"Do you go to the ragged school still?" I asked.
"Yaas, a Fridays. I say, governor, look here."
He dipped his finger into his blacking-pot, and, after cleaning the
flagstone on which he knelt with his old hat, proceeded laboriously and
slowly to trace an S upon it.
"There," he cried, when the feat was accomplished, "what do you think of
that? That's a ess for Mr Smith, and a proper bloke he is. He do
teach you to-rights, so I let you know, he do."
"What else does he teach you besides your letters?"
"Oh, about a bloke called Cain as give 'is pal a topper, and--"
He stopped abruptly, as he noticed the smile I could not restrain, and
then added, in his offended tone, "I ain't a-goin' to tell you. 'Tain't
no concern of yourn."
I knew Billy well enough by this time to be sure it was no use, after
once offending him, trying to cajole him back into a good-humour, so I
left him.
So the wretched weeks passed on, and I almost wished myself back at
Stonebridge House. There at least I had some society and some friends.
Now, during those lonely evenings at Mrs Nash's I had positively no
one--except young Larkins.
That cheery youth was a standing rebuke to me. He had come up to town a
year ago, a fresh, innocent boy; and a fresh, innocent boy he remained
still. He kept his diary regularly, and wrote home like clock-work, and
chirruped over his postage-stamp album, and laughed over his storybooks
in a way which it did one's heart good to see. And yet it made my heart
sore. Why should he be so happy and I not? He wasn't, so I believe, a
cleverer boy than I was. Certainly he wasn't getting on better than I
was, for I had now had my third rise in salary, and he still only got
what he started with. And he possessed no more friends at Beadle Square
than I did. Why ever should he always be so jolly?
I knew, though I was loth to admit it. His conscience was as easy as
his spirits. There was no one he had ever wronged, and a great many to
whom he had done kind actions. When any one suggested to him to do what
he considered wrong, it was the easiest thing in the world for him to
refuse flatly, and say boldly why. If everybody else went one way, and
he thought it not the right way, it cost him not an effort to turn and
go his own way, even if he went it alone. Fellows didn't like him.
They called him a prig--a sanctimonious young puppy. What cared he? If
to do what was right manfully in the face of wrong, to persevere in the
right in the face of drawbacks, constituted a prig, then Larkins was a
prig of the first water, and he didn't care what fellows thought of him,
but chirruped away over his postage-stamp album as before, and read his
books, as happy as a king.
It was in this boy's society that during those wretched weeks I found a
painful consolation. He was constantly reminding me of what I was not;
but for all that I felt he was a better companion than the heroes with
whom I used to associate, and with whom I still occasionally consorted.
He knew nothing of my trouble, and thought I was the crossest-grained,
slowest growler in existence. But since I chose his company, and seemed
glad to have him beside me, he was delighted.
"I say," said he suddenly one evening, as we were engaged in
experimenting with a small steam-engine he had lately become the proud
possessor of, "I saw your old friend Smith to-day!"
"Where?" I asked.
"Why, down Drury Lane. I heard of a new Russian stamp that was to be
had cheap in a shop there, and while I was in buying it he came in."
"Was he buying stamps too?"
"No; he lives in a room over the shop. Not a nice hole, I should fancy.
Didn't you know he was there?"
"No," I said.
"Oh, you should go and see the place. He'd much better come back here,
tell him. But I thought you saw one another every day?" he added, in
his simple way.
"Did he say anything to you?" I asked, avoiding the question.
"Yes. I asked him how he was getting on, and he said very well; and I
asked him what he thought of the Russian stamp; and he said if I liked
he could get me a better specimen at his office. Isn't he a brick? and
he's promised me a jolly Turkish one, too, that I haven't got."
"Was that all?" I asked. "I mean all he said?"
"Yes--oh, and I asked if he'd got any message for you, and he said no.
Look, there--it's going! I say, isn't it a stunning little engine? I
mean to make it work a little pump I've got in the greenhouse at home.
It's just big enough."
Any message for me? No! Was it worth trying for any longer? I
thought, as once more I crept solitary and disappointed to bed.
But the answer was nearer than I thought for.