"But what rubbish we are talking!" said he. "We've made up our minds
I'm going to come out first, when it's more likely all I shall do will
be to scrape through with a pass, and not take honours at all."
At this point Mr Smith looked in to wish Jack joy before he started,
and greatly to my relief Billy entered at the same time.
The latter visitor was quite unexpected.
"Well, Billy, what's up?" I inquired.
"Ga on! As if you didn't know," replied the grinning youth.
"I don't know."
"What," said Billy, jerking his head towards Jack, "ain't he goin' to
'is 'sam, then?"
"Yes, he's going to his examination this morning."
"And I are a-goin' to give him a proper shine afore he goes," replied
the boy, almost fiercely.
"Of course you are, Billy," said Jack. "I believe I should come to
grief altogether if I went without having my boots polished."
"In corse you would," said the delighted Billy, commencing operations
forthwith.
"I say, governor," said he, looking up, halfway through his task, "I
give the animal a topper last night."
"What animal?" inquired Jack.
"That there 'Orksbury, so I did. Him and 'is pal comes along and twigs
me a-sottin' on my box. `That's the kid. Mashing,' says 'Orksbury.
Mashing he up to me, and says he, `Would you like a shillin', my boy?'
says he. `You're 'avin' a lark with me,' says I. `No, I ain't,' says
'e, 'oldin' it out. `What do yer want?' says I. `You know Smith?' says
'Orksbury. `That ain't no concarn of yourn,' says I. `You ain't got no
concarn with my governor,' says I. `Oh, then you don't want the
shillin'?' says he. `No, I don't,' says I, seein' they was up to games.
`What do you mean by it?' says Mashing, a-pullin' my ear. (Bless you,
'e don't know the way to pull a cove's ear; my old gal can do it
proper.) `No one is going to do anything to Smith,' says 'e. `We only
want you to give him this,' says he, pullin' out a bit of paper. `Don't
give it 'im,' says 'Orksbury; `he's a young thief,' says 'e, `and 'e'll
only spoil it all.' `I will so,' says I, `and I'll spoil you too,' says
I, aimin' a brush at his 'ed. They gives me a wipin' for it, but there,
they can't 'arf do it. And they says if I want my shillin' I can go and
get it from that cantin' son of a thief--meanin' you, governor--what
kep' me. Bless you, they did jaw, them two, but I give that 'Orksbury a
topper, which I owed 'im one afore."
This spirited address on the part of our young friend I need hardly say
interested us all deeply. We all resented the outrage which had been
offered to him, and admired the spirit with which he had stood to his
colours during the interview.
This little episode served to smooth the way for Mr Smith's interview
with Jack. It gave him time to compose himself, and get over the
emotion which the first sight of his lost son since last night's
discovery naturally roused.
When he did speak it was steadily and cheerily as ever.
"Just popped up," he said, "to wish you success, my boy. Keep your head
during the _viva-voce_, and remember that rule about the second aorist."
"All serene," said Jack, laughing. "I say, Mr Smith," added he, "if I
don't pass I shall feel myself the most ungrateful brute out."
"So you will be," replied Mr Smith, nodding pleasantly as he left the
room.
I wondered at his nerve, and admired the self-control which could thus
enable him to talk and even jest at such a time.
I had time to walk round with Jack to the place of examination before
business, and give him my final benediction at the door.
Then I hurried off to Hawk Street.
It was a long, dull day there without him. Hawk Street had long since
ceased to be exciting. The fellows I liked--and they were very few--did
not obtrude their affections on me during business hours, and the
fellows I disliked had given up the pastime of baiting me as a bad job.
I had my own department of work to attend to, and very little
communication with any one else in the doing of it, except with
Doubleday, who, as the reader knows, usually favoured me when anything
specially uninviting wanted doing.
Of Hawkesbury I now saw and heard less than any one. He had been
promoted to a little glazed-in box of his own, where in stately solitude
he managed the petty-cash, kept the correspondence, and generally worked
as hard as one who is a cut above a clerk and a cut below a partner is
expected to do.
On the day in question I was strongly tempted to break in upon his
solitude and demand an explanation of his conduct to Billy on the
preceding evening. But a moment's reflection convinced me of the folly
of such a course. It was not likely, if I got any answer at all, I
should get a satisfactory one, while to reopen communications at all
after what had occurred might be unwise and mischievous. For ever since
Hawkesbury and I had ceased to be on talking terms at the office I had
been more comfortable there, and involved in fewer troubles than ever
before.
So I let well alone.
During the day an important telegram arrived at the office, which kept
the partners closeted together in the inner-room for an hour, in earnest
conference, at the end of which time Hawkesbury was sent for.
Doubleday, who had seen the telegram, told me it was to say that a
vessel reported lost had turned up, with a cargo which was now double
the value in the market it would have been had she arrived when
expected. However, there were points connected with the insurance and
other matters which would require the presence of one of the firm at
Liverpool, and this was evidently the object of the present
confabulation.
"A year ago," said Doubleday, "they would have sent me. But now the
darling comes in for all the trips."
Which proved to be the case now. Hawkesbury emerged from the inner-room
with an important face, and told the junior clerk (I no longer held that
distinguished post), to fetch a hansom immediately. Doubleday nudged
me.
"If it was you or me, I fancy we'd fetch our own hansoms, eh! Never
mind, we've neither of us got uncles."
"Haven't we?" said I, laughing. "I have."
"Ah--so have I, for the matter of that. Three--all as poor as church
mice too. I mean we've not got uncles in the firm. But what puzzles me
is, what is to become of the petty-cash? I suppose I'm to be favoured
with that job during his lordship's absence. I shall certainly cover
the book with crape."
"Batchelor," called Hawkesbury at that moment, just putting his head out
of the door of his box, "will you step here, please?"
Doubleday nudged me again, harder than ever.
"I say," said he, with glee, "you're to be sent too to carry his bag--
see if you aren't."
However, Doubleday was wrong for once. The honour he prophesied was not
reserved for me. But another was, almost as surprising.
"Batchelor," said Hawkesbury, almost in his old wheedling tone, "I shall
be away for three or four days. I'll get you to keep the petty-cash
accounts till I return. I won't leave the regular book out, as I have
not time to balance it. You can enter anything on a separate paper,
which I will copy in when I return. There is £3 in the cash-box now.
You had better keep it locked up in your desk."
I could not help being surprised that he should fix on me of all persons
to undertake this responsibility for him during his absence. It seemed
so much more naturally to devolve on its former guardian that I could
not help asking, "Don't you think Doubleday had better--"
"I prefer you should do it, please," said Hawkesbury, decisively,
bustling off to another desk at the same moment, and so cutting short
further parley.
So I had nothing for it but to take up the cash-box, and, after making
sure it contained exactly the £3 he had mentioned, transfer it to my own
desk.
When I told Doubleday that afternoon what had happened he waxed very
facetious on the head of it. He was undoubtedly a little hurt that I
should be selected for the charge instead of him. But we were too good
friends to misunderstand one another in the matter.
"I expect he's left it with you because you're a young hand, and he
thinks you're sure to make a mess of it. That would just suit him."
"I'll do my best to deprive him of the luxury of putting me right," said
I.
"If you do get up a tree," said Doubleday, "I'm your man. But I hope
you won't, for I don't want to have anything to do with it."
After all it was not such very alarming work. A few people dropped in
during the day and paid small amounts in cash, which I received, and
carefully entered on my sheet. And a few demands came from various
quarters for small disbursements in the way of postage-stamps,
telegrams, cab fares, and the like, all which I also carefully entered
on the other side of my account.
Before I left in the evening I balanced the two sides, and found the
cash in my box tallying exactly with the amount that appeared on my
sheet. Whereat I rejoiced exceedingly, and, locking-up my desk, thought
the keeping of the petty-cash was ridiculously simple work.
That evening when I reached the lodgings I found Jack had arrived before
me. I was eager to hear of his success or otherwise at the examination,
and he was prepared to gratify my curiosity.
He had got on well, he thought. The _viva-voce_ portion, which he had
dreaded most, had been easy, or, at any rate, the questions which fell-
to him had been such as he could readily answer. As for the written
part, all he could say was that he had replied to all the questions, and
he believed correctly, although time prevented him from doing one or two
as full justice as they deserved. In fact, after talking it over, we
both came to the conclusion that the day's effort had been a success,
and if to-morrow turned out as well, all doubt as to the result might be
dispensed with.
Then I told him of my adventures, which did not seem altogether to
overjoy him.
"I don't know why it is," said he, "but Hawkesbury is a fellow I cannot
but mistrust."
"But," said I, "I don't see what there can possibly be to suspect in his
handing over this simple account to me to keep."
"All I can say is," said he, "I wish he hadn't done it. Why didn't he
hand it over to Doubleday?"
"I wondered at that," said I, "but there's no love lost between those
two. Doubleday says he thinks he did it because I am a bit of a fool,
and he wants the pleasure of seeing me in a mess over the account."
Jack laughed.
"Doubleday is always flattering somebody," said he. "Never mind; it may
be only fancy on my part after all."
Jack wanted to get to his books that evening, but I dissuaded him.
"It can do no good," said I, "and it may just muddle you for to-morrow.
Take an easy evening now, and go to bed early. You'll be all the
fresher for it to-morrow."
So, instead of study, we fell-to talking, and somehow got on to the
subject of the home at Packworth.
"By the way, Fred," said Jack, "I got a letter from you the other day."
"From me?" I cried; "I haven't written to you for months."
"It _was_ from you, though, but it had been a good time on the road, for
it was written from Stonebridge House just after I had left."
"What! the letter you never called for at the post-office?"
"The letter you addressed to `J.' instead of `T.' my boy; But I'm glad
to have it now. It is most interesting."
"But however did you come by it?" I asked.
"If you will stop runaway horses when your hands are full you must
expect to lose things. This letter was picked up by Mrs Shield after
that little adventure, and only came to light out of the lining of her
bag last week. She remembered seeing it lying on the road, she says,
and picking it up, along with Mary's shawl and handkerchief, which had
also fallen. But she was too flurried to think anything of it, and
until it mysteriously turned up the other day she had forgotten its
existence. So there's a romantic story belonging to your letter."
I could not be satisfied till the interesting document was produced and
conned over. We laughed a good deal in the reading, over the
reminiscences it brought up, and the change that had come over both our
lives since then.
"Mrs Shield says Mary insisted it belonging to her, and that she had no
right to send it to me," said Jack, laughing. "What do you think of
that?"
"It's very kind of her," said I, "to think anything about it. I say,
Jack," I added, blushing a little, "got that photo about you?"
Jack handed out his treasure, and we fell-to talking a good deal about
the original of the picture, which interested me quite as much as it did
Jack.
"Do you know, Fred," said he, presently, "she doesn't know anything
about--about father? She believes she is an orphan, and that I am the
only relation she has."
"I'm sure," said I, "it's far better so."
"Yes," said Jack, sadly. "At present it is. But some day she ought to
know."
"Why?" said I.
"If he ever--but we're not going to talk of that. What do you say to
turning in? That's half-past ten striking by the church."
So ended the first day of suspense.