir,” I said sadly; “I haven’t any home.”
“Well, what’s got to be done? You can’t stop here all night.”
“Can’t I, sir?”
“Can’t you, sir? Why, what a young gooseberry it is! Have you been to London before?”
“No, sir.”
“When did you come up?”
“Only this evening, sir.”
“And don’t you know that if I leave you here some one’ll have your bundle, and perhaps you too, before morning?”
“I was so tired, sir, I fell asleep.”
“Come along o’ me. The best thing I can do for you’s to lock you up till morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He burst out into a roar of laughter as he turned off the light of his bull’s-eye.
“Come along, youngster,” he said, “it’s all right, I see. Why, you are as green as a gooseberry.”
“Am I, sir?” I said piteously, for I felt very sorry that I was so green, as he called it, but I was too much confused to thoroughly understand what he meant.
“Greener, ever so much. Why, if you’d gone down Covent Garden to sleep amongst the baskets you’d have got swept up for cabbage leaves.”
“Covent Garden Market, sir? Is that close here?” I said.
“As if you didn’t know,” he replied, returning to his doubting vein.
“I’ve heard my papa speak of it,” I said, eager to convince him that I was speaking the truth. “He said the finest of all the fruit in the country went there, and that the flowers in the central—central—”
“Avenue?” suggested the constable.
“Yes, central avenue—were always worth a visit.”
“That’s so. And that’s what your papa said, eh?”
“Yes, sir, I have heard him say so more than once.”
“Then don’t you think, young fellow, as it looks very suspicious for a young gent as talks about hispapato be found sleeping on a doorstep?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose it does,” I said, “but I have no friends now.”
“Well, you’d better come along o’ me, and tell your tale to the inspector. I’m not going to leave you here. He’ll soon get to know the rights of it. You’ve run away, that’s what you’ve done.”
“Yes, sir,” I said; “I did run away, but—”
“Never mind the buts, youngster. You’ll have to be sent back to your sorrowing friends, my absconding young sloper.”
“No, no, no?” I cried wildly, as he took hold of my cuff. “Don’t send me back, pray don’t send me back.”
“None o’ that ’ere now,” he said, giving me a rough shake. “You just come along quietly.”
“Oh, I will, sir, indeed I will!” I cried, “but don’t, pray don’t send me back.”
“Why not? How do you know but it won’t be best for yer? You come along o’ me sharp, and we’ll soon physic your constitution into a right state.”
The agony of dread that seized me at that moment was more than I could bear. In imagination I saw myself dragged back to Mr Blakeford, and saw the smile of triumph on his black-looking face, as he had me again in his power, and, boy as I was then, and full of young life and hopefulness, I believe that I would gladly have jumped into the river sooner than have had to trust to his tender mercies again.
In my horror, then, I flung myself on my knees before the policeman, and clasped his leg as I appealed wildly to him to let me go.
“If you sent me back, sir,” I cried piteously, “he’d kill me.”
“And then we should kill him,” he said, laughing. “Not as that would be much comfort to you. Here, get up.”
“You don’t know what I suffered, sir, after poor papa and mamma died. He used me so cruelly, and he beat me, too, dreadfully. And now, after I have run away, if he gets me back he will be more cruel than before.”
“Well, I s’pose he wouldn’t make it very pleasant for you, youngster. There, come: get up, and you shall tell the inspector, too, all about it.”
“No, no, no,” I cried wildly, as in spite of his efforts to get me up I still clung to his leg.
“Come, none of that, you know. I shall have to carry you. Get up.”
He seized me more roughly, and dragged me to my feet, when with a hoarse cry of dread, I made a dash to escape, freed my arm and ran for freedom once again, as if it were for my life.
Chapter Thirteen.P.C. Revitts.In my blind fear of capture I did not study which way I went, but doubling down the first turning I came to, I ran on, and then along the next, to stop short directly afterwards, being sharply caught by the constable from whom I had fled, and who now held me fast.“Ah! you thought it, did you?” he said coolly, while, panting and breathless, I feebly struggled to get away. “But it won’t do, my lad. You’ve got to come along o’ me.”“And then I shall be sent back,” I cried, as I tried to wrestle myself free. “I’ve never done any harm, sir; and he’ll half kill me. You don’t know him. Pray let me go.”“I know you to be a reglar young coward,” he said roughly. “Why, when I was your age, I shouldn’t have begun snivelling like this. Now, then, look here. You ain’t come to London only to see your Mr Hot Roll, or whatever you call him. Is there any one else you know as I can take you to? I don’t want to lock you up.”“No, sir, nobody,” I faltered. “Yes, there is—there’s Mr Revitts.”“Mr who?”“Mr Revitts, sir,” I said excitedly. “He’s a policeman, like you.”“Ah, that’s something like a respectable reference!” he said. “What division?”“What did you say, sir?”“I said what division?”“Please, sir, I don’t know what you mean.”“Do you know P.C. Revitts, VV division?”“No, sir,” I said, with my heart sinking. “It’s Mr William Revitts I know.”“Which his name is William,” he muttered. Then, aloud, “Here, come along.”“No, no, sir,” I cried in alarm. “Don’t send me back.”“Come along, I tell yer.”“What’s up?” said a gruff voice; and a second policeman joined us.“Don’t quite know yet,” said the first man; and then he said something in a low voice to the other, with the result that, without another word, I was hurried up and down street after street till I felt ready to drop. Suddenly my guide turned into a great blank-looking building and spoke to another policeman, and soon, after a little shouting, a tall, burly-looking constable in his buttoned-up greatcoat came slowly towards us in the whitewashed room.“Here’s a lad been absconding,” said my guide, “and he says he’ll give you for a reference.”“Eh! me?” said the newcomer, making me start as he stared hard in my face. “Who are you, boy. I don’t know you.”“Antony Grace, please, sir,” I faltered.“And who’s Antony Grace?”“There, I thought it was a do,” said the first constable roughly. “What d’yer mean by gammoning me in this way? Come along.”“No, sir, please. Pray give me time,” I cried. “Don’t send me back. Please, Mr Revitts, I have run away from Mr Blakeford, and if I am sent back to Rowford he’ll kill me. I know he will.”“’Old ’ard, Smith,” said the big constable. “Look here, boy. What did you say? Where did you come from?”“Rowford, sir. Pray don’t send me back.”“And what’s the name of the chap as you’re afraid on?”“Mr Blakeford, sir.”“I’m blest!”“What did you say, sir?”“I said I’m blest, boy.”“Then you do know him?” said the first constable.“I don’t quite know as I do, yet,” was the reply.“Well, look here, I want to get back. You take charge of him. I found him on a doorstep in Great Coram Street. There’s his bundle. If he don’t give a good account of himself, have it entered and lock him up.”“All right,” said the other, after a few moments’ hesitation.“Then I’m off,” said the first man; and he left me in charge of the big constable, who stood staring down at me so fiercely, as I thought, that I looked to right and left for a way of escape.“None o’ that, sir,” he said sharply, in the words and way of the other, whose heavy footsteps were now echoing down the passage. “Lookye here, if you try to run away, I’ve only got to shout, and hundreds of thousands of pleecemen will start round about to stop yer.”As he spoke he pushed me into a Windsor arm-chair, where I sat as if in a cage, while he held up one finger to shake in my face.“As the Clerkenwell magistrate said t’other day, the law’s a great network, and spreads wide. You’re new in the net o’ the law, young fellow, and you can’t get out. Just look here, we knows a deal in the law and police, and I can find out in two twos whether you are telling me the truth or doing the artful.”“Please, sir—”“Hold your tongue, sir! You can make your defence when your time comes; and mind this, it’s my dooty to tell you that what you says now may be used in evidence again you.”Thus silenced, I stood gazing up in his big-whiskered face, that seemed to loom over me, in the gaslight, and wondered why there should be so much form and ceremony over taking my word.“Now look here,” he said pulling out a notebook and pencil, like the auctioneer’s, only smaller, and seeming as if he were going to take an inventory of my small person. “Now, look here,” he repeated, moistening the point of his pencil, “you told Joe Smith you knowed me, and I never set eyes on you afore.”“Please, sir,” I said hastily, “I told him I know Mr Revitts, who’s in the police.”“Yes, and you said you had run away from Rowford and a Mr Blake—Blake—What’s his name?”“Blakeford, sir,” I said despondently, for it seemed that this was not my Mr Revitts.“Blakeford. That’s right; and he ill-used you?”“Yes, sir.”“He’s a little fair man, ain’t he, with blue eyes?” And he rustled the leaves of his notebook as if about to take down my answer.“No, sir,” I cried eagerly; “he’s tall and dark, and has short hair, and very white teeth.”“Ho! Tall, is he?” said the constable, making believe to write, and then holding out his pencil at me. “He’s a nice, kind, amiable man, ain’t he, as wouldn’t say an unkind word to a dorg?”“Oh no, sir,” I said, shuddering; “that’s not my Mr Blakeford.”“Ho! Now, then, once more. There’s a servant lives there at that house, and her name’s Jane—ain’t it?”“No, sir, Mary.”“And she’s got red hair and freckles, and she—she’s very little and—”“No, no,” I cried excitedly, for after my heart had seemed to sink terribly low, it now leaped at his words. “That isn’t Mary, and you are saying all this to try me, sir. You—you are Mr William Revitts, I know you are;” and I caught him eagerly by the arm.“Which I don’t deny it, boy,” he said, still looking at me suspiciously, and removing my hand. “Revitts is my name. P.C. Revitts, VV 240; and I ain’t ashamed of it. But only to think of it. How did you know of me, though?”“I wrote Mary’s letters for her, sir.”“Whew! That’s how it was she had so improved in her writing. And so you’ve been living in the same house along a her?”“Yes, sir,” I said, “and she was so good and kind.”“When she wasn’t in a tantrum, eh?”“Yes, sir, when she wasn’t in a—”“Tantrum, that’s it, boy. We should ha’ been spliced afore now if it hadn’t been for her tantrums. But only to think o’ your being picked up in the street like this. And what am I to do now? You’ve absconded, you have; you know you’ve absconded in the eyes of the law.”“Write to Mary, please, sir, and ask her if it wasn’t enough to make me run away.”“Abscond, my lad, abscond,” said the constable.“Yes, sir,” I said, with a shiver, “abscond.”“You didn’t—you didn’t,” he said in a half hesitating way, as he felt and pinched my bundle, and then ran his hand down by my jacket-pocket. “You didn’t—these are all your own things in this, are they?”“Oh yes, sir!” I said.“Because some boys when they absconds, makes mistakes, and takes what isn’t theirs.”“Do they, sir?”“Yes, my lad, and I’m puzzled about you. You see, it’s my duty to treat you like a runaway ’prentice, and I’m uneasy in my mind about what to do. You see, you did run away.”“Oh yes, sir, I did run away. I was obliged to. Mr Blakeford wanted me to tell lies.”“Well, that seems to come easy enough to most people,” he said.“But I am telling the truth, sir,” I said. “Write down to Rowford, and ask Mary if I’m not telling the truth.”“Truth! Oh, I know that, my boy,” he said kindly. “Here, give’s your hand. Come along.”“But you won’t send me back, sir?”“Send you back? Not I, boy. He’s a blackguard, that Blakeford. I know him, and I only wish he’d do something, and I had him to take up for it. Mary’s told me all about him, and if ever we meets, even if it’s five pounds or a month, I’ll punch his head: that’s what I’ll do for him. Do yer hear?”“Yes, sir,” I said.“Now, what’s to be done with you?”I shook my head and looked at him helplessly.He stood looking at me for a few moments and then went into another room, where there was a policeman sitting at a desk, like a clerk, with a big book before him. I could see him through the other doorway, and they talked for a few minutes; and then Mr Revitts came back, and stood staring at me.“P’r’aps I’m a fool,” he muttered. “P’r’aps I ain’t. Anyhow, I’ll do it. Look here, youngster, I’m going to trust you, though as you’ve absconded I ought to take you before a magistrate or the inspector, but I won’t, as you’re a friend of my Mary.”“Thank you, sir,” I said.“And if you turn out badly, why, woe betide you.”“Please, sir, I won’t turn out badly if I can help it; but Mr Blakeford said I was good for nothing.”“Mr Blakeford be blowed! I wouldn’t ask him for a character for a dorg; and as for Mary, she don’t want his character, and he may keep it. I’ll take her without. I wouldn’t speak to any one like this, youngster; but you know that gal’s got a temper, though she’s that good at heart that—that—”“She’d nurse you so tenderly if you were ill,” I said enthusiastically, “that you wouldn’t wish to be better.”He held out his hand and gave mine a long and solemn shake.“Thankye, youngster,” he said, “thankye for that. You and I will be good friends, I see. Iwilltrust your word, hang me if I don’t. Here, come along.”“Are you—are you going to take me up, sir?” I faltered, with a shiver of apprehension.“I’m a-going to give you the door-key where I lodges, my lad. I’m on night duty, and shan’t be home till quarter-past six, so you may have my bed and welcome. Now, look here,” he said, “don’t you go and let anybody fool you. I’m going to show you the end of a long street, and you’ll go right to the top, then turn to the right along the road till you come to the fourth turning, and on the right-hand side, number twenty-seven, is where I lodges. Here’s the key. You puts it in the lock, turns it, shuts the door after you, and then goes gently upstairs to the second-pair back.”“Second-pair back, sir?” I said dubiously.“Well there, then, to the back room atop of the house, and there you may sleep till I come. Now then, this way out.”It was a change that I could not have believed in, and I accompanied the constable wonderingly as he led me out of the police-station and through several dark-looking streets, till he stopped short before a long dim vista, where straight before me two lines of gaslights stretched right away till they seemed to end in a bright point.“Now, then,” he said, “you can’t make any mistake there.”“No, sir.”“Off you go then to the top, and then you’ll find yourself in a big road.”“Yes, sir.”“Turn to the right, and then count four streets on the right-hand side. Do you understand?”“Yes, sir.”“Go down that street about halfway, till you see a gaslight shining on a door with number twenty-seven upon it. Twenty-seven Caroline Street. Now, do you understand? Straight up to the top, and then it’s right, right, right, all the way.”“I understand, sir.”“Good luck to you then, be off; here’s my sergeant.”I should have stopped to thank him, but he hurried me away; and half forgetting my weariness, I went along the street, found at last the road at the end, followed it as directed, and then in the street of little houses found one where the light from the lamp shone as my guide had said.I paused with the key in my hand, half fearing to use it, but summoning up my courage, I found the door opened easily and closed quietly, when I stood in a narrow passage with the stairs before me, and following them to the top, I hesitated, hardly knowing back from front. A deep heavy breathing from one room, however, convinced me that that could not be the back, so I tried the other door, to find it yield, and there was just light enough from the window to enable me to find the bed, on which I threw myself half dressed, and slept soundly till morning, when I opened my eyes to find Mr Revitts taking off his stiff uniform coat.“Look here, youngster,” he said, throwing himself upon the bed, “I dessay you’re tired, so don’t you get up. Have another nap, and then call me at ten, and we’ll have some breakfast. How—how—” he said, yawning.“What did you say, sir?”“How—Mary look?”“Very well indeed, sir. She has looked much better lately, and—”I stopped short, for a long-drawn breath from where Mr Revitts had thrown himself upon the bed told me plainly enough that he was asleep.I was too wakeful now to follow his example, and raising myself softly upon my elbow, I had a good look at my new friend, to see that he did not look so big and burly without his greatcoat, but all the same he was a stoutly built, fine-looking man, with a bluff, honest expression of countenance.I stayed there for some minutes, thinking about him, and then about Mary, and Mr Blakeford, and Hetty, and I wondered how the lawyer had got on before the magistrates without me. Then, rising as quietly as I could, I washed and finished dressing myself before sitting down to wait patiently for my host’s awakening.The first hour passed very tediously, for there was nothing to see from the window but chimney-pots, and though it was early I began to feel that I had not breakfasted, and three hours or so was a long time to wait. The room was clean, but shabbily furnished, and as I glanced round offered little in the way of recreation, till my eyes lit on a set of hanging shelves with a few books thereon, and going on tiptoe across the room, I began to read their backs, considering which I should choose.There was the “Farmer of Inglewood Forest,” close by the “Old English Baron,” with the “Children of the Abbey,” and “Robinson Crusoe.” Side by side with them was a gilt-edged Prayer-book, upon opening which I found that it was the property of “Mr William Revitts, a present from his effectinat friend Mary Bloxam.” On the opposite leaf was the following verse:—“When this yu see, remember me,And bare me in yure mind;And don’t forget old Ingerland,And the lass yu lef behind.”The Bible on the shelf was from the same source. Besides these were several books in shabby covers—Bogatsky’s “Golden Treasury,” the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and the “Young Man’s Best Companion.”I stood looking at them for a few minutes, and then reached down poor old “Robinson Crusoe,” bore it to the window, and for the fourth time in my life began its perusal.In a very short time my past troubles, my precarious future, and my present hunger were all forgotten, and I was far away from the attic in North London, watching the proceedings of Robinson in that wonderful island, having skipped over a good many of the early adventures for the sake of getting as soon as possible into that far-away home of mystery and romance.The strengthening of his house, the coming of the savages, the intensely interesting occurrences of the story, so enchained me, that I read on and on till I was suddenly startled by the voice of Mr Revitts exclaiming:“Hallo, you! I say, what’s o’clock?”
In my blind fear of capture I did not study which way I went, but doubling down the first turning I came to, I ran on, and then along the next, to stop short directly afterwards, being sharply caught by the constable from whom I had fled, and who now held me fast.
“Ah! you thought it, did you?” he said coolly, while, panting and breathless, I feebly struggled to get away. “But it won’t do, my lad. You’ve got to come along o’ me.”
“And then I shall be sent back,” I cried, as I tried to wrestle myself free. “I’ve never done any harm, sir; and he’ll half kill me. You don’t know him. Pray let me go.”
“I know you to be a reglar young coward,” he said roughly. “Why, when I was your age, I shouldn’t have begun snivelling like this. Now, then, look here. You ain’t come to London only to see your Mr Hot Roll, or whatever you call him. Is there any one else you know as I can take you to? I don’t want to lock you up.”
“No, sir, nobody,” I faltered. “Yes, there is—there’s Mr Revitts.”
“Mr who?”
“Mr Revitts, sir,” I said excitedly. “He’s a policeman, like you.”
“Ah, that’s something like a respectable reference!” he said. “What division?”
“What did you say, sir?”
“I said what division?”
“Please, sir, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you know P.C. Revitts, VV division?”
“No, sir,” I said, with my heart sinking. “It’s Mr William Revitts I know.”
“Which his name is William,” he muttered. Then, aloud, “Here, come along.”
“No, no, sir,” I cried in alarm. “Don’t send me back.”
“Come along, I tell yer.”
“What’s up?” said a gruff voice; and a second policeman joined us.
“Don’t quite know yet,” said the first man; and then he said something in a low voice to the other, with the result that, without another word, I was hurried up and down street after street till I felt ready to drop. Suddenly my guide turned into a great blank-looking building and spoke to another policeman, and soon, after a little shouting, a tall, burly-looking constable in his buttoned-up greatcoat came slowly towards us in the whitewashed room.
“Here’s a lad been absconding,” said my guide, “and he says he’ll give you for a reference.”
“Eh! me?” said the newcomer, making me start as he stared hard in my face. “Who are you, boy. I don’t know you.”
“Antony Grace, please, sir,” I faltered.
“And who’s Antony Grace?”
“There, I thought it was a do,” said the first constable roughly. “What d’yer mean by gammoning me in this way? Come along.”
“No, sir, please. Pray give me time,” I cried. “Don’t send me back. Please, Mr Revitts, I have run away from Mr Blakeford, and if I am sent back to Rowford he’ll kill me. I know he will.”
“’Old ’ard, Smith,” said the big constable. “Look here, boy. What did you say? Where did you come from?”
“Rowford, sir. Pray don’t send me back.”
“And what’s the name of the chap as you’re afraid on?”
“Mr Blakeford, sir.”
“I’m blest!”
“What did you say, sir?”
“I said I’m blest, boy.”
“Then you do know him?” said the first constable.
“I don’t quite know as I do, yet,” was the reply.
“Well, look here, I want to get back. You take charge of him. I found him on a doorstep in Great Coram Street. There’s his bundle. If he don’t give a good account of himself, have it entered and lock him up.”
“All right,” said the other, after a few moments’ hesitation.
“Then I’m off,” said the first man; and he left me in charge of the big constable, who stood staring down at me so fiercely, as I thought, that I looked to right and left for a way of escape.
“None o’ that, sir,” he said sharply, in the words and way of the other, whose heavy footsteps were now echoing down the passage. “Lookye here, if you try to run away, I’ve only got to shout, and hundreds of thousands of pleecemen will start round about to stop yer.”
As he spoke he pushed me into a Windsor arm-chair, where I sat as if in a cage, while he held up one finger to shake in my face.
“As the Clerkenwell magistrate said t’other day, the law’s a great network, and spreads wide. You’re new in the net o’ the law, young fellow, and you can’t get out. Just look here, we knows a deal in the law and police, and I can find out in two twos whether you are telling me the truth or doing the artful.”
“Please, sir—”
“Hold your tongue, sir! You can make your defence when your time comes; and mind this, it’s my dooty to tell you that what you says now may be used in evidence again you.”
Thus silenced, I stood gazing up in his big-whiskered face, that seemed to loom over me, in the gaslight, and wondered why there should be so much form and ceremony over taking my word.
“Now look here,” he said pulling out a notebook and pencil, like the auctioneer’s, only smaller, and seeming as if he were going to take an inventory of my small person. “Now, look here,” he repeated, moistening the point of his pencil, “you told Joe Smith you knowed me, and I never set eyes on you afore.”
“Please, sir,” I said hastily, “I told him I know Mr Revitts, who’s in the police.”
“Yes, and you said you had run away from Rowford and a Mr Blake—Blake—What’s his name?”
“Blakeford, sir,” I said despondently, for it seemed that this was not my Mr Revitts.
“Blakeford. That’s right; and he ill-used you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s a little fair man, ain’t he, with blue eyes?” And he rustled the leaves of his notebook as if about to take down my answer.
“No, sir,” I cried eagerly; “he’s tall and dark, and has short hair, and very white teeth.”
“Ho! Tall, is he?” said the constable, making believe to write, and then holding out his pencil at me. “He’s a nice, kind, amiable man, ain’t he, as wouldn’t say an unkind word to a dorg?”
“Oh no, sir,” I said, shuddering; “that’s not my Mr Blakeford.”
“Ho! Now, then, once more. There’s a servant lives there at that house, and her name’s Jane—ain’t it?”
“No, sir, Mary.”
“And she’s got red hair and freckles, and she—she’s very little and—”
“No, no,” I cried excitedly, for after my heart had seemed to sink terribly low, it now leaped at his words. “That isn’t Mary, and you are saying all this to try me, sir. You—you are Mr William Revitts, I know you are;” and I caught him eagerly by the arm.
“Which I don’t deny it, boy,” he said, still looking at me suspiciously, and removing my hand. “Revitts is my name. P.C. Revitts, VV 240; and I ain’t ashamed of it. But only to think of it. How did you know of me, though?”
“I wrote Mary’s letters for her, sir.”
“Whew! That’s how it was she had so improved in her writing. And so you’ve been living in the same house along a her?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, “and she was so good and kind.”
“When she wasn’t in a tantrum, eh?”
“Yes, sir, when she wasn’t in a—”
“Tantrum, that’s it, boy. We should ha’ been spliced afore now if it hadn’t been for her tantrums. But only to think o’ your being picked up in the street like this. And what am I to do now? You’ve absconded, you have; you know you’ve absconded in the eyes of the law.”
“Write to Mary, please, sir, and ask her if it wasn’t enough to make me run away.”
“Abscond, my lad, abscond,” said the constable.
“Yes, sir,” I said, with a shiver, “abscond.”
“You didn’t—you didn’t,” he said in a half hesitating way, as he felt and pinched my bundle, and then ran his hand down by my jacket-pocket. “You didn’t—these are all your own things in this, are they?”
“Oh yes, sir!” I said.
“Because some boys when they absconds, makes mistakes, and takes what isn’t theirs.”
“Do they, sir?”
“Yes, my lad, and I’m puzzled about you. You see, it’s my duty to treat you like a runaway ’prentice, and I’m uneasy in my mind about what to do. You see, you did run away.”
“Oh yes, sir, I did run away. I was obliged to. Mr Blakeford wanted me to tell lies.”
“Well, that seems to come easy enough to most people,” he said.
“But I am telling the truth, sir,” I said. “Write down to Rowford, and ask Mary if I’m not telling the truth.”
“Truth! Oh, I know that, my boy,” he said kindly. “Here, give’s your hand. Come along.”
“But you won’t send me back, sir?”
“Send you back? Not I, boy. He’s a blackguard, that Blakeford. I know him, and I only wish he’d do something, and I had him to take up for it. Mary’s told me all about him, and if ever we meets, even if it’s five pounds or a month, I’ll punch his head: that’s what I’ll do for him. Do yer hear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Now, what’s to be done with you?”
I shook my head and looked at him helplessly.
He stood looking at me for a few moments and then went into another room, where there was a policeman sitting at a desk, like a clerk, with a big book before him. I could see him through the other doorway, and they talked for a few minutes; and then Mr Revitts came back, and stood staring at me.
“P’r’aps I’m a fool,” he muttered. “P’r’aps I ain’t. Anyhow, I’ll do it. Look here, youngster, I’m going to trust you, though as you’ve absconded I ought to take you before a magistrate or the inspector, but I won’t, as you’re a friend of my Mary.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
“And if you turn out badly, why, woe betide you.”
“Please, sir, I won’t turn out badly if I can help it; but Mr Blakeford said I was good for nothing.”
“Mr Blakeford be blowed! I wouldn’t ask him for a character for a dorg; and as for Mary, she don’t want his character, and he may keep it. I’ll take her without. I wouldn’t speak to any one like this, youngster; but you know that gal’s got a temper, though she’s that good at heart that—that—”
“She’d nurse you so tenderly if you were ill,” I said enthusiastically, “that you wouldn’t wish to be better.”
He held out his hand and gave mine a long and solemn shake.
“Thankye, youngster,” he said, “thankye for that. You and I will be good friends, I see. Iwilltrust your word, hang me if I don’t. Here, come along.”
“Are you—are you going to take me up, sir?” I faltered, with a shiver of apprehension.
“I’m a-going to give you the door-key where I lodges, my lad. I’m on night duty, and shan’t be home till quarter-past six, so you may have my bed and welcome. Now, look here,” he said, “don’t you go and let anybody fool you. I’m going to show you the end of a long street, and you’ll go right to the top, then turn to the right along the road till you come to the fourth turning, and on the right-hand side, number twenty-seven, is where I lodges. Here’s the key. You puts it in the lock, turns it, shuts the door after you, and then goes gently upstairs to the second-pair back.”
“Second-pair back, sir?” I said dubiously.
“Well there, then, to the back room atop of the house, and there you may sleep till I come. Now then, this way out.”
It was a change that I could not have believed in, and I accompanied the constable wonderingly as he led me out of the police-station and through several dark-looking streets, till he stopped short before a long dim vista, where straight before me two lines of gaslights stretched right away till they seemed to end in a bright point.
“Now, then,” he said, “you can’t make any mistake there.”
“No, sir.”
“Off you go then to the top, and then you’ll find yourself in a big road.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Turn to the right, and then count four streets on the right-hand side. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go down that street about halfway, till you see a gaslight shining on a door with number twenty-seven upon it. Twenty-seven Caroline Street. Now, do you understand? Straight up to the top, and then it’s right, right, right, all the way.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good luck to you then, be off; here’s my sergeant.”
I should have stopped to thank him, but he hurried me away; and half forgetting my weariness, I went along the street, found at last the road at the end, followed it as directed, and then in the street of little houses found one where the light from the lamp shone as my guide had said.
I paused with the key in my hand, half fearing to use it, but summoning up my courage, I found the door opened easily and closed quietly, when I stood in a narrow passage with the stairs before me, and following them to the top, I hesitated, hardly knowing back from front. A deep heavy breathing from one room, however, convinced me that that could not be the back, so I tried the other door, to find it yield, and there was just light enough from the window to enable me to find the bed, on which I threw myself half dressed, and slept soundly till morning, when I opened my eyes to find Mr Revitts taking off his stiff uniform coat.
“Look here, youngster,” he said, throwing himself upon the bed, “I dessay you’re tired, so don’t you get up. Have another nap, and then call me at ten, and we’ll have some breakfast. How—how—” he said, yawning.
“What did you say, sir?”
“How—Mary look?”
“Very well indeed, sir. She has looked much better lately, and—”
I stopped short, for a long-drawn breath from where Mr Revitts had thrown himself upon the bed told me plainly enough that he was asleep.
I was too wakeful now to follow his example, and raising myself softly upon my elbow, I had a good look at my new friend, to see that he did not look so big and burly without his greatcoat, but all the same he was a stoutly built, fine-looking man, with a bluff, honest expression of countenance.
I stayed there for some minutes, thinking about him, and then about Mary, and Mr Blakeford, and Hetty, and I wondered how the lawyer had got on before the magistrates without me. Then, rising as quietly as I could, I washed and finished dressing myself before sitting down to wait patiently for my host’s awakening.
The first hour passed very tediously, for there was nothing to see from the window but chimney-pots, and though it was early I began to feel that I had not breakfasted, and three hours or so was a long time to wait. The room was clean, but shabbily furnished, and as I glanced round offered little in the way of recreation, till my eyes lit on a set of hanging shelves with a few books thereon, and going on tiptoe across the room, I began to read their backs, considering which I should choose.
There was the “Farmer of Inglewood Forest,” close by the “Old English Baron,” with the “Children of the Abbey,” and “Robinson Crusoe.” Side by side with them was a gilt-edged Prayer-book, upon opening which I found that it was the property of “Mr William Revitts, a present from his effectinat friend Mary Bloxam.” On the opposite leaf was the following verse:—
“When this yu see, remember me,And bare me in yure mind;And don’t forget old Ingerland,And the lass yu lef behind.”
“When this yu see, remember me,And bare me in yure mind;And don’t forget old Ingerland,And the lass yu lef behind.”
The Bible on the shelf was from the same source. Besides these were several books in shabby covers—Bogatsky’s “Golden Treasury,” the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and the “Young Man’s Best Companion.”
I stood looking at them for a few minutes, and then reached down poor old “Robinson Crusoe,” bore it to the window, and for the fourth time in my life began its perusal.
In a very short time my past troubles, my precarious future, and my present hunger were all forgotten, and I was far away from the attic in North London, watching the proceedings of Robinson in that wonderful island, having skipped over a good many of the early adventures for the sake of getting as soon as possible into that far-away home of mystery and romance.
The strengthening of his house, the coming of the savages, the intensely interesting occurrences of the story, so enchained me, that I read on and on till I was suddenly startled by the voice of Mr Revitts exclaiming:
“Hallo, you! I say, what’s o’clock?”
Chapter Fourteen.Breakfast with the Law, and what Followed.I let the book fall in a shamefaced way as my host took a great, ugly old silver watch from beneath his pillow, looked at it, shook it, looked at it again, and then exclaimed:“It’s either ’levin o’clock or else she’s been up to her larks. Hush!”He held up his hand, for just then a clock began to strike, and we both counted eleven.“Then she was right for once in a way. Why didn’t you call me at ten?”“I forgot, sir. I was reading,” I faltered; for I felt I had been guilty of a great breach of trust.“And you haven’t had no breakfast,” he said, dressing himself quickly, and then plunging his face into the basin of water, to splash and blow loudly, before having a most vigorous rub with the towel. “Why, you must be as hungry as a hunter,” he continued, as he halted in what was apparently his morning costume of flannel shirt and trousers. “We’ll very soon have it ready, though. Shove the cloth on, youngster; the cups and saucers are in that cupboard, that’s right, look alive.”I hastened to do what he wished, and in a few minutes had spread the table after the fashion observed by Mary at Mr Blakeford’s, while Mr Revitts took a couple of rashers of bacon out of a piece of newspaper on the top of the bookshelf, and some bread and a preserve jar containing butter out of a box under the table. Next he poured some coffee out of a canister into the pot, and having inserted his feet into slippers, he prepared to go out of the room.“Bedroom, with use of the kitchen, for a single gentleman,” he said, winking one eye. “That’s me. Back in five minutes, youngster.”It must have been ten minutes before he returned, with the coffee-pot in one hand and the two rashers of hot sputtering bacon in the other, when in the most friendly spirit he drew a chair to the table, and saying, “Help yourself, youngster,” placed one rasher upon my plate and took the other upon his own.“I say, only to think of my mate coming upon you fast asleep in London,” he said, tearing me off a piece of bread. “Why, if he’d been looking for you, he couldn’t ha’ done it. Don’t be afraid o’ the sugar. There ain’t no milk.”I was very hungry, and I gladly began my breakfast, since it was offered in so sociable a spirit.“Let’s see. How did you say Mary looked?”“Very well indeed, sir,” I replied.“Send me—come, tuck in, my lad, you’re welcome—send me any message?”“She did not know I was coming, sir.”“No, of course not. So you’ve come to London to seek your fortune, eh?”“Yes, sir.”“Where are you going to look for it first?” he said, grinning.“I don’t know, sir,” I said, rather despondently.“More don’t I. Pour me out another cup o’ coffee, my lad, while I cut some more bread and scrape. Only to think o’ my mate meeting you! And so Mary looks well, does she?”“Yes, sir.”“And ain’t very comfortable, eh?”“Oh no, sir! It’s a very uncomfortable place.”“Ah, I shall have to find her a place after all! She might just as well have saidyeslast time, instead of going into a tantrum. I say, come; you ain’t half eating. I shall write and tell her I’ve seen you.”If I was half eating before, I was eating nothing now, for his words suggested discovery, and my being given up to Mr Blakeford: when, seeing my dismay, my host laughed at me.“There, get on with your toke, youngster. If I tell Mary where you are, you don’t suppose she’ll go and tell old Blakeford?”“Oh no, sir! she wouldn’t do that,” I said, taking heart again, and resuming my breakfast.“And I say, youngster, suppose you don’t saysirto me any more. I’m only a policeman, you know. I say, you were a bit scared last night, weren’t you?”“Yes, sir—yes, I mean, I was very much afraid.”“Ah, that’s the majesty of the law, that is! Do you know, I’ve only got to go into a crowd, and just give my head a nod, and they disperse directly. The police have wonderful power in London.”“Have they, sir?”“Wonderful, my lad. We can do anything we like, so long as it’s men. Hundreds of ’em ’ll give way before a half-dozen of us. It’s only when we’ve got to deal with the women that we get beat; and that ain’t no shame, is it?”“No, sir,” I said, though I had not the faintest notion why. “You’re quite right,” he said; “it ain’t no shame. What! Have you done?”“Yes, sir—yes, I mean.”“Won’t you have that other cup of coffee?”“No, thank you.”“Then I will,” he said, suiting the action to the word. “Well, now then, youngster, what are you going to do, eh?”“I’m going to try and find Mr Rowle’s brother, sir, at a great printing-office,” I said, searching my pockets, and at last finding the address given me. “Perhaps he’ll help me to find a situation.”“Ah, p’r’aps so. They do have boys in printing-offices. Now, if you were a bit bigger you might have joined the police, and got to be a sergeant some day. It’s a bad job, but it can’t be helped. You must grow.”“I am growing fast, sir,” I replied.“Ah, I s’pose so. Well, now lookye here. You go and see Mr Rowle, and hear what he says, and then come back to me.”“Come back here?” I said, hesitating.“Unless you’ve got somewhere better to go, my lad. There, don’t you mind coming. You’re an old friend o’ my Mary, and so you’re an old friend o’ mine. So, for a week, or a fortnight, or a month, if you like to bunk down along o’ me till you can get settled, why, you’re welcome; and if a man can say a better word than that, why, tell him how.”“I—I should be very, very grateful if you would give me a night or two’s lodging, sir,” I said, “and—and I’ve got six shillings yet.”“Then don’t you spend more than you can help, youngster. Do you know what’s the cheapest dinner you can get?”“No, sir—no, I mean.”“Penny loaf and a pen’orth o’ cheese. You come back here and have tea along o’ me. I don’t go on duty till night. There, no shuffling,” he said, grinning. “If you don’t come back I’ll write and tell old Blakeford.”I could see that he did not mean it, and soon after I left my bundle there, and started off to try if I could find Mr Rowle’s brother at the great printing-office in Short Street, Fetter Lane.
I let the book fall in a shamefaced way as my host took a great, ugly old silver watch from beneath his pillow, looked at it, shook it, looked at it again, and then exclaimed:
“It’s either ’levin o’clock or else she’s been up to her larks. Hush!”
He held up his hand, for just then a clock began to strike, and we both counted eleven.
“Then she was right for once in a way. Why didn’t you call me at ten?”
“I forgot, sir. I was reading,” I faltered; for I felt I had been guilty of a great breach of trust.
“And you haven’t had no breakfast,” he said, dressing himself quickly, and then plunging his face into the basin of water, to splash and blow loudly, before having a most vigorous rub with the towel. “Why, you must be as hungry as a hunter,” he continued, as he halted in what was apparently his morning costume of flannel shirt and trousers. “We’ll very soon have it ready, though. Shove the cloth on, youngster; the cups and saucers are in that cupboard, that’s right, look alive.”
I hastened to do what he wished, and in a few minutes had spread the table after the fashion observed by Mary at Mr Blakeford’s, while Mr Revitts took a couple of rashers of bacon out of a piece of newspaper on the top of the bookshelf, and some bread and a preserve jar containing butter out of a box under the table. Next he poured some coffee out of a canister into the pot, and having inserted his feet into slippers, he prepared to go out of the room.
“Bedroom, with use of the kitchen, for a single gentleman,” he said, winking one eye. “That’s me. Back in five minutes, youngster.”
It must have been ten minutes before he returned, with the coffee-pot in one hand and the two rashers of hot sputtering bacon in the other, when in the most friendly spirit he drew a chair to the table, and saying, “Help yourself, youngster,” placed one rasher upon my plate and took the other upon his own.
“I say, only to think of my mate coming upon you fast asleep in London,” he said, tearing me off a piece of bread. “Why, if he’d been looking for you, he couldn’t ha’ done it. Don’t be afraid o’ the sugar. There ain’t no milk.”
I was very hungry, and I gladly began my breakfast, since it was offered in so sociable a spirit.
“Let’s see. How did you say Mary looked?”
“Very well indeed, sir,” I replied.
“Send me—come, tuck in, my lad, you’re welcome—send me any message?”
“She did not know I was coming, sir.”
“No, of course not. So you’ve come to London to seek your fortune, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you going to look for it first?” he said, grinning.
“I don’t know, sir,” I said, rather despondently.
“More don’t I. Pour me out another cup o’ coffee, my lad, while I cut some more bread and scrape. Only to think o’ my mate meeting you! And so Mary looks well, does she?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And ain’t very comfortable, eh?”
“Oh no, sir! It’s a very uncomfortable place.”
“Ah, I shall have to find her a place after all! She might just as well have saidyeslast time, instead of going into a tantrum. I say, come; you ain’t half eating. I shall write and tell her I’ve seen you.”
If I was half eating before, I was eating nothing now, for his words suggested discovery, and my being given up to Mr Blakeford: when, seeing my dismay, my host laughed at me.
“There, get on with your toke, youngster. If I tell Mary where you are, you don’t suppose she’ll go and tell old Blakeford?”
“Oh no, sir! she wouldn’t do that,” I said, taking heart again, and resuming my breakfast.
“And I say, youngster, suppose you don’t saysirto me any more. I’m only a policeman, you know. I say, you were a bit scared last night, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir—yes, I mean, I was very much afraid.”
“Ah, that’s the majesty of the law, that is! Do you know, I’ve only got to go into a crowd, and just give my head a nod, and they disperse directly. The police have wonderful power in London.”
“Have they, sir?”
“Wonderful, my lad. We can do anything we like, so long as it’s men. Hundreds of ’em ’ll give way before a half-dozen of us. It’s only when we’ve got to deal with the women that we get beat; and that ain’t no shame, is it?”
“No, sir,” I said, though I had not the faintest notion why. “You’re quite right,” he said; “it ain’t no shame. What! Have you done?”
“Yes, sir—yes, I mean.”
“Won’t you have that other cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then I will,” he said, suiting the action to the word. “Well, now then, youngster, what are you going to do, eh?”
“I’m going to try and find Mr Rowle’s brother, sir, at a great printing-office,” I said, searching my pockets, and at last finding the address given me. “Perhaps he’ll help me to find a situation.”
“Ah, p’r’aps so. They do have boys in printing-offices. Now, if you were a bit bigger you might have joined the police, and got to be a sergeant some day. It’s a bad job, but it can’t be helped. You must grow.”
“I am growing fast, sir,” I replied.
“Ah, I s’pose so. Well, now lookye here. You go and see Mr Rowle, and hear what he says, and then come back to me.”
“Come back here?” I said, hesitating.
“Unless you’ve got somewhere better to go, my lad. There, don’t you mind coming. You’re an old friend o’ my Mary, and so you’re an old friend o’ mine. So, for a week, or a fortnight, or a month, if you like to bunk down along o’ me till you can get settled, why, you’re welcome; and if a man can say a better word than that, why, tell him how.”
“I—I should be very, very grateful if you would give me a night or two’s lodging, sir,” I said, “and—and I’ve got six shillings yet.”
“Then don’t you spend more than you can help, youngster. Do you know what’s the cheapest dinner you can get?”
“No, sir—no, I mean.”
“Penny loaf and a pen’orth o’ cheese. You come back here and have tea along o’ me. I don’t go on duty till night. There, no shuffling,” he said, grinning. “If you don’t come back I’ll write and tell old Blakeford.”
I could see that he did not mean it, and soon after I left my bundle there, and started off to try if I could find Mr Rowle’s brother at the great printing-office in Short Street, Fetter Lane.
Chapter Fifteen.“Boys Wanted.”I went over the address in my own mind to make sure, and also repeated the directions given me by Mr Revitts, so as to make no mistake in going into the City. Then I thought over again Mr Rowle’s remarks about his brother, his name, Jabez, his age, and his being exactly like himself. That would, I thought, make it easy for me to recognise him; and in this spirit I walked on through the busy streets, feeling a good deal confused at being pushed and hustled about so much, while twice I was nearly run over in crossing the roads.At last, after asking, by Mr Revitts’ advice, my way of different policemen when I was at fault, I found myself soon after two in Short Street, Fetter Lane, facing a pile of buildings from the base of which came the hiss and pant of steam, with the whirr, clang, and roar of machinery; while on the doorpost was a bright zinc plate with the legend “Ruddle and Lister, General Printers;” and above that, written on a card in a large legible hand, and tacked against the woodwork, the words “Boys Wanted.”This announcement seemed to take away my breath, and I hesitated for a few minutes before I dared approach the place; but I went up at last, and then, seeing a severe-looking man in a glass box reading a newspaper, I shrank back and walked on a little way, forgetting all about Mr Jabez Rowle in my anxiety to try and obtain a situation by whose means I could earn my living.At last, in a fit of desperation, I went up to the glass case, and the man reading the newspaper let it fall upon his knees and opened a little window.“Now then, what is it?” he said in a gruff voice.“If you please, sir, there’s a notice about boys wanted—”“Down that passage, upstairs, first floor,” said the man gruffly, and banged down the window.I was a little taken aback, but I pushed a swing-door, and went with a beating heart along the passage, on one side of which were rooms fitted up something like Mr Blakeford’s office, and on the other side a great open floor stacked with reams of paper, and with laths all over the ceiling, upon which boys with curious pieces of wood, something like long wooden crutches, were hanging up sheets of paper to dry, while at broad tables by the windows I could see women busily folding more sheets of paper, as if making books.It was but a casual glance I had as I passed on, and then went by a room with the door half open and the floor carpeted inside. There was a pleasant, musical voice speaking, and then there was a burst of laughter, all of which seemed out of keeping in that dingy place, full of the throb of machinery, and the odour of oil and steam.At the end of the passage was the staircase, and going up, I was nearly knocked over by a tall, fat-headed boy, who blundered roughly against me, and then turned round to cry indignantly—“Now, stoopid, where are yer a-coming to?”“Can you tell me, please, where I am to ask about boys being wanted?” I said mildly.“Oh, find out! There ain’t no boys wanted here.”“Not wanted here!” I faltered, with my hopes terribly dashed, for I had been building castles high in the air.“No; be off!” he said roughly, when a new character appeared on the scene in the shape of a business-looking man in a white apron, carrying down an iron frame, and having one hand at liberty, he made use of it to give the big lad a cuff on the ear.“You make haste and fetch up those galleys, Jem Smith;” and the boy went on down three stairs at a time. “What do you want, my man?” he continued, turning to me.“I saw there were boys wanted, sir, and I was going upstairs.”“When that young scoundrel told you a lie. There, go on, and in at that swing-door; the overseer’s office is at the end.”I thanked him, and went on, pausing before a door blackened by dirty hands, and listened for a moment before going in.The hum of machinery sounded distant here, and all within seemed very still, save a faint clicking noise, till suddenly I heard a loud clap-clapping, as if a flat piece of wood were being banged down and then struck with a mallet; and directly after came a hammering, as if some one was driving a wooden peg.There were footsteps below, and I dared not hesitate longer; so, pushing the door, it yielded, and I found myself in a great room, where some forty men in aprons and shirt-sleeves were busy at what at the first glance seemed to be desks full of little compartments, from which they were picking something as they stood, but I was too much confused to notice more than that they took not the slightest notice of me, as I stopped short, wondering where the overseer’s room would be.At one corner I could see an old man at a desk, with a boy standing beside him, both of them shut up in a glass case, as if they were curiosities; in another corner there was a second glass case, in which a fierce-looking man with a shiny bald head and glittering spectacles was gesticulating angrily to one of the men in white aprons, and pointing to a long, narrow slip of paper.I waited for a moment, and then turned to the man nearest to me.“Can you tell me, please, which is the overseer’s office?” I said, cap in hand.“Folio forty-seven—who’s got folio forty-seven?” he said aloud.“Here!” cried a voice close by.“Make even.—Get out; don’t bother me.”I shrank away, confused and perplexed, and a dark, curly-haired man on the other side turned upon me a pair of deeply set stern eyes, as he rattled some little square pieces of lead into something he held in his hand.“What is it, boy?” he said in a deep, low voice.“Can you direct me to the overseer’s office, sir?”“That’s it, boy, where that gentleman in spectacles is talking.”“Wigging old Morgan,” said another man, laughing.“Ah!” said the first speaker, “that’s the place, boy;” and he turned his eyes upon a slip of paper in front of his desk.I said, “Thank you!” and went on along the passage between two rows of the frame desks to where the fierce-looking bald man was still gesticulating, and as I drew near I could hear what he said.“I’ve spoken till I’m tired of speaking; your slips are as foul as a ditch. Confound you, sir, you’re a perfect disgrace to the whole chapel. Do you think your employers keep readers to do nothing else but correct your confounded mistakes? Read your stick, sir—read your stick!”“Very sorry,” grumbled the man, “but it was two o’clock this morning, and I was tired as a dog.”“Don’t talk to me, sir; I don’t care if it was two o’clock, or twelve o’clock, or twenty-four o’clock. I say that slip’s a disgrace to you; and for two pins, sir—for two pins I’d have it framed and stuck up for the men to see. Be off and correct it.—Now, then, what do you want?”This was to me, and I was terribly awe-stricken at the fierce aspect of the speaker, whose forehead was now of a lively pink.“If you please, sir, I saw that you wanted boys, and—”“No; I don’t want boys,” he raved. “I’m sick of the young monkeys; but I’m obliged to have them.”“I am sorry, sir—” I faltered.“Oh yes; of course. Here, stop! where are you going?”“Please, sir, you said you didn’t want any boys.”“You’re very sharp, ain’t you? Now hold your tongue, and then answer what I ask and no more. What are you—a machine boy or reader?”“If you please, sir, I—I don’t know—I thought—I want—”“Confound you; hold your tongue!” he roared. “Where did you work last?”“At—at Mr Blakeford’s,” I faltered, feeling bound to speak the truth.“Blakeford’s! Blakeford’s!—I know no Blakeford’s. At machine?”“No, sir! I wrote all day.”“Wrote? What, wasn’t it a printing-office?”“No, sir.”“How dare you come wasting my time like this, you insolent young scoundrel! Be off! Get out with you! I never knew such insolence in my life.”I shrank away, trembling, and began to retreat down the avenue, this time with the men’s faces towards me, ready to gaze in my red and guilty countenance, for I felt as if I had been guilty of some insult to the majesty of the printing-office. To my great relief, though, the men were too busy to notice me; but I heard one say to another, “Old Brimstone’s hot this morning.” Then I passed on, and saw the dark man looking at me silently from beneath his overhanging brows; and the next moment, heartsick and choking with the effects of this rebuff, the swing-door was thrown open by the fat-headed boy coming in, and as I passed out, unaccustomed to its spring, the boy contrived that it would strike me full in the back, just as if the overseer had given me a rude push to drive me away.I descended the stairs with the spirit for the moment crushed out of me; and with my eyes dim with disappointment, I was passing along the passage, when, as I came to the open door of the carpeted room, a man’s voice exclaimed—“No, no, Miss Carr, you really shall not. We’ll send it on by one of the boys.”“Oh, nonsense, Mr Lister; I can carry it.”“Yes, yes; of course you can, but I shall not let you. Here, boy, come here.”I entered the room nervously, to find myself in presence of a handsome, well-dressed man, another who was stout and elderly, and two young ladies, while upon the table lay a parcel of books, probably the subject of the remark.“Hallo! what boy are you?” said the younger man. “Oh! one of the new ones, I suppose.”“No, sir,” I said, with voice trembling and my face working, for I was unnerved by the treatment I had just received and the dashing of my hopes; “I came to be engaged, but—but the gentleman upstairs turned me away.”“Why?” said the elder man sharply.“Because I had not been in the printing-office, sir.”“Oh, of course!” he said, nodding. “Of course. We want lads accustomed to the trade, my man.”“You should teach him the trade, Mr Ruddle,” said one of the young ladies quickly, and I darted a look of gratitude at her.“Too busy, Miss Carr,” he said, smiling at her. “We don’t keep a printer’s school.”“I’ll teach him,” whispered the young man eagerly, though I heard him; “I’ll teach him anything, if you’ll promise not to be so cruel.”“What a bargain!” she replied, laughing; and she turned away.“I don’t think we need keep you, my lad,” said the young man bitterly.“Indeed!” said the other young lady; “why, I thought he was to carry our parcel of books?”“But he is a strange boy, my dear young ladies,” said the elder man; “I’ll ring for one from the office.”“No; don’t, pray!” said the lady addressed as Miss Carr quickly. “I don’t think we will carry the parcel. You will carry it for us, will you not?”“Oh, yes, indeed I will!” I cried eagerly; and I stepped forward, for there was something very winning in the speakers voice.“Stop a moment, my man,” said the elder gentleman rather sternly, while the younger stood biting his lips; “where do your father and mother live?”Those words made something rise in my throat, and I looked wildly at him, but could not speak.He did not see my face, for he had taken up a pen and drawn a memorandum slip towards him.“Well; why don’t you speak?” he said sharply, and as he raised his eyes I tried, but could not get out a word, only pointed mutely to the shabby band of crape upon my cap.“Ah!”There was a deep sigh close by me, and I saw that the young lady addressed as Miss Carr was deadly pale, and for the first time I noticed that she was in deep mourning.“My dear Miss Carr!” whispered the young man earnestly.“Don’t speak to me for a minute,” she said in the same tone; and then I saw her face working and lip quivering as she gazed wistfully at me.“Poor lad!” said the elder man abruptly. Then, “Your friends, my boy, your relatives?”“I have none, sir,” I said huskily, “only an uncle, and I don’t know for certain where he lives.”“But you don’t mean that you are alone in the world?” said the young man quickly, and he glanced at the lady as he spoke.“Yes, sir,” I said quietly, for I had now recovered myself, “I am quite alone, and I want to get a situation to earn my living.”The elder gentleman turned upon me and seemed to look me through and through.“Now, look here, young fellow,” he said, “you are either a very unfortunate boy or a designing young impostor.”“Mr Ruddle!” exclaimed Miss Carr indignantly; and I saw the young man’s eyes glitter as he gazed at her sweet, sad face, twenty times more attractive now than when she was speaking lightly a minute before.“I don’t want to be harsh, my dear, but here we are obliged to be firm and business-like. Now, boy, answer me; have you been to a good school?”“No, sir,” I said, speaking sharply now, for his use of the word “impostor” stung me; “I was educated at home.”“Humph! where do you come from?”“Rowford, sir.”“Town on a tall hill?”“No, sir,” I said in surprise; “Rowford is quite in a hole; but we lived four miles from Rowford, sir, on the Cawleigh road.”“Then you know Leydon Wood.”“Oh yes, sir! that’s where papa used to take me to collect specimens.”“Humph! Don’t saypapa, my boy. Boys who go into the world to get their living don’t speak of their papas. John Lister!”“Wait a minute, Ruddle,” said the younger man, whose back was towards us; and I saw that he was leaning over Miss Carr and holding her hand. “If you wish it,” he whispered softly, “it shall be done.”“I do wish it,” she said with an earnest look in her large eyes as she gazed kindly at me; and the young man turned round, flushed and excited.I was shrinking away towards the door, pained and troubled, for I felt that I had no business there, when Mr Lister motioned me to stop, and said something to the elder gentleman.He in turn screwed up his face, and gave the younger a comical look.“Your father would not have done so, John Lister,” he said. “What am I to say, Miss Carr?”For answer the young lady rose and went and laid her hands in one of his.“If you please, Mr Ruddle,” she said in a low musical voice, “it will be a kindly act.”“God bless you, my dear,” he said tenderly. “I believe if I were with you long you’d make me as much your slave as you have John Lister.”“Then you will?”“Yes, my dear, yes, if it is really as he says.”She darted an intelligent look at me, and then hastily pulled down her crape veil as Mr Lister followed her to her chair.“Come here, my lad,” said Mr Ruddle, in quiet business-like tones. “We want boys here, but boys used to the printing trade, for it does not answer our purpose to teach them; we have no time. But as you seem a sharp, respectable boy, and pretty well educated, you might, perhaps, be willing to try.”“Oh, if you’ll try me, I’ll strive so hard to learn, sir!” I cried excitedly.“I hope you will, my boy,” he said drily, “but don’t profess too much; and mind this, you are not coming here as a young gentleman, but as a reading-boy—to work.”“Yes, sir. I want to work,” I said earnestly.“That’s well. Now, look here. I want to know a little more about you. If, as you say, you came from near Rowford, you can tell me the names of some of the principal people there?”“Yes, sir; there’s Doctor Heston, and the Reverend James Wyatt, and Mr Elton.”“Exactly,” he said gruffly; and he opened a large book and turned over a number of pages. “Humph! here it is,” he said to himself, and he seemed to check off the names. “Now, look here, my man. What is the name of the principal solicitor at Rowford?”“Mr Blakeford, sir,” I said with a shiver, lest he should want to write to him about me.“Oh, you know him?” he said sharply.“Yes, sir. He managed papa’s—my father’s—affairs,” I said, correcting myself.“Then I’m sorry for your poor father’s affairs,” he said, tightening his lips. “That will do, my lad. You can come to work here. Be honest and industrious, and you’ll get on. Never mind about having been a gentleman, but learn to be a true man. Go and wait outside.”I tried to speak. I wanted to catch his hands in mine. I wanted to fling my arms round Miss Carr, and kiss and bless her for her goodness. I was so weak and sentimental a boy then. But I had to fight it all down, and satisfy myself by casting a grateful glance at her as I went out to wait.I was no listener, but I heard every word that passed as the ladies rose to go.“Are you satisfied, my dear?” said Mr Ruddle.“God bless you?” she said; and I saw her raise her veil and kiss him.“God bless you, my dear!” he said softly. “So this little affair has regularly settled it all, eh? And you are to be John’s wife. Well, well, well, my dear, I’m glad of it, very glad of it. John, my boy, I would my old partner were alive to see your choice; and as for you, my child, you’ve won a good man, and I hope your sister will be as fortunate.”“I hope I shall, Mr Ruddle,” said the other lady softly.“If I were not sixty, and you nineteen, my dear, I’d propose for you myself,” he went on laughingly. “But come, come, I can’t have you giddy girls coming to our works to settle your affairs. There, be off with you, and you dine with us on Tuesday next. The old lady says you are to come early. I’m afraid John Lister here won’t be able to leave the office till twelve o’clock; but we can do without him, eh?”“Don’t you mind what he says, Miriam,” said Mr Lister. “But stop, here’s the parcel. I’ll send it on.”“No, no. Please let that youth carry it for us,” said Miss Carr.“Anything you wish,” he whispered earnestly; and the next moment he was at the door.“You’ll carry this parcel for these ladies,” he said; “and to-morrow morning be here at ten o’clock, and we’ll find you something to do.”“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I said eagerly; and taking the parcel, I followed the ladies into Holborn, and then along Oxford Street to a substantial row of houses near Cavendish Square, where the one I looked upon as my friend paused at a large door and held out her hand to me.“I shall hope to hear from Mr Lister that you have got on well at the office,” she said in her sweet musical voice. “Recollect that you are myprotégé, and I hope you will do me credit. I shall not forget to ask about you. You will try, will you not?”“Oh yes,” I said hoarsely, “so hard—so very hard!”“I believe you will,” she said, taking the parcel from my hand; “and now good-bye.”The next moment I was standing alone upon the pavement, feeling as if a cloudiness had come over the day, while, as I looked down into my hand, it was to see there a bright new sovereign.
I went over the address in my own mind to make sure, and also repeated the directions given me by Mr Revitts, so as to make no mistake in going into the City. Then I thought over again Mr Rowle’s remarks about his brother, his name, Jabez, his age, and his being exactly like himself. That would, I thought, make it easy for me to recognise him; and in this spirit I walked on through the busy streets, feeling a good deal confused at being pushed and hustled about so much, while twice I was nearly run over in crossing the roads.
At last, after asking, by Mr Revitts’ advice, my way of different policemen when I was at fault, I found myself soon after two in Short Street, Fetter Lane, facing a pile of buildings from the base of which came the hiss and pant of steam, with the whirr, clang, and roar of machinery; while on the doorpost was a bright zinc plate with the legend “Ruddle and Lister, General Printers;” and above that, written on a card in a large legible hand, and tacked against the woodwork, the words “Boys Wanted.”
This announcement seemed to take away my breath, and I hesitated for a few minutes before I dared approach the place; but I went up at last, and then, seeing a severe-looking man in a glass box reading a newspaper, I shrank back and walked on a little way, forgetting all about Mr Jabez Rowle in my anxiety to try and obtain a situation by whose means I could earn my living.
At last, in a fit of desperation, I went up to the glass case, and the man reading the newspaper let it fall upon his knees and opened a little window.
“Now then, what is it?” he said in a gruff voice.
“If you please, sir, there’s a notice about boys wanted—”
“Down that passage, upstairs, first floor,” said the man gruffly, and banged down the window.
I was a little taken aback, but I pushed a swing-door, and went with a beating heart along the passage, on one side of which were rooms fitted up something like Mr Blakeford’s office, and on the other side a great open floor stacked with reams of paper, and with laths all over the ceiling, upon which boys with curious pieces of wood, something like long wooden crutches, were hanging up sheets of paper to dry, while at broad tables by the windows I could see women busily folding more sheets of paper, as if making books.
It was but a casual glance I had as I passed on, and then went by a room with the door half open and the floor carpeted inside. There was a pleasant, musical voice speaking, and then there was a burst of laughter, all of which seemed out of keeping in that dingy place, full of the throb of machinery, and the odour of oil and steam.
At the end of the passage was the staircase, and going up, I was nearly knocked over by a tall, fat-headed boy, who blundered roughly against me, and then turned round to cry indignantly—
“Now, stoopid, where are yer a-coming to?”
“Can you tell me, please, where I am to ask about boys being wanted?” I said mildly.
“Oh, find out! There ain’t no boys wanted here.”
“Not wanted here!” I faltered, with my hopes terribly dashed, for I had been building castles high in the air.
“No; be off!” he said roughly, when a new character appeared on the scene in the shape of a business-looking man in a white apron, carrying down an iron frame, and having one hand at liberty, he made use of it to give the big lad a cuff on the ear.
“You make haste and fetch up those galleys, Jem Smith;” and the boy went on down three stairs at a time. “What do you want, my man?” he continued, turning to me.
“I saw there were boys wanted, sir, and I was going upstairs.”
“When that young scoundrel told you a lie. There, go on, and in at that swing-door; the overseer’s office is at the end.”
I thanked him, and went on, pausing before a door blackened by dirty hands, and listened for a moment before going in.
The hum of machinery sounded distant here, and all within seemed very still, save a faint clicking noise, till suddenly I heard a loud clap-clapping, as if a flat piece of wood were being banged down and then struck with a mallet; and directly after came a hammering, as if some one was driving a wooden peg.
There were footsteps below, and I dared not hesitate longer; so, pushing the door, it yielded, and I found myself in a great room, where some forty men in aprons and shirt-sleeves were busy at what at the first glance seemed to be desks full of little compartments, from which they were picking something as they stood, but I was too much confused to notice more than that they took not the slightest notice of me, as I stopped short, wondering where the overseer’s room would be.
At one corner I could see an old man at a desk, with a boy standing beside him, both of them shut up in a glass case, as if they were curiosities; in another corner there was a second glass case, in which a fierce-looking man with a shiny bald head and glittering spectacles was gesticulating angrily to one of the men in white aprons, and pointing to a long, narrow slip of paper.
I waited for a moment, and then turned to the man nearest to me.
“Can you tell me, please, which is the overseer’s office?” I said, cap in hand.
“Folio forty-seven—who’s got folio forty-seven?” he said aloud.
“Here!” cried a voice close by.
“Make even.—Get out; don’t bother me.”
I shrank away, confused and perplexed, and a dark, curly-haired man on the other side turned upon me a pair of deeply set stern eyes, as he rattled some little square pieces of lead into something he held in his hand.
“What is it, boy?” he said in a deep, low voice.
“Can you direct me to the overseer’s office, sir?”
“That’s it, boy, where that gentleman in spectacles is talking.”
“Wigging old Morgan,” said another man, laughing.
“Ah!” said the first speaker, “that’s the place, boy;” and he turned his eyes upon a slip of paper in front of his desk.
I said, “Thank you!” and went on along the passage between two rows of the frame desks to where the fierce-looking bald man was still gesticulating, and as I drew near I could hear what he said.
“I’ve spoken till I’m tired of speaking; your slips are as foul as a ditch. Confound you, sir, you’re a perfect disgrace to the whole chapel. Do you think your employers keep readers to do nothing else but correct your confounded mistakes? Read your stick, sir—read your stick!”
“Very sorry,” grumbled the man, “but it was two o’clock this morning, and I was tired as a dog.”
“Don’t talk to me, sir; I don’t care if it was two o’clock, or twelve o’clock, or twenty-four o’clock. I say that slip’s a disgrace to you; and for two pins, sir—for two pins I’d have it framed and stuck up for the men to see. Be off and correct it.—Now, then, what do you want?”
This was to me, and I was terribly awe-stricken at the fierce aspect of the speaker, whose forehead was now of a lively pink.
“If you please, sir, I saw that you wanted boys, and—”
“No; I don’t want boys,” he raved. “I’m sick of the young monkeys; but I’m obliged to have them.”
“I am sorry, sir—” I faltered.
“Oh yes; of course. Here, stop! where are you going?”
“Please, sir, you said you didn’t want any boys.”
“You’re very sharp, ain’t you? Now hold your tongue, and then answer what I ask and no more. What are you—a machine boy or reader?”
“If you please, sir, I—I don’t know—I thought—I want—”
“Confound you; hold your tongue!” he roared. “Where did you work last?”
“At—at Mr Blakeford’s,” I faltered, feeling bound to speak the truth.
“Blakeford’s! Blakeford’s!—I know no Blakeford’s. At machine?”
“No, sir! I wrote all day.”
“Wrote? What, wasn’t it a printing-office?”
“No, sir.”
“How dare you come wasting my time like this, you insolent young scoundrel! Be off! Get out with you! I never knew such insolence in my life.”
I shrank away, trembling, and began to retreat down the avenue, this time with the men’s faces towards me, ready to gaze in my red and guilty countenance, for I felt as if I had been guilty of some insult to the majesty of the printing-office. To my great relief, though, the men were too busy to notice me; but I heard one say to another, “Old Brimstone’s hot this morning.” Then I passed on, and saw the dark man looking at me silently from beneath his overhanging brows; and the next moment, heartsick and choking with the effects of this rebuff, the swing-door was thrown open by the fat-headed boy coming in, and as I passed out, unaccustomed to its spring, the boy contrived that it would strike me full in the back, just as if the overseer had given me a rude push to drive me away.
I descended the stairs with the spirit for the moment crushed out of me; and with my eyes dim with disappointment, I was passing along the passage, when, as I came to the open door of the carpeted room, a man’s voice exclaimed—
“No, no, Miss Carr, you really shall not. We’ll send it on by one of the boys.”
“Oh, nonsense, Mr Lister; I can carry it.”
“Yes, yes; of course you can, but I shall not let you. Here, boy, come here.”
I entered the room nervously, to find myself in presence of a handsome, well-dressed man, another who was stout and elderly, and two young ladies, while upon the table lay a parcel of books, probably the subject of the remark.
“Hallo! what boy are you?” said the younger man. “Oh! one of the new ones, I suppose.”
“No, sir,” I said, with voice trembling and my face working, for I was unnerved by the treatment I had just received and the dashing of my hopes; “I came to be engaged, but—but the gentleman upstairs turned me away.”
“Why?” said the elder man sharply.
“Because I had not been in the printing-office, sir.”
“Oh, of course!” he said, nodding. “Of course. We want lads accustomed to the trade, my man.”
“You should teach him the trade, Mr Ruddle,” said one of the young ladies quickly, and I darted a look of gratitude at her.
“Too busy, Miss Carr,” he said, smiling at her. “We don’t keep a printer’s school.”
“I’ll teach him,” whispered the young man eagerly, though I heard him; “I’ll teach him anything, if you’ll promise not to be so cruel.”
“What a bargain!” she replied, laughing; and she turned away.
“I don’t think we need keep you, my lad,” said the young man bitterly.
“Indeed!” said the other young lady; “why, I thought he was to carry our parcel of books?”
“But he is a strange boy, my dear young ladies,” said the elder man; “I’ll ring for one from the office.”
“No; don’t, pray!” said the lady addressed as Miss Carr quickly. “I don’t think we will carry the parcel. You will carry it for us, will you not?”
“Oh, yes, indeed I will!” I cried eagerly; and I stepped forward, for there was something very winning in the speakers voice.
“Stop a moment, my man,” said the elder gentleman rather sternly, while the younger stood biting his lips; “where do your father and mother live?”
Those words made something rise in my throat, and I looked wildly at him, but could not speak.
He did not see my face, for he had taken up a pen and drawn a memorandum slip towards him.
“Well; why don’t you speak?” he said sharply, and as he raised his eyes I tried, but could not get out a word, only pointed mutely to the shabby band of crape upon my cap.
“Ah!”
There was a deep sigh close by me, and I saw that the young lady addressed as Miss Carr was deadly pale, and for the first time I noticed that she was in deep mourning.
“My dear Miss Carr!” whispered the young man earnestly.
“Don’t speak to me for a minute,” she said in the same tone; and then I saw her face working and lip quivering as she gazed wistfully at me.
“Poor lad!” said the elder man abruptly. Then, “Your friends, my boy, your relatives?”
“I have none, sir,” I said huskily, “only an uncle, and I don’t know for certain where he lives.”
“But you don’t mean that you are alone in the world?” said the young man quickly, and he glanced at the lady as he spoke.
“Yes, sir,” I said quietly, for I had now recovered myself, “I am quite alone, and I want to get a situation to earn my living.”
The elder gentleman turned upon me and seemed to look me through and through.
“Now, look here, young fellow,” he said, “you are either a very unfortunate boy or a designing young impostor.”
“Mr Ruddle!” exclaimed Miss Carr indignantly; and I saw the young man’s eyes glitter as he gazed at her sweet, sad face, twenty times more attractive now than when she was speaking lightly a minute before.
“I don’t want to be harsh, my dear, but here we are obliged to be firm and business-like. Now, boy, answer me; have you been to a good school?”
“No, sir,” I said, speaking sharply now, for his use of the word “impostor” stung me; “I was educated at home.”
“Humph! where do you come from?”
“Rowford, sir.”
“Town on a tall hill?”
“No, sir,” I said in surprise; “Rowford is quite in a hole; but we lived four miles from Rowford, sir, on the Cawleigh road.”
“Then you know Leydon Wood.”
“Oh yes, sir! that’s where papa used to take me to collect specimens.”
“Humph! Don’t saypapa, my boy. Boys who go into the world to get their living don’t speak of their papas. John Lister!”
“Wait a minute, Ruddle,” said the younger man, whose back was towards us; and I saw that he was leaning over Miss Carr and holding her hand. “If you wish it,” he whispered softly, “it shall be done.”
“I do wish it,” she said with an earnest look in her large eyes as she gazed kindly at me; and the young man turned round, flushed and excited.
I was shrinking away towards the door, pained and troubled, for I felt that I had no business there, when Mr Lister motioned me to stop, and said something to the elder gentleman.
He in turn screwed up his face, and gave the younger a comical look.
“Your father would not have done so, John Lister,” he said. “What am I to say, Miss Carr?”
For answer the young lady rose and went and laid her hands in one of his.
“If you please, Mr Ruddle,” she said in a low musical voice, “it will be a kindly act.”
“God bless you, my dear,” he said tenderly. “I believe if I were with you long you’d make me as much your slave as you have John Lister.”
“Then you will?”
“Yes, my dear, yes, if it is really as he says.”
She darted an intelligent look at me, and then hastily pulled down her crape veil as Mr Lister followed her to her chair.
“Come here, my lad,” said Mr Ruddle, in quiet business-like tones. “We want boys here, but boys used to the printing trade, for it does not answer our purpose to teach them; we have no time. But as you seem a sharp, respectable boy, and pretty well educated, you might, perhaps, be willing to try.”
“Oh, if you’ll try me, I’ll strive so hard to learn, sir!” I cried excitedly.
“I hope you will, my boy,” he said drily, “but don’t profess too much; and mind this, you are not coming here as a young gentleman, but as a reading-boy—to work.”
“Yes, sir. I want to work,” I said earnestly.
“That’s well. Now, look here. I want to know a little more about you. If, as you say, you came from near Rowford, you can tell me the names of some of the principal people there?”
“Yes, sir; there’s Doctor Heston, and the Reverend James Wyatt, and Mr Elton.”
“Exactly,” he said gruffly; and he opened a large book and turned over a number of pages. “Humph! here it is,” he said to himself, and he seemed to check off the names. “Now, look here, my man. What is the name of the principal solicitor at Rowford?”
“Mr Blakeford, sir,” I said with a shiver, lest he should want to write to him about me.
“Oh, you know him?” he said sharply.
“Yes, sir. He managed papa’s—my father’s—affairs,” I said, correcting myself.
“Then I’m sorry for your poor father’s affairs,” he said, tightening his lips. “That will do, my lad. You can come to work here. Be honest and industrious, and you’ll get on. Never mind about having been a gentleman, but learn to be a true man. Go and wait outside.”
I tried to speak. I wanted to catch his hands in mine. I wanted to fling my arms round Miss Carr, and kiss and bless her for her goodness. I was so weak and sentimental a boy then. But I had to fight it all down, and satisfy myself by casting a grateful glance at her as I went out to wait.
I was no listener, but I heard every word that passed as the ladies rose to go.
“Are you satisfied, my dear?” said Mr Ruddle.
“God bless you?” she said; and I saw her raise her veil and kiss him.
“God bless you, my dear!” he said softly. “So this little affair has regularly settled it all, eh? And you are to be John’s wife. Well, well, well, my dear, I’m glad of it, very glad of it. John, my boy, I would my old partner were alive to see your choice; and as for you, my child, you’ve won a good man, and I hope your sister will be as fortunate.”
“I hope I shall, Mr Ruddle,” said the other lady softly.
“If I were not sixty, and you nineteen, my dear, I’d propose for you myself,” he went on laughingly. “But come, come, I can’t have you giddy girls coming to our works to settle your affairs. There, be off with you, and you dine with us on Tuesday next. The old lady says you are to come early. I’m afraid John Lister here won’t be able to leave the office till twelve o’clock; but we can do without him, eh?”
“Don’t you mind what he says, Miriam,” said Mr Lister. “But stop, here’s the parcel. I’ll send it on.”
“No, no. Please let that youth carry it for us,” said Miss Carr.
“Anything you wish,” he whispered earnestly; and the next moment he was at the door.
“You’ll carry this parcel for these ladies,” he said; “and to-morrow morning be here at ten o’clock, and we’ll find you something to do.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I said eagerly; and taking the parcel, I followed the ladies into Holborn, and then along Oxford Street to a substantial row of houses near Cavendish Square, where the one I looked upon as my friend paused at a large door and held out her hand to me.
“I shall hope to hear from Mr Lister that you have got on well at the office,” she said in her sweet musical voice. “Recollect that you are myprotégé, and I hope you will do me credit. I shall not forget to ask about you. You will try, will you not?”
“Oh yes,” I said hoarsely, “so hard—so very hard!”
“I believe you will,” she said, taking the parcel from my hand; “and now good-bye.”
The next moment I was standing alone upon the pavement, feeling as if a cloudiness had come over the day, while, as I looked down into my hand, it was to see there a bright new sovereign.