When I woke in the morning and called to mind Jack's confidence of the
night before, I could hardly believe I had not dreamt it.
I had always guessed, and I dare say the reader has guessed too, that
there was some mystery attached to my friend's home. But I had never
thought of this. No wonder now, when other boys had tormented him and
called him "gaol-bird," he had flared up with unwonted fire. No wonder
he had always shrunk from any reference to that unhappy home. But why
had he told me all about it now? I could almost guess the reason. For
the last month or two he had been back at the nearest approach to a home
that he possessed, at his old nurse's cottage at Packworth, with her and
his sister. And now, leaving them, and coming back once more to work in
London, a home-sickness had seized him, and an irresistible craving for
sympathy had prompted him to tell me his secret.
"And it shall be safe with me," I said to myself.
We did not refer to the subject again that day, or for several days.
Indeed, I almost suspected he repented already of what he had done, for
his manner was more reserved and shy than I had ever known it. He
seemed to be in a constant fright lest I should return to the subject,
while his almost deferential manner to me was quite distressing.
However, we had our work to occupy our minds during most of the day.
"Slap bang, here we are again!" cried Doubleday, as we entered the
office together that morning. "What cheer, Bulls'-eye? Awfully sorry
we haven't got the decorations up, but we're out of flags at present.
We're going to illuminate this evening, though, in your honour--when we
light the gas."
"Awfully glad you're back," said Crow. "The governors have been in an
awful way without you to advise them. We've positively done nothing
since you went, have we, Wallop?"
"No--except read his life in the Newgate Calendar," said Wallop, who had
not forgotten his knock down on the day Jack left.
All this Jack, like a sensible man, took quietly, though I could see, or
fancied I saw, he winced at the last reference.
He quietly took his old place, and proceeded to resume his work just as
if he had never been absent, wholly regardless of the witticisms of his
comrades.
"We've drunk his health now and then in his absence, haven't we, Batch,
old man?" said Doubleday again, addressing me.
I did not at all like to be thus drawn into the conversation, but I was
forced to answer. "Yes, now and then."
"Let's see, what was the last sentiment--the other night up at Daly's,
you know; what was it, Crow?"
"Oh, Doubleday!" cried I, suddenly, in terror at the turn the talk was
taking, "would you look at this invoice, please? Only twelve cases are
entered, and I'm certain thirteen were shipped."
"Eh, what?" exclaimed Doubleday, who in business matters was always
prompt and serious; "only twelve entered? how's that? Why, you young
idiot!" said he, taking up the paper; "can't you read what's straight in
front of your nose? `A set of samples, not invoiced, in case Number
13.'"
"So it is, to be sure," exclaimed I, who, of course, knew it all along,
and had only raised the alarm in order to interrupt Doubleday's awkward
talk. "Thanks."
This expedient of mine, disingenuous as it was, was successful. Before
Doubleday could get back to his desk and take up the thread of his
conversation where he left it, Mr Merrett entered the office. He
walked straight up to Jack's desk, and said, heartily, "Well, Smith, my
man, we're glad to see you back. Are you quite well again?"
"Quite well, thank you, sir," said Smith, rising to his feet, and
flushing with pleasure at this unexpected attention from the head of the
firm.
I felt quite as proud as he did, and still more so when presently Mr
Barnacle arrived, and after first looking over his letters and glancing
at his _Times_, touched the bell and said he wished to speak to Smith.
"They're going to make a partner of you," said Doubleday, mockingly, as
he delivered the message. "Never mind; you won't forget your old
servants, I know."
"Talking of partners," said Harris, of the Imports, over the screen,
when Jack had gone in obedience to the summons, "we're to have the new
chap here next week."
"What's his name?" asked Doubleday.
"Don't know. He's a nephew, I believe, of old Merrett's. The old boy
told me the other day he was to come into my department to learn the
business. He says I'm to teach him all I know, as he wants him to get
on."
"That's pleasant. I suppose he's to be shoved over our heads, and tell
us all what to do."
"Never fear," said Harris; "I sha'n't teach him too much. But the
governor says he's a `youth of good principles and fair attainments,'
and thinks I shall like him."
Crow whistled.
"`Good principles and fair attainments!' That's a good un. I guess
he's come to the wrong shop with those goods. Nobody deals in them here
that _I_ know of."
"Speak for yourself," retorted Doubleday, sententiously. "No one
suspected you of going in for either, but Batchelor and I flatter
ourselves we _are_ a little in that line."
"Well, if you are," said Wallop, breaking in, "all I can say is, young
Batchelor had better show his principle by stepping round to Shoddy's
and paying his bill there, or he may `attain' to something he doesn't
expect."
"What do you mean?" I said. "I've only had the things a fortnight, and
he said I needn't pay for them for a month."
"No doubt he did," said Wallop, not observing that Jack had by this time
returned from the partners' room, and was seated once more at his desk.
"No doubt he'd have let you go on tick for a twelve month, but when he
finds you owe all round to the butcher and baker and candlestick maker,
no wonder he gets a bit shy. Why, only yesterday--"
"Will you mind your own business?" I exclaimed, desperately, not
knowing how to turn the talk.
"Only yesterday," continued Wallop, complacently, evidently noticing and
enjoying my confusion, "he was asking me what I thought of your credit.
Shoddy and I are chummy you know, Crow."
"Will you shut up and let me get on with my work?" I cried,
despairingly.
"I told him," continued Wallop, deliberately, "I knew you only had
twelve bob a week, and that, though you were a very nice boy, I would
advise him to proceed with caution, as I knew for a fact--"
I sprang from my seat, determined, if I could not silence him by
persuasion, I would do it by force. However, he adroitly fortified
himself behind his desk, and proceeded, greatly to the amusement of
every one but Jack, "I knew for a fact you owed a pot of money at the
tuck shop--"
Here the speaker had to pause for the laughter which this announcement
had elicited.
"And that the Twins had advanced you getting on for half-a-sov.,
besides--"
There was no escape. I sank down in my seat and let him go on as he
liked.
I had the satisfaction of hearing a full, true, and particular account
of my debts and delinquencies, which every one--I could not for the
world tell how--seemed to know all about, and I had the still greater
satisfaction of knowing that my friend Smith was hearing of my
extravagances now for the first time, and not from my lips.
What would he think of me? How strange he must think it in me not to
have trusted in him when he had confided to me his own far more
important secret. I felt utterly ashamed. And yet, when I came to
think of it, if I had acted foolishly, I had not committed a crime. Why
should I be ashamed?
"I say," I began, when that evening we were walking home, rather
moodily, side by side--"I say, you must have been astonished by what
those fellows were saying to-day, Jack."
"Eh? Well, I couldn't quite make it out."
"They are always chaffing me about something," I said.
"Then it was all a make-up of Wallop's about what you owed?"
"Well, no--not exactly. The fact is, I do owe one or two little
accounts."
"Do you?" said Jack. "It's a pity."
I did not quite like the tone in which he said this. It may have been
that my conscience was not quite clear as to my own straightforwardness
in this matter. I was not obliged to tell him everything, to be sure;
but then, no more was I obliged to try to deceive him when I did tell
him. At any rate, I felt a trifle irritated, and the rest of our walk
proceeded in silence till we reached Style Street. Here we found Billy
at his old sport, but evidently expecting us.
"Shine 'e boots, governor!" cried he, with a profound grin.
Jack put his foot upon the box, and the young artist fell-to work
instantly.
"I'll stroll on," I said, out of humour, and anxious to be alone.
"All serene!" replied Jack, solemnly as usual.
By the time he turned up at Beadle Square I had somewhat recovered my
equanimity, and the rest of the evening was spent in talking about
indifferent matters, and avoiding all serious topics. Among other
things, I told Jack of the expected addition to the staff at Hawk
Street, which interested him greatly, especially as the new-comer was to
work in the Import department.
"I hope he'll be a nice fellow," he said. "What's his name?"
"I don't know. He's a nephew of Merrett's, they say, and a good fellow.
He's coming in as a clerk at first, but Harris says he's to be taken in
as a partner in time."
"Then he's only a boy yet?"
"I suppose so--seventeen or eighteen."
Of course there was a considerable amount of speculation and curiosity
as to the new arrival during the week which followed. I think most of
us were a little jealous, and Doubleday was especially indignant at the
fellow's meanness in being the governor's nephew.
"Of course, he'll peach about all we do," growled he, "and give his
precious uncle a full, true, and particular account every evening of
everything every one of us has been up to during the day. And the worst
of it is, one can't even lick the beggar now and then, like any other
fellow."
It undoubtedly was hard lines, and we all sympathised not a little with
the chief clerk's grievance.
Our suspense was not protracted. On the appointed day Mr Merrett
arrived, accompanied by a slender youth of about eighteen, at sight of
whom Jack and I started as though we had been shot. The new-comer was
no other than our former schoolfellow, Hawkesbury.
If a skeleton had walked into the office we could not have been more
taken aback. Of all persons in the world, who would have guessed that
this fellow whom we had last seen at Stonebridge House, and had never
even heard of since should turn up now as the nephew of our employer,
and as one of our own future chiefs at the office?
"Gentlemen," said Mr Merrett, "this is my nephew, Mr Hawkesbury. I
trust you will all be good friends. Eh! what!"
This last exclamation was occasioned by Hawkesbury's advancing first to
me and then to Smith, and shaking our hands, much to the surprise of
everybody.
"These two gentlemen were at school with me, uncle," he said, by way of
explanation. "It is quite a pleasant surprise to me to see them again."
"Very singular," said Mr Merrett; "I'm glad of it. You'll get on all
the better. Harris; perhaps you will allow Mr Hawkesbury to assist you
for a day or two, just while he is learning the work."
So saying, the senior partner vanished into his own room, leaving
Hawkesbury in the midst of his new comrades.
I did not know whether to be glad or sorry. For myself, though I never
quite liked Hawkesbury, I had always got on well with him, and been
disposed to believe him a well-meaning fellow.
But on Jack Smith's account I felt very sorry, and not a little uneasy,
for they had never "hit" it, and from what I could judge never would.
However, for the present at any rate, such apprehensions seemed to be
groundless, for Hawkesbury, naturally a little ill at ease among so many
strangers, appeared to be glad to claim the acquaintance of one of them,
and sat down beside him and began to talk in quite a cordial manner.
"This is a pleasant surprise," he said again; "who would have thought of
seeing you and Batchelor in Uncle Merrett's office?"
"We've been here several months," replied Jack, not quite as cordially,
I could see, as his old schoolfellow.
"Have you? I'm afraid I shall never learn as much as you have," he
said, with his old smile.
"Now then, young governor," said Harris, "when it's _quite_ convenient
to you we'll get to work. Don't put yourself out, pray; but if you can
spare the time from your friend, I should like you to add up this
column."
Hawkesbury looked a little astonished at this speech, but at once
replied, with a smile, "You are Mr Harris, I suppose? I shall be glad
to learn what you can teach me."
If Harris had expected to put the new-comer down by his witticisms he
was sorely mistaken. Hawkesbury coolly seated himself at the desk
beside him, and, with the air more of a man inspecting the work of
another than of a learner seeking information, he examined the papers
and books handed to him and catechised Harris as to their contents.
It was evident that he was fully aware from the beginning of his own
position at the office, and that he wished us all to be aware of it
also. He adopted a patronising air towards me and Jack and the other
clerks, as if we were already in his employment and doing his work.
"A jolly cool hand," growled Doubleday to Crow, in an undertone most
unusual to him when the principals were out of hearing. "I'm glad I'm
not Harris."
"Now then, Harris," said Crow, "mind how you dot your p's and q's, old
man--I mean your i's."
Hawkesbury looked up from his work and said, smiling, "I think Mr
Harris dots his i's very well. What did you say is entered in this
column, Harris?"
This was nothing short of a snub to Crow, who was quiet for the rest of
the day.
After business, as Jack and I were proceeding to walk home, Hawkesbury
came up and joined our party.
"Which way are you going?" inquired he. "I'll join you, if I may."
We could hardly say no, and yet we neither of us relished the offer.
However, he did not appear to notice our reluctance, and walked along
with us, conversing in his usual pleasant way.
"I hope we shall be good friends at the office," he said, after a long
uncomfortable pause.
"I hope so," said I, who knew it was not much use to rely on Jack Smith
to keep up the conversation.
"I dare say you know," said he, "that my uncle's idea is for me some day
to join him and Mr Barnacle, but of course that depends on how I get
on."
"Yes," said I, as there was a pause here.
"In any case I hope that won't make any difference between us old
schoolfellows," he continued. "I hope not," again I replied.
"Where are you living in London?" he presently asked. I told him, and
he thereupon proceeded to make further kind inquiries as to how we liked
our quarters, if we had nice friends, what we did with ourselves, and so
on. All of which it fell-to my lot to answer, as Jack Smith showed no
inclination to assist me.
At length we reached the top of Style Street, where, as usual, the
athletic Billy was at his sports. I really believe he spent the entire
time he was not blacking boots in walking round and round his box on the
palms of his hands with his feet up in the air.
At the sight of his patron he dropped promptly to attention.
"Well, Billy," said Smith, "are you ready for me?" Billy grinned all
over his face, as he replied, "Yaas," and at once fell-to work.
Hawkesbury watched the incident with interest, not quite sure what to
make of it, and rather taken aback to have our walk thus abruptly
stopped.
"Old gal's bolted agin," observed Billy, in the middle of his task.
"'Ave any of you blokes saw her?"
"No," said Smith, "when did she go?"
"Last night," said Billy. "She give me a dose fust, and when I came
round, if she ain't sloped along of all my browns. She's a rum un."
Poor Billy, what a picture of his domestic life was this!
"Bless you, though," continued he, breathing hard on to the toes of
Jack's boot, "she'll turn up. When she's done them browns she'll step
round for more. Bless her old soul!"
"You ought to keep your money where she can't find it," suggested Jack.
"'Tain't no concern of yourn where I keep my brass. Oh, my eye, there's
a nob!" cried he, suddenly perceiving Hawkesbury, who all this time had
been looking on and listening in bewilderment. "Shin'e boots next,
cap'n? Oh my, ain't he a topper?"
This last appeal was made to Jack, whose boots were now clean, and who,
of course, did not reply.
"Who's your friend?" said Hawkesbury to him, with a smile.
"My friend's a shoeblack," drily replied Smith.
"All, a curious little fellow. Well, as I dare say you've plenty to say
to one another, I'll be going. Good-bye," and he shook hands with us
both and departed.
That evening Jack and I had a long and painful discussion about
Hawkesbury. As usual, he had not a good word to say for him, while I,
on the contrary, thought that at any rate he might be well-meaning.
"All I can say is," said Jack, "it wouldn't take much to make me leave
Hawk Street now."
"Oh, don't say that!" I cried, miserable at the bare idea.
"Don't be afraid," said he, bitterly. "A convict's son can't get taken
on anywhere, and I shall just have to stay where I am as long as there
are the people at home to depend on me."
He said this in such a sad tone that my heart bled for him. Alas! there
seemed to be anything but happy days in store for my friend Smith.