“What am I to do?”
A difficult question indeed, for a boy of fifteen, with but twenty-five
pounds, and without a friend in the world. Was he, indeed, without a
friend? he asked himself. There was Dr. Parker. Should he apply to him?
But the doctor had started for a trip on the Continent the day after
the school had broken up, and would not return for six weeks. It was
possible that, had he been at home, he might have offered to keep Frank
for a while; but the boys seldom stayed at his school past the age
of fifteen, going elsewhere to have their education completed. What
possible claim had he to quarter himself upon the doctor for the next
four years, even were the offer made? No, Frank felt; he could not live
upon the doctor's charity. Then there were the parents of the boys he
had saved from drowning. But even as he sat alone Frank's face flushed
at the thought of trading upon services so rendered. The boy's chief
fault was pride. It was no petty feeling, and he had felt no shame at
being poorer than the rest of his schoolfellows. It was rather a pride
which led him unduly to rely upon himself, and to shrink from accepting
favors from any one. Frank might well, without any derogation, have
written to his friends, telling them of the loss he had suffered and the
necessity there was for him to earn his living, and asking them to beg
their fathers to use their interest to procure him a situation as a boy
clerk, or any other position in which he could earn his livelihood.
Frank, however, shrunk from making any such appeal, and determined
to fight his battle without asking for help. He knew nothing of his
parents' relations. His father was an only son, who had been left early
an orphan. His mother, too, had, he was aware, lost both her parents,
and he had never heard her speak of other relations. There was no one,
therefore, so far as he knew, to whom he could appeal on the ground of
ties of blood. It must be said for him that he had no idea how hard was
the task which he was undertaking. It seemed to him that it must be easy
for a strong, active lad to find employment of some sort in London. What
the employment might be he cared little for. He had no pride of that
kind, and so that he could earn his bread he cared not much in what
capacity he might do it.
Already preparations had been made for the sale of the furniture,
which was to take place next day. Everything was to be sold except the
scientific books which had belonged to his father. These had been packed
in a great box until the time when he might place them in a library of
his own, and the doctor kindly offered to keep it for him until such
time should arrive. Frank wrote a long letter to Ruthven, telling him of
his loss, and his reasons for leaving Deal, and promising to write some
day and tell him how he was getting on in London. This letter he did
not intend to post until the last thing before leaving Deal. Lucy had
already gone to her new home, and Frank felt confident that she would be
happy there. His friend, the doctor, who had tried strongly, but without
avail, to dissuade Frank from going up to London to seek his fortune
there, had promised that if the lad referred any inquiries to him he
would answer for his character.
He went down to the beach the last evening and said goodbye to his
friends among the fishermen, and he walked over in the afternoon and
took his last meal with Farmer Gregson.
“Look ye here, my lad,” the farmer said as they parted. “I tell ye, from
what I've heerd, this London be a hard nut to crack. There be plenty of
kernel, no doubt, when you can get at it, but it be hard work to open
the shell. Now, if so be as at any time you run short of money, just
drop me a line, and there's ten pound at your service whenever you like.
Don't you think it's an obligation. Quite the other way. It would be a
real pleasure to me to lend you a helping hand.”
Two days after the sale Frank started for London. On getting out of the
train he felt strange and lonely amid the bustle and confusion which was
going on on the platform. The doctor had advised him to ask one of
the porters, or a policeman, if he could recommend him to a quiet and
respectable lodging, as expenses at an hotel would soon make a deep
hole in his money. He, therefore, as soon as the crowd cleared away,
addressed himself to one of the porters.
“What sort of lodgings do you want, sir?” the man said, looking at him
rather suspiciously, with, as Frank saw, a strong idea in his mind that
he was a runaway schoolboy.
“I only want one room,” he said, “and I don't care how small it is, so
that it is clean and quiet. I shall be out all day, and should not give
much trouble.”
The porter went away and spoke to some of his mates, and presently
returned with one of them.
“You're wanting a room I hear, sir,” the man said. “I have a little
house down the Old Kent Road, and my missus lets a room or two. It's
quiet and clean, I'll warrant you. We have one room vacant at present.”
“I'm sure that would suit me very well,” Frank said. “How much do you
charge a week?”
“Three and sixpence, sir, if you don't want any cooking done.”
Frank took the address, and leaving his portmanteau in charge of the
porter, who promised, unless he heard to the contrary, that he would
bring it home with him when he had done his work, he set off from the
station.
Deal is one of the quietest and most dreary places on the coast of
England, and Frank was perfectly astounded at the crowd and bustle which
filled the street, when he issued from the railway approach, at the foot
of London Bridge. The porter had told him that he was to turn to
his left, and keep straight along until he reached the “Elephant and
Castle.” He had, therefore, no trouble about his road, and was able to
give his whole attention to the sights which met his eye. For a time
the stream of omnibuses, cabs, heavy wagons, and light carts, completely
bewildered him, as did the throng of people who hastened along the
footway. He was depressed rather than exhilarated at the sight of this
busy multitude. He seemed such a solitary atom in the midst of this
great moving crowd. Presently, however, the thought that where so
many millions gained their living there must be room for one boy more,
somewhat cheered him. He was a long time making his way to his place of
destination, for he stared into every shop window, and being, although
he was perfectly ignorant of the fact, on the wrong side of the
pavement, he was bumped and bustled continually, and was not long
in arriving at the conclusion that the people of London must be the
roughest and rudest in the world. It was not until he ran against a
gentleman, and was greeted with the angry, “now then, boy. Where are you
going? Why the deuce don't you keep on your own side of the pavement?”
that he perceived that the moving throng was divided into two currents,
that on the inside meeting him, while the outside stream was proceeding
in the same direction as himself. After this he got on better, and
arrived without adventure at the house of the porter, in the Old Kent
Road.
It was a small house, but was clean and respectable, and Frank found
that the room would suit him well.
“I do not wait upon the lodgers,” the landlady said, “except to make the
beds and tidy the rooms in the morning. So if you want breakfast and tea
at home you will have to get them yourself. There is a separate place
downstairs for your coals. There are some tea things, plates and
dishes, in this cupboard. You will want to buy a small tea kettle, and a
gridiron, and a frying pan, in case you want a chop or a rasher. Do you
think you can cook them yourself?”
“Frank, amused at the thought of cooking and catering for himself, said
boldly that he should soon learn.
“You are a very young gentleman,” the landlady said, eyeing him
doubtfully, “to be setting up on your own hook. I mean,” she said,
seeing Frank look puzzled, “setting up housekeeping on your own account.
You will have to be particular careful with the frying pan, because
if you were to upset the fat in the fire you might have the house in a
blaze in a jiffey.”
Frank said that he would certainly be careful with the frying pan.
“Well,” she went on, “as you're a stranger to the place I don't know
as you could do better than get your tea, and sugar, and things at the
grocer's at the next corner. I deals there myself, and he gives every
satisfaction. My baker will be round in a few minutes, and, if you
likes, I can take in your bread for you. The same with milk.”
These matters being arranged, and Frank agreeing at once to the
proposition that as he was a stranger it would make things more
comfortable were he to pay his rent in advance, found himself alone in
his new apartment. It was a room about ten feet square. The bed occupied
one corner, with the washstand at its foot. There was a small table in
front of the fireplace, and two chairs; a piece of carpet half covered
the floor, and these with the addition of the articles in the cupboard
constituted the furniture of the room. Feeling hungry after his journey
Frank resolved to go out at once and get something to eat, and then
to lay in a stock of provisions. After some hesitation regarding the
character of the meal he decided upon two Bath buns, determining to make
a substantial tea. He laid in a supply of tea, sugar, butter, and salt,
bought a little kettle, a frying pan, and a gridiron. Then he hesitated
as to whether he should venture upon a mutton chop or some bacon,
deciding finally in favor of the latter, upon the reflection that any
fellow could see whether bacon were properly frizzled up, while as to
a chop there was no seeing anything about it till one cut it. He,
therefore, invested in a pound of prime streaky Wiltshire bacon,
the very best, as the shopman informed him, that could be bought. He
returned carrying all his purchases, with the exception of the hardware.
Then he inquired of his landlady where he could get coal.
“The green grocer's round the corner,” the landlady said. “Tell him to
send in a hundredweight of the best, that's a shilling, and you'll want
some firewood too.”
The coal arrived in the course of the afternoon, and at half past six
the porter came in with Frank's trunk. He had by this time lit a fire,
and while the water was boiling got some of his things out of the box,
and by hanging some clothes on the pegs on the back of the door, and by
putting the two or three favorite books he had brought with him on to
the mantelpiece, he gave the room a more homelike appearance. He enjoyed
his tea all the more from the novelty of having to prepare it himself,
and succeeded very fairly for a first attempt with his bacon.
When tea was over he first washed up the things and then started for a
ramble. He followed the broad straight road to Waterloo Bridge, stood
for a long time looking at the river, and then crossed into the Strand.
The lamps were now alight and the brightness and bustle of the scene
greatly interested him. At nine o'clock he returned to his lodgings, but
was again obliged to sally out, as he found he had forgotten candles.
After breakfast next morning he went out and bought a newspaper, and set
himself to work to study the advertisements. He was dismayed to find how
many more applicants there were for places than places requiring to be
filled. All the persons advertising were older than himself, and seemed
to possess various accomplishments in the way of languages; many too
could be strongly recommended from their last situation. The prospect
did not look hopeful. In the first place he had looked to see if any
required boy clerks, but this species of assistant appeared little in
demand; and then, although he hoped that it would not come to that, he
ran his eye down the columns to see if any required errand boys or lads
in manufacturing businesses. He found, however, no such advertisements.
However, as he said to himself, it could not be expected that he should
find a place waiting for him on the very day after his arrival, and that
he ought to be able to live for a year on his five and twenty pounds; at
this reflection his spirits rose and he went out again for a walk.
For the first week, indeed, of his arrival in London Frank did not set
himself very earnestly to work to look for a situation. In his walks
about the streets he several times observed cards in the window
indicating that an errand boy was wanted. He resolved, however, that
this should be the last resource which he would adopt, as he would much
prefer to go to work as a common lad in a factory to serving in a shop.
After the first week he answered many advertisements, but in no case
received a reply. In one case, in which it was stated that a lad who
could write a good fast hand was required in an office, wages to begin
with eight shillings a week, he called two days after writing. It was
a small office with a solitary clerk sitting in it. The latter, upon
learning Frank's business, replied with some exasperation that his mind
was being worried out by boys.
“We have had four hundred and thirty letters,” he said; “and I should
think that a hundred boys must have called. We took the first who
applied, and all the other letters were chucked into the fire as soon as
we saw what they were about.”
Frank returned to the street greatly disheartened.
“Four hundred and thirty letters!” he said. “Four hundred and thirty
other fellows on the lookout, just as I am, for a place as a boy clerk,
and lots of them, no doubt, with friends and relations to recommend
them! The lookout seems to be a bad one.”
Two days later, when Frank was walking along the strand he noticed the
placards in front of a theater.
“Gallery one shilling!” he said to himself; “I will go. I have never
seen a theater yet.”
The play was The Merchant of Venice, and Frank sat in rapt attention
and interest through it. When the performance was over he walked briskly
homewards. When he had proceeded some distance he saw a glare in the sky
ahead, and presently a steam engine dashed past him at full speed.
“That must be a house on fire,” he said. “I have never seen a fire;” and
he broke into a run.
Others were running in the same direction, and as he passed the
“Elephant and Castle” the crowd became thicker, and when within fifty
yards of the house he could no longer advance. He could see the flames
now rising high in the air. A horrible fear seized him.
“It must be,” he exclaimed to himself, “either our house or the one next
door.”
It was in vain that he pressed forward to see more nearly. A line of
policemen was drawn up across the road to keep a large space clear for
the firemen. Behind the policemen the crowd were thickly packed. Frank
inquired of many who stood near him if they could tell him the number of
the house which was on fire; but none could inform him.
Presently the flames began to die away, and the crowd to disperse. At
length Frank reached the first line of spectators.
“Can you tell me the number of the houses which are burned?” Frank said
to a policeman.
“There are two of them,” the policeman said “a hundred and four and a
hundred and five. A hundred and four caught first, and they say that a
woman and two children have been burned to death.”
“That is where I live!” Frank cried. “Oh, please let me pass!”
“I'll pass you in,” the policeman said good naturedly, and he led him
forward to the spot where the engines were playing upon the burning
houses. “Is it true, mate,” he asked a fireman, “that a woman and two
children have been burned?”
“It's true enough,” the fireman said. “The landlady and her children.
Her husband was a porter at the railway station, and had been detained
on overtime. He only came back a quarter of an hour ago, and he's been
going on like a madman;” and he pointed to the porter, who was sitting
down on the doorsteps of a house facing his own, with his face hidden in
his hands.
Frank went and sat down beside him.
“My poor fellow,” he said, “I am sorry for you.”
Frank had had many chats with his landlord of an evening, and had become
quite friendly with him and his wife.
“I can't believe it,” the man said huskily. “Just to think! When I went
out this morning there was Jane and the kids, as well and as happy as
ever, and there, where are they now?”
“Happier still,” Frank said gently. “I lost my mother just as suddenly
only five weeks ago. I went out for a walk, leaving her as well as
usual, and when I came back she was dead; so I can feel for you with all
my heart.”
“I would have given my life for them,” the man said, wiping his eyes,
“willing.”
“I'm sure you would,” Frank answered.
“There's the home gone,” the man said, “with all the things that it took
ten years' savings of Jane and me to buy; not that that matters one way
or the other now. And your traps are gone, too, I suppose, sir.”
“Yes,” Frank replied quietly, “I have lost my clothes and twenty-three
pounds in money; every penny I've got in the world except half a crown
in my pocket.”
“And you don't say nothing about it!” the man said, roused into
animation. “But, there, perhaps you've friends as will make it up to
you.”
“I have no one in the world,” Frank answered, “whom I could ask to give
me a helping hand.”
“Well, you are a plucky chap,” the man said. “That would be a knock down
blow to a man, let alone a boy like you. What are you going to do now?”
he asked, forgetting for the moment his own loss, in his interest in his
companion.
“I don't know,” Frank replied. “Perhaps,” he added, seeing that the
interest in his condition roused the poor fellow from the thought of
his own deep sorrow, “you might give me some advice. I was thinking of
getting a place in an office, but of course I must give that up now, and
should be thankful to get anything by which I can earn my bread.”
“You come along with me,” the man said rising. “You've done me a heap of
good. It's no use sitting here. I shall go back to the station, and turn
in on some sacks. If you've nothing better to do, and nowhere to go to,
you come along with me. We will talk it all over.”
Pleased to have some one to talk to, and glad that he should not have to
look for a place to sleep, Frank accompanied the porter to the station.
With a word or two to the nightmen on duty, the porter led the way to a
shed near the station, where a number of sacks were heaped in a corner.
“Now,” the man said, “I will light a pipe. It's against the regulations,
but that's neither here nor there now. Now, if you're not sleepy, would
you mind talking to me? Tell me something about yourself, and how you
come to be alone here in London. It does me good to talk. It prevents me
from thinking.”
“There is very little to tell,” Frank said; and he related to him the
circumstances of the deaths of his father and mother, and how it came
that he was alone in London in search of a place.
“You're in a fix,” the porter said.
“Yes, I can see that.”
“You see you're young for most work, and you never had no practice
with horses, or you might have got a place to drive a light cart. Then,
again, your knowing nothing of London is against you as an errand boy;
and what's worse than all this, anyone can see with half an eye that
you're a gentleman, and not accustomed to hard work. However, we will
think it over. The daylight's breaking now, and I has to be at work at
six. But look ye here, young fellow, tomorrow I've got to look for a
room, and when I gets it there's half of it for you, if you're not too
proud to accept it. It will be doing me a real kindness, I can tell you,
for what I am to do alone of an evening without Jane and the kids, God
knows. I can't believe they're gone yet.”
Then the man threw himself down upon the sacks, and broke into sobs.
Frank listened for half an hour till these gradually died away, and he
knew by the regular breathing that his companion was asleep. It was long
after this before he himself closed his eyes. The position did, indeed,
appear a dark one. Thanks to the offer of his companion, which he at
once resolved to accept for a time, he would have a roof to sleep under.
But this could not last; and what was he to do? Perhaps he had been
wrong in not writing at once to Ruthven and his schoolfellows. He even
felt sure he had been wrong; but it would be ten times as hard to write
now. He would rather starve than do this. How was he to earn his living?
He would, he determined, at any rate try for a few days to procure a
place as an errand boy. If that failed, he would sell his clothes, and
get a rough working suit. He was sure that he should have more chance of
obtaining work in such a dress than in his present attire.
Musing thus, Frank at last dropped off to sleep. When he woke he found
himself alone, his companion having left without disturbing him. From
the noises around him of trains coming in and out, Frank judged that the
hour was late.
“I have done one wise thing,” he said, “anyhow, and as far as I can
see it's the only one, in leaving my watch with the doctor to keep. He
pointed out that I might have it stolen if I carried it, and that there
was no use in keeping it shut up in a box. Very possibly it might be
stolen by the dishonesty of a servant. That's safe anyhow, and it is my
only worldly possession, except the books, and I would rather go into
the workhouse than part with either of them.”
Rising, he made his way into the station, where he found the porter at
his usual work.
“I would not wake you,” the man said; “you were sleeping so quiet, and I
knew 'twas no use your getting up early. I shall go out and settle for
a room at dinner time. If you will come here at six o'clock we'll go
off together. The mates have all been very kind, and have been making a
collection to bury my poor girl and the kids. They've found 'em, and the
inquest is tomorrow, so I shall be off work. The governor has offered
me a week; but there, I'd rather be here where there's no time for
thinking, than hanging about with nothing to do but to drink.”