"Don't know you--are you in the trade?"
"No, I've just left school."
"What do you know about books?"
"I love them," replied the candidate simply.
The bookseller's face lit up and shot a glow of hope into the boy's
heart.
"You love them. I like that. But take my advice, young fellow, and if
you love books, don't turn bookseller."
Jeffreys' face fell.
"I'm not afraid of getting to hate them," said he.
The man beamed again.
"What's your name, my lad?"
"John Jeffreys."
"And you've just left school? What school?"
Alas! poor Jeffreys! It cost him a struggle to utter the name.
"Bolsover."
"Bolsover, eh? Do you know Latin?"
"Yes--and Greek," replied the candidate.
The bookseller took up a book that lay on the table. It was an old and
valuable edition of Pliny's _Epistles_.
"Read us some of that."
Jeffreys was able fairly well to accomplish the task, greatly to the
delight of the old bookseller.
"Capital! You're the first chap I ever had who could read Pliny off."
Jeffreys' face lit up. The man spoke as if the thing was settled.
"How will fifteen shillings a week and your meals suit you?" said he.
"Perfectly!" replied the candidate.
"Hum! you've got a character, of course?"
Poor Jeffreys' face fell.
"Do you mean testimonials?"
"No. You can refer to some one who knows you--your old schoolmaster,
for instance."
"I'm afraid not," faltered the boy.
The man looked perplexed.
"Couldn't get a character from him--why not?"
"Because I ran away from school."
"Oh, oh! Did they ill-treat you, then, or starve you? Come; better
tell the truth."
"No--it wasn't that. It was because--" Jeffreys gave one longing look
at the shelves of beloved books, and an appealing glance at his
questioner--"It was because I--nearly killed a boy."
The man whistled and looked askance at his visitor.
"By accident?"
"Partly. Partly not. But I assure you--"
"That will do," said the man; "that's quite enough. Be off!"
Jeffreys departed without another word. Like Tantalus, the tempting
fruit had been within reach, and his evil destiny had come in to dash it
from his lips. Was it wonderful if he felt disposed to give it up and
in sheer desperation go back to Bolsover?
The whole of the remainder of that day was spent in spiritless wandering
about the streets. Once he made another attempt to obtain work, this
time at a merchant's office. But again the inconvenient question of
character was raised, and he was compelled to denounce himself. This
time his confession was even more unfeelingly received than at the
bookseller's.
"How dare you come here, you scoundrel?" exclaimed the merchant in a
rage.
"Don't call me a scoundrel!" retorted Jeffreys, his temper suddenly
breaking out.
"I'll call a policeman if you are not out of here in half a minute.
Here, you boys," added he, calling his six or eight clerks, "turn this
wretch out of the place. Do you hear?"
Jeffreys spared them the trouble and stepped into the street, determined
to die before he laid himself open to such an indignity again.
His last night's experience at a common lodging-house did not tempt him
to seek shelter again now, and as it was a fine mild night even at that
time of year he trudged out of York into one of the suburbs, where at
least everything was clean and quiet. He had the good fortune in a
country lane to come across a wagon laid up by the roadside, just inside
a field--a lodging far more tempting than that offered by Mr Josephs,
and considerably cheaper. The fatigues and troubles of the day operated
like a feather-bed for the worn-out and dispirited outcast, and he slept
soundly, dreaming of Forrester, and the bookshop, and the dog Julius.
Next morning the weary search began again. Jeffreys, as he trudged back
to the city, felt that he was embarked on a forlorn hope. Yet a man
must live, and a sovereign cannot last for ever. He passed a railway
embankment where a gang of navvies were hard at work. As he watched
them he felt half envious. They had work to do, they had homes to
return to at night, they had characters, perhaps. Most of them were big
strong fellows like himself. Why should he not become one of them? He
fancied he could wheel a barrow, and ply a crowbar, and dig with a
spade, as well as any of them; he was not afraid of hard work any more
than they were, and the wages that kept a roof over their heads would
surely keep a roof over his.
As he sat on a bank by the roadside and watched them, he had almost
resolved to walk across to the foreman and ask for a job, when the sound
of voices close to him arrested him.
They were boys' voices, and their talk evidently referred to himself,
"Come along, Teddy," said one. "He won't hurt."
"I'm afraid," said the other. "He's so ugly."
"Perhaps that's how he gets his living--scaring the crows," said the
first speaker.
"He looks as if he meant to kill us."
"I shall fight him if he tries."
Jeffreys looked round and had a view of the valiant speaker and his
companion.
They were two neatly dressed little fellows, hand-in-hand, and evidently
brothers. The younger--he who considered his life in danger--was about
eight, his intrepid brother being apparently about a year his senior.
They had little satchels over their shoulders, and parti-coloured
cricket caps on their little curly heads. Their faces were bright and
shining, the knees of their stockings were elaborately darned, the
little hands were unmistakably ink-stained, and their pockets were
bulged out almost to bursting.
Such was the apparition which confronted the Bolsover "cad" as he sat
slowly making up his mind to become a labourer.
The younger brother drew back and began to cry, as soon as he perceived
that the terrible villain on the bank had turned and was regarding them.
"Freddy, Freddy, run!" he cried.
"I shan't," said Freddy with a big heave of his chest. "I'm not
afraid." The fluttering heart beneath that manly bosom belied the
words, as Freddy, dragging his brother by the hand, walked forward.
Jeffreys did not exactly know what to do. Were he to rise and approach
the little couple the consequences might be disastrous. Were he to
remain where he was or skulk away, he would be allowing them to believe
him the ruffian they thought him, and that lane would become a daily
terror to their little lives. The only thing was to endeavour to make
friends.
"What are you afraid of?" said he, in as gentle a manner as he could.
"I won't hurt you."
The sound of his voice caused the smaller boy to scream outright, and
even the elder trembled a little as he kept himself full front to the
enemy.
"You little donkeys, I'm a schoolboy myself," said Jeffreys. This
announcement had a magical effect. The younger brother stopped short in
his scream, and Freddy boldly took two steps forward.
"Are you a boy?" inquired the latter.
"Of course I am. I was in the top form. I'm older than you, though."
"I'm ten," replied the proud owner of that venerable age.
"I'm nine in February," chimed in the still-fluttered junior.
"I'm about as old as you two put together. How old's that, Freddy?"
"Nineteen," said Freddy.
By this time Jeffreys had gradually descended the bank and stood close
to the two small brothers.
"Bravo, young 'un, you can do sums, I see!"
"Compound division and vulgar fractions," said Freddy confidentially.
Jeffreys gave a whistle of admiration which won the heart of his hearer.
"Are you going to school now?" inquired the latter.
"No; I've left school," said Jeffreys, "last week."
"Last week! why, it's only the middle of the term. Were you sent away?"
Jeffreys began to feel uncomfortable in the presence of this small
cross-examiner.
"I got into trouble and had to leave."
"I know why," said the younger brother, plucking up courage.
"Why?" inquired Jeffreys, with an amused smile.
"Because you were so ugly!"
Jeffreys laughed. "Thank you," said he.
"Was it because you killed the master?" asked the more matter-of-fact
Freddy.
Poor Jeffreys winced before this random shot, and hastened to divert the
conversation.
"Whose school do you go to?" he inquired.
"Trimble's; we hate her," said the two youths in a breath.
"Why? Does she whack you?"
"No; but she worries us, and young Trimble's worse still. Do you know
the school?"
"No. What's the name of the house?"
"Oh, Galloway House, in Ebor Road. It wasn't so bad when Fison was
there," continued the open-hearted Freddy; "but now he's gone.
Trimble's a cad."
"We hate her," chimed in the original Teddy.
"We hope the new master will be like Fison, but I don't believe Trimble
can get any one to come," said Freddy.
Jeffreys pricked up his ears and asked a good many questions about the
school, which the youthful pair readily and gaily replied to, and then
suggested that if Trimble was such a cad the boys had better not be
late.
"Have some parliament cake?" said Freddy, opening his satchel and
producing a large square of crisp gingerbread.
Jeffreys had not the heart to refuse a little piece of this delicacy,
and enjoyed it more than the most sumptuous meal in an hotel. Teddy
also insisted on his taking a bite out of his apple.
"Good-bye," said the little fellow, putting up his face in the most
natural manner for a kiss. Jeffreys felt quite staggered by this
unexpected attention, but recovered his presence of mind enough to do
what was expected of him. Freddy, on the other hand, looked rather
alarmed at his young brother's audacity, and contented himself with
holding out his hand.
"Good-bye, little chap," said Jeffreys, feeling a queer lump in his
throat and not exactly knowing which way to look.
Next moment the two little brothers were trotting down the road hand-in-
hand as gay as young larks. Jeffreys thought no more about the navvies,
or the delights of a labourer's life. A new hope was in him, and he
strolled slowly back into York wondering to himself if angels ever come
to men in the shape of little schoolboys.
It was still early when he reached the city. So he spent sixpence of
his little store on a bath in the swimming baths, and another sixpence
on some breakfast. Then, refreshed in body and mind, he called at the
post-office. There was nothing for him there. Though he hardly
expected any letter yet, his heart sunk as he thought what news might
possibly be on its way to him at that moment. The image of Forrester as
he lay on the football field haunted him constantly, and he would have
given all the world even then to know that he was alive. Hope, however,
came to his rescue, and helped him for a time to shake off the weight of
his heart, and address himself boldly to the enterprise he had in hand.
That enterprise the acute reader has easily guessed. He would offer his
services to the worthy Mrs Trimble, _vice_ Mr Fison, resigned. He
never imagined his heart could beat as quickly as it did when after a
long search he read the words--"Galloway House. Select School for
Little Boys," inscribed on a board in the front garden of a small, old-
fashioned house in Ebor Road.
The sound of children's voices in the yard at the side apprised him that
he had called at a fortunate time. Mrs Trimble during the play-hour
would in all probability be disengaged.
Mrs Trimble was disengaged, and opened the door herself. Jeffreys
beheld a stoutish harmless-looking woman, with a face by no means
forbidding, even if it was decidedly unintellectual.
"Well, young man," said she. She had been eating, and, I regret to say,
had not finished doing so before she began to speak.
"Can I see Mrs Trimble, please?" asked Jeffreys, raising his hat. The
lady, finding her visitor was a gentleman, hastily wiped her mouth and
answered rather lest brusquely.
"I am the lady," said she.
"Excuse me," said Jeffreys, "I called to ask if you were in want of an
assistant teacher. I heard that you were."
"How did you hear that, I wonder? I suppose he's a friend of that
Fison. Yes, young man, I am in want of an assistant."
"I should do my best to please you, if you would let me come," said
Jeffreys. And then, anxious to avoid the painful subject of his
character, he added, "I have not taught in a school before, and I have
no friends here, so I can't give you any testimonials. But I am well up
in classics and pretty good in mathematics, and would work hard, ma'am,
if you would try me."
"Are you a steady young man? Do you drink?"
"I never touch anything but water; and I am quite steady."
"What wages do you expect?"
"I leave that to you. I will work for nothing for a month till you see
if I suit you."
Mrs Trimble liked this. It looked like a genuine offer.
"Are you good-tempered and kind to children?" she asked.
"I am very fond of little boys, and I always try to keep my temper."
His heart sank at the prospect of other questions of this kind. But
Mrs Trimble was not of a curious disposition. She knew when she liked
a young man and when she didn't, and she valued her own judgment as much
as anybody else's testimonials.
"You mustn't expect grand living here," she said.
"I was never used to anything but simple living," said he.
"Very well, Mr --"
"Jeffreys, ma'am."
"Mr Jeffreys, we'll try how we get on for a month; and after that I can
offer you a pound a month besides your board."
"You are very kind," said Jeffreys, to whom the offer seemed a
magnificent one. "I am ready to begin work at once."
"That will do. You'd better begin now. Come this way to the
schoolroom."