The loudly-closed door of the private office cut short Mr James
Brandon's speech, and he had passed out without looking round, or he
would have seen that his nephew looked anything but a fool as he sat
there with his fists clenched and his eyes flashing.
"How dare he call my dear dead father an idiot!" he said in a low fierce
voice through his compressed teeth. "Oh, I can't bear it--I won't bear
it. If I were not such a miserable coward I should go off and be a
soldier, or a sailor, or anything so that I could be free, and not
dependent on him. I'll go. I must go. I cannot bear it," he muttered;
and then with a feeling of misery and despair rapidly increasing, he
bent down over his book again, for a something within him seemed to
whisper--"It would be far more cowardly to give up and go."
Then came again the memory of his mother's words, and he drew his breath
through his teeth as if he were in bodily as well as mental pain; and
forcing himself to read, he went on studying the dreary law-book till,
in his efforts to understand the author, his allusions, quotations,
footnotes, and references, he grew giddy, and at last the words grew
blurred, and he had to read sentences over and over again to make sense
of them, which slid out of his mind like so much quicksilver.
Lunch-time came, and Pringle crept through the place where he was
seated, glanced at Mr Brandon's door, stepped close up, and whispered--
"I'm going to get my dinner. Don't look downhearted about a wigging,
Mr Tom. It's nothing when you're used to it."
"Ahem!" came from the inner office, and Pringle made a grimace like a
pantomime clown, suggesting mock horror and fear, as he glided to the
outer door, where he turned, looked back, and then disappeared; while,
as soon as he was alone, Tom took out a paper of sandwiches, opened it,
and began to eat, it being an understood thing that he should not leave
the office all day.
But those sandwiches, good enough of their kind, tasted as if they were
made of sawdust, and he had hard work to get them down, and then only by
the help of a glass of water from the table-filter, standing at the side
of the office--kept, Pringle said, to revive unfortunate clients whose
affairs were going to the bad. Every now and then a cough was heard
from the inner office, and Tom hurried over his meal in dread lest his
uncle should appear before he had finished. Then, as soon as the last
was eaten, and the paper thrust into the waste-basket, the boy attacked
his book once more, and had hardly recommenced when the inner office
door opened, and his uncle appeared, looking at him sharply--ready, Tom
thought, to find fault with him for being so long over his midday meal.
But there was nothing to complain about.
"I'm going to have my lunch," he said sharply, "and I may not come back,
though all the same I may. Mind that man Pringle goes on with his work,
and don't let me have any fault to find about your reading. When you go
home tell them to give you something to eat, for there will be no
regular dinner to-day, as I shall be out. Take home any letters that
may come, in case I don't look in."
"All right, uncle."
"And don't speak in that free-and-easy, offhand, unbusiness-like manner.
Say `Yes, sir,' and `No, sir,' if you are not too stupid to remember."
He put on his hat and went out, leaving the boy feeling as if a fresh
sting had been planted in his breast, and his brow wrinkled up more than
ever, while his heart grew more heavy in his intense yearning for
somebody who seemed to care for him, if ever so little.
Five minutes later Pringle came back, looking shining and refreshed. As
he entered he gave Tom an inquiring look, and jerked his head sidewise
toward the inner office.
Tom was not too stupid to understand the dumb language of that look and
gesture.
"No," he replied. "He went out five minutes ago, and said that very
likely he wouldn't be back."
"And that you were to take any letters home after office hours?"
"Yes; how did you know?"
"How did I know!" said the clerk with a chuckle; "because I've been
caught before. That means that he'll be sure to look in before very
long to see whether we are busy. You'd better read hard, sir, and don't
look up when he comes. Pst! 'ware hawk!"
He slipped into the little office, and his stool made a scraping noise,
while, almost before Tom had settled down to his work, the handle of the
outer door turned and his uncle bustled in.
"Here, did I leave my umbrella?" he said sharply.
"I did not see it, uncle--sir," replied Tom, jumping from his stool.
"Keep your place, sir, and go on with your work. Don't be so fond of
seizing any excuse to get away from your books. Humph, yes," he
muttered, as he reached into his room and took up the ivory-handled
article from where it stood.
The next moment he was at the door of the clerk's office.
"By the way, Pringle, you had better go and have that deed stamped this
afternoon if you get it done in time."
"Yes, sir," came back sharply, and the lawyer frowned, turned round, and
went out once more.
The outer door had not closed a minute before the inner one opened, and
Pringle's head appeared, but with its owner evidently on the alert, and
ready to snatch it back again.
"Good-bye! Bless you!" he said aloud. "Pray take care of yourself,
sir. You can bob back again if you like, but I shan't be out getting
the deed stamped, because, as you jolly well know, it won't be done
before this time to-morrow."
Pringle looked at Tom, smiled, and nodded.
"You won't tell him what I said, Mr Tom, I know. But I say, don't you
leave your stool. You take my advice. Don't you give him a chance to
row you again, because I can see how it hurts you."
Tom's lip quivered as he looked wistfully at the clerk.
"It's all right, sir. You just do what's c'rect, and you needn't mind
anything. I ain't much account, but I do know that. I wouldn't stay
another month, only there's reasons, you see, and places are easier to
lose than find, 'specially when your last guv'nor makes a face with the
corners of his lips down when any one asks for your character. Pst!
look out. Here he is again."
For there was a step at the door, the handle rattled, and as Pringle
disappeared, a quiet, grave-looking, middle-aged man stepped in.
"Do, Tom!" he said, as with an ejaculation of surprise the boy sprang
from his stool and eagerly took the extended hand, but dropped it again
directly, for there did not seem to be any warmth in the grasp. "Quite
well, boy?"
"Yes, Uncle Richard," said Tom, rather sadly.
"That's right. Where's my brother?"
"He has gone out, sir, and said he might not return this afternoon."
"Felt I was coming perhaps," said the visitor. "Here, don't let me
hinder you, my lad; he won't like you to waste time. Getting on with
your law reading?"
The boy looked at him wistfully, and shook his head.
"Eh? No? But you must, my lad. You're no fool, you know, and you've
got to be a clever lawyer before you've done."
Tom felt disposed to quote his other uncle's words as to his folly, but
he choked down the inclination.
"There, I won't hinder you, my lad," continued the visitor. "I know
what you busy London people are, and how we slow-going country folk get
in your way. I only want to look at a Directory,--you have one I know."
"Yes, sir, in the other office. I'll fetch it."
The quiet, grey-haired, grave-looking visitor gave a nod as if of
acquiescence, and Tom ran into the inner office, where he found that
Pringle must have heard every word, for he was holding out the London
Directory all ready.
"He must hear everything too when uncle goes on at me," thought Tom, as
he took the Directory and returned Pringle's friendly nod.
"Tell him he ought to give you a tip."
Tom frowned, shook his head, and hurried back with the great red book.
"Hah, that's right, my boy," said the visitor. "There, I don't want to
bother about taking off my gloves and putting on my spectacles. Turn to
the trades, and see if there are any lens-makers down."
"Yes, sir, several," said Tom, after a short search.
"Read 'em down, boy."
Tom obeyed alphabetically till he came to D, and he had got as far as
Dallmeyer when his visitor stopped him.
"That will do," he said. "That's the man I want. Address?"