"Dear Mister Johnny,--Mary is very very ill. Could you come and seen
her? Do come--from Jane Shield."
"Mary is my sister," said Jack, nearly breaking down. "I must go,
whether Barnacle lets me or no."
Our walk to the office that morning was quicker than usual, and more
silent. Poor Jack was in no mood for conversation, and I fancied it
would be kinder not to worry him. We reached Hawk Street before any of
the partners had come, and Smith's patience was sorely tried by the
waiting.
"I say," said he presently to me, "I must go, Fred. Will you tell
them?"
"Yes, if you like, only--"
"Now then, you two," cried Mr Doubleday, looking round; "there you are,
larking about as usual. Go off to your work, young Import, do you hear?
and don't stand grinning there!"
Poor Jack looked like anything but grinning at that moment.
"I'll do the best I can," I said, "but I'm afraid Barnacle will be in a
wax unless you ask him yourself."
"I can't help it," said Jack, "I must go."
"Eh? what's that?" said Doubleday, who was near enough to hear this
conversation; "who must go?"
"Smith has just heard that his sister's ill," I said, by way of
explanation, and hoping to enlist the chief clerk's sympathy, "and he
must go to her, that's all."
"Hullo!" interposed Crow, "you don't mean to say he's got a sister. My
eyes, what a caution! Fancy a female bull's-eye, Wallop, eh?"
"So you may say," said Wallop the cad, laughing. "I guess I wouldn't
fancy her, if she's like brother Johnny."
"And he's got to go to her, poor dear thing, because she's got a cold in
her nose or something of the sort. Jolly excuse to get off work. I
wish _I'd_ got a sister to be ill too."
"Never mind," said Wallop; "if you'd been brought up in gaol you'd be
subject to colds. It's a rare draughty place is Newgate."
No one but myself had noticed Jack during this brief conversation. His
face, already pale and troubled, grew livid as the dialogue proceeded,
and finally he could restrain himself no longer.
Dashing from his desk, he flew at Wallop like a young wolf, and before
that facetious young gentleman knew where he was he was lying at full
length on the floor, and Jack standing over him, trembling with fury
from head to foot.
It was the work of an instant, and before more mischief could be done
Doubleday had interposed.
"Look here," said he, catching Jack by the arm and drawing him away from
his adversary, "we aren't used to that here, I can tell you! Go to your
desk! Do you hear? There's the governor coming up! A nice row you'll
get us into with your temper! Come, you Wallop, up you get, I say--you
beast! I'm jolly glad the young 'un walked into you. Serves you right!
Look alive, or you'll be nobbled!"
The result of these exertions was that when the door opened half a
minute later the office was, to all appearance, as quiet as usual.
To our surprise, the comer was not Mr Barnacle, who usually arrived
first, but Mr Merrett, who on other days hardly ever put in an
appearance till an hour later.
What was the reason of this reversal of the order of things we could not
say, and did not much care. Indeed, it was rather a relief to see the
mild senior partner instead of the sharp-eyed junior, who was, some of
us thought, far too quick to perceive anything amiss. Jack's face
brightened as much as any one's at the circumstance. For a moment he
forgot all his wrath, and thought only of his poor sister.
He followed Mr Merrett quickly to the door of the partners' room and
said eagerly, "May I speak to you a moment, sir?"
"Yes, my man; come in," was the encouraging reply.
"Gone to tell tales, I suppose," said Crow, as the door closed on the
two.
"No, he's not," said I, ready to take up the gauntlet for my friend;
"and you'd better not say it again!"
"Oh, I say! Look here," said Doubleday, "don't _you_ begin at that
game, young shaver! We're used to it from your chum bull's-eye, but I'm
not going to let you start at it. Besides, Crow wouldn't like it. Get
on with your work, do you hear?"
Jack reappeared in a minute with a grateful face, which showed at once
that his application had been successful.
"Good-bye," said he, coming to my desk; "I'll send you a line;" and
without another word to any one he was gone.
"He's a cool fish, that friend of yours!" said Doubleday, that afternoon
to me. "He seems to get on pretty much as he likes."
"He's awfully cut up about his sister," I said. "Poor Jack!"
"No harm in that!" said Doubleday, condescendingly. "I thought he was
quite right to walk into that cad Wallop myself. But he'll find it
rather hot for him when he gets back, I fancy. When's he coming back?"
"In a day or two, I suppose," said I.
"And you'll be mighty disconsolate, I suppose," said Doubleday, "till he
returns? What do you say to coming up to my lodgings to-night, eh,
young 'un, to see me?"
I felt very grateful for this unlooked-for honour, and said I would be
delighted to come.
"All serene! I've asked one or two of the fellows up, so we'll have a
jolly evening. By the way, when you go out get me a couple of boxes of
sardines, will you, and a dozen twopenny cigars?"
I executed these commissions, and in due time, business being ended,
Doubleday and I and Crow, and the sardines and the cigars, started in a
body for Cork Place, where, in a first-floor front, the estimable Mr
Doubleday was wont to pitch his daily tent.
They were cosy quarters, and contrasted in a marked manner with Beadle
Square. Doubleday knew how to make himself comfortable, evidently.
There were one or two good prints on his walls, a cheerful fire in the
hearth, a sofa and an easy-chair, and quite an array of pickle-jars and
beer-bottles and jam-pots in his cupboard. And, to my thinking, who had
been used to the plain, unappetising fare of Mrs Nash, the spread on
his table was simply sumptuous.
I felt quite shy at being introduced to such an entertainment, and
inwardly wondered how long it would be before I, with my eight shillings
a week, would be able to afford the like.
We were a little early, and Doubleday therefore pressed us into the
service to help him, as he called it, "get all snug and ship-shape,"
which meant boiling some eggs, emptying the jam-pots into glass dishes,
and cutting up a perfect stack of bread.
"Who's coming to-night?" said Crow, with whom, by the way, I had become
speedily reconciled in our mutual occupation.
"Oh, the usual lot," said Doubleday, with the air of a man who gives
"feeds" every day of his life. "The two Wickhams, and Joe Whipcord, and
the Field-Marshal, and an Irish fellow who is lodging with him. We
ought to have a jolly evening."
In due time the guests arrived, Mr Joseph Whipcord being the earliest.
He was a freckled youth of a most horsey get up, in clothes so tight
that it seemed a marvel how he could ever sit down, and a straw in his
mouth which appeared to grow there. Close on his heels came the two
Wickhams, whose chief attractiveness seemed to be that they were twins,
and as like as two peas.
"Hullo! here you are," was Doubleday's greeting. "Which is which of you
to-night, eh?"
"I'm Adam," replied one of the two, meekly.
"All serene, Adam. Stick this piece of paper in your button-hole, and
then we'll know you from Abel. By the way, Whipcord, I suppose you
never heard my last joke, did you?"
"Never heard your first yet," replied Whipcord, shifting his straw to
the other corner of his mouth.
"Oh, yes you did," retorted Doubleday, who as usual always preferred the
laugh when it was on his own side. "Don't you remember me telling Crow
last time you came that you were a fellow who knew a thing or two? That
was a joke, eh, twins?"
"Rather," said both the twins, warmly.
"But my last wasn't about Whipcord at all: it was about you two. I got
muddled up among you somehow and said, `For the life of me I am not able
to tell one of you from Adam!'"
"Well?" said Whipcord.
"Well, what!" said Doubleday, savagely "The joke?"
"Why, that _was_ the joke, you blockhead! But we can't expect a poor
fellow like you to see it. I say, the Field-Marshal's behind time.
I'll give him two minutes, and then we'll start without him."
Just then there was a knock at the door, and two fellows entered. One
was a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking boy a little my senior, and the
other--his exact contrast, a thick-set, burly youth, with a merry
twinkle in his eye and a chronic grin on his lips.
"Late again, Field-Marshal," said Doubleday, clapping the cadaverous one
on the back with a blow that nearly doubled him up. "Is this your chum?
How are you, Patrick?"
The youth addressed as Patrick, but whose real name subsequently was
announced as Daly, said he was "rightly," and that it was his fault the
Field-Marshal was late, as he had to shave.
This announcement caused great amusement, for Master Daly was as
innocent of a hair on his face as he was of being tattooed, and by the
manner in which he joined in the laughter he seemed to be quite aware of
the fact.
We sat down to supper in great good spirits. I was perhaps the least
cheerful, for all the others being friends, and I knowing only my two
fellow-clerks, I felt rather out of it. However, Doubleday, who seemed
to have an eye for everybody, soon put me at my ease with myself and the
rest.
What a meal it was! I hadn't tasted such a one since I came to London.
Eggs and sardines, lobster and potted meat; coffee and tea, toast, cake,
bread-and-butter--it was positively bewildering. And the laughing, and
talking, and chaffing that went on, too. Doubleday perfectly astonished
me by his talents as a host. He never ceased talking, and yet everybody
else talked too; he never ceased partaking, and took care that no one
else should either. He seemed to know by the outside of a cup whether
it was full or empty, and to be able to see through loaves and dish-
covers into everybody's plate. It would be impossible to say what was
not talked about during that wonderful meal. The private affairs of
Hawk Street were freely canvassed, and the private affairs of every one
of the company were discussed with the most charming frankness. I found
myself giving an account of my uncle to the Field-marshal, which
confidence he reciprocated by telling me that he was a private in the
volunteers (that was why the fellows called him Field-Marshal), and an
accountant's clerk, that his income was fifty pounds a year, that he had
saved seven pounds, that he was engaged to a most charming person named
Felicia, whom at the present rate of his progress he hoped to marry in
about twenty years. Whipcord was discoursing on the points of every
racehorse in the calendar to the twins, who had evidently never seen a
racehorse; and Daly was telling stories which half choked Crow, and kept
us all in fits of laughter. It was a new life to me, this, and no
mistake.
"Now then, young Batchelor, walk into those sardines, do you hear?" said
our host. "Any more coffee, twins? Pass up those tea-cakes when you've
helped yourself, Crow. I got them for twopence apiece--not bad, eh? I
say, I suppose you've heard what's up in Hawk Street, eh?--jam to the
Field-Marshal there. Yes, Harris of the Imports told me: he heard it
from Morgan, who knows a fellow who knows old Merrett. Plenty more
potted meat in the cupboard; get out some, Batchelor, that's a good
fellow. The fact is--sugar enough in yours, Paddy?--the fact is, the
old boy is going to put in a nephew--pass up your cup, Adam, Abel,
what's your name, you with the paper in your button-hole?--what was your
mother about when she gave you such idiotic names, both of you? I'd
like to give her a piece of my mind!--a nephew or something of the
sort--that'll be the third kid in the last half-year landed in on us--
don't you call that lobster a good one for eighteen pence, Paddy, my
boy? Never mind, I'll let them know I'm not going to train up all their
young asses for nothing--hullo! Batchelor, beg pardon, old man; I
forgot you were one of them!"
This occasioned a laugh, which made me look very self-conscious; which
Doubleday saw, and tried to help me out.
"If they were all like you," he said, with a patronising smile, "it
wouldn't hurt; but that bull's-eye chum of yours is a drop too much for
an office like ours. Do you know, I believe it's a fact he's been in
gaol, or something of the sort--try a little vinegar with it, Field-
Marshal--capital thing for keeping down the fat. Never saw such a
temper, upon my word, did you, Crow? Why, he was nearly going to eat
_you_ up this very morning. And the best of it is, he thinks he's the
only fellow in the office who does a stroke of work. Never mind, he's
safe at home for a bit; but, my eye! won't he be astonished to find
Merrett, Barnacle, and Company can get on without him!"
I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. It was rank treason to sit
by and listen to all this without putting in a word for my friend; and
yet in this company I could not for the life of me make the venture.
Indeed, to my shame be it said, with the eyes of my companions upon me,
and their laughter in my ears, I even faintly joined in the smile at
poor Jack's expense.
"Is this pleasant chap a friend of yours?" said the Field-Marshal.
"Yes," said I, rather hesitatingly, "we were at school together, you
know."
I despised myself heart and soul for my cowardice, and for me the rest
of the meal passed with little enjoyment.
And when the cloth was cleared away fresh difficulties presented
themselves.
"Are you a good hand at whist?" asked Adam, as we stood in front of the
fire.
"No," said I; "I don't play."
"Don't you? We'll give you a lesson, then."
Now my bringing-up had been peculiar, as the reader knows. In many ways
it had been strict, and in many ways lax; but one of the scruples I had
always carried about with me was on the subject of gambling.
Consequently I felt particularly uncomfortable at the twin's offer, and
at a loss how to respond to it; and before I could resolve the chance
was gone.
"Now then," said Doubleday, "make up your fours there, but for goodness'
sake don't let both the patriarchs get at the same table! You with the
paper and Crow, and Paddy and I--we'll have this table, and you other
four take the other;" and before I knew where I was I found myself
seated at a table, opposite Whipcord, with thirteen cards in my hand.
I did not know what to do. Had my partner been any one but Whipcord,
with the straw in his mouth, I do believe I should have made a mild
protest. Had Doubleday or Crow been one of our party, I might have
screwed up my courage. But Whipcord had impressed me as a particularly
knowing and important personage, and I felt quite abashed in his
presence, and would not for anything have him think I considered
anything that he did not correct.
"I'm afraid I don't know the way to play," said I, apologetically, when
the game began.
"You don't!" said he. "Why, where were you at school? Never mind,
you'll soon get into it."
This last prophecy was fulfilled. Somehow or other I picked up the game
pretty quickly, and earned a great deal of applause from my partner by
my play. Indeed, despite my being a new hand, our side won, and the
Field-Marshal and Abel had to hand over sixpence after sixpence as the
evening went on. The sight of the money renewed my discomforts; it was
bad enough, so I felt, to play cards at all, but to play for money was a
thing I had always regarded with a sort of horror. Alas! how easy it
is, in the company of one's fancied superiors, to forget one's own poor
scruples!
The game at our table came to rather an abrupt end, brought on by a
difference of opinion between the Field-marshal and Mr Whipcord on some
point connected with a deal. It was a slight matter, but in the sharp
words that ensued my companions came out in a strangely new light.
Whipcord, especially, gave vent to language which utterly horrified me,
and the Field-Marshal was not backward to reply in a similar strain.
How long this interchange of language might have gone on I cannot say,
had not Doubleday opportunely interposed. "There you are, at it again,
you two, just like a couple of bargees! You ought to be ashamed of
yourselves! Look how you've shocked the young 'un there! You really
shouldn't!"
I coloured up at this speech. From the bantering tone in which
Doubleday spoke it seemed as if he half despised any one who was not
used to the sound of profanity; and I began to be angry with myself for
having looked so horrified.
The quarrel was soon made up with the help of some of the twopenny
cigars, which were now produced along with the beer-bottles. By this
time I had been sufficiently impressed by my company not to decline
anything, and I partook of both of these luxuries--that is, I made
believe to smoke a cigar, and kept a glass of beer in front of me, from
which I took a very occasional sip.
My mind was thoroughly uncomfortable. I had known all along I was not a
hero; but it had never occurred to me before that I was a coward. In
the course of one short evening I had forsaken more than one old
principle, merely because others did the same. I had joined in a laugh
against my best friend, because I had not the courage to stand up for
him behind his back, and I had tried to appear as if bad language and
drinking and gambling were familiar things to me, because I dared not
make a stand and confess I thought them loathsome.
We sat for a long time that night talking and cracking jokes, and
telling stories. Many of the latter were clever and amusing, but
others--those that raised the loudest laugh--were of a kind I had never
heard before, and which I blush now to recall. Any one who had seen me
would have supposed that talk like this was what I most relished. Had
they but heard another voice within reproaching me, they might have
pitied rather than blamed me.
And yet with all the loose talk was mixed up so much of real jollity and
good-humour that it was impossible to feel wholly miserable.
Doubleday kept up his hospitality to the last. He would stop the best
story to make a guest comfortable, and seemed to guess by instinct what
everybody wanted.
At last the time came for separating, and I rose to go with feelings
partly of relief, partly of regret. The evening had been a jolly one,
and I had enjoyed it; but then, had I done well to enjoy it? That was
the question.
"Oh, I say," said Daly, as we said good-night on the doorstep, "were you
ever at a school called Stonebridge House?"
"Yes," said I, startled to hear the name once more. "You weren't there,
were you?"
"No; but a fellow I know, called Flanagan, was, and--"
"Do you know Flanagan?" I exclaimed; "he's the very fellow I've been
trying to find out. I _would_ like to see him again."
"Yes, he lives near us. I say, suppose you come up to the Field-Marshal
and me on Tuesday; we live together, you know. We'll have Flanagan and
a fellow or two in."
I gladly accepted this delightful invitation, and went back to Mrs
Nash's feeling myself a good deal more a "man of the world," and a good
deal less of a hero, than I had left it that morning.