"He's getting on," said one of them, on the very morning after my
_debut_. "They walk out together."
"That was not Miss Bousfield you saw me with at all," I explained.
"That was my mother."
"Quite time she came to look after you, too. How did she like your
curls? You should put them in papers overnight, then we shouldn't have
to do them every day."
Where upon I was seized, and had my locks tied up in wads of blotting-
paper, and ordered to sit down and lick envelopes, and not dare to put
my hand to my head till leave was accorded me from headquarters.
In this plight my guardian came in and discovered me.
"Please, Mr Girdler--" said I, not waiting for him to remark on my
curious appearance.
But Mr Girdler, who was not ordinarily given to mirth, abruptly left
the room with a smile on his face before I could proceed.
When he re-entered he was stern and severe.
"Make yourself decent at once, sir," said he. "No, I don't want any of
your explanations. No doubt they are highly satisfactory. I begin to
understand now why you were sent away from school. It strikes me an
idiot asylum is the proper place for you."
I dismally tore my curl-papers out of my hair and went on with my work
till the blessed hour of release came.
Then I hied straight to the nearest barber.
"I want my hair as short as you can cut it," said I.
"Very good, sir; we can give you the county crop, if you like."
"Is that the shortest you do?" inquired I, not knowing what the "county
crop" was.
"Well, sir, we ain't asked to take more off as a rule, unless it is a
clean shave you want."
"No, the county crop will do," said I.
And, to do the barber justice, I got it. I barely knew myself in the
glass when the operation was over. I had some misgivings as to the
remarks of Evans & Company in the morning--at any rate, they wouldn't
curl my hair any more.
Miss Bousfield and Miss Steele regarded me with something like dismay
when they saw me, but were polite enough to make no remark beyond giving
me permission to wear my hat if I felt a draught.
"Miss Steele has been telling me of your plan of work," said Miss
Bousfield; "and I fully approve, on the understanding you are serious
about it. I am not so sanguine as Miss Steele is; still, I do not wish
to discourage you, Jones. But understand, it means a year's hard work."
I assured her I was prepared for any amount of work, and Miss Steele,
whose ambition was as keenly aroused as mine, gave a general promise on
my behalf that I would work like a horse.
"Now," said she, when Miss Bousfield had left us, "you're in for it,
Jones. If you don't work, mind, it will be a disgrace to me as well as
you."
I fear, during the months that followed, this ardent young "coach" was
frequently on the point of disgrace. For a week or two I surprised
myself with my industry. Then I caught myself wondering at odd times
whether I was really as sure of passing as I fancied, and whether, if I
failed, it would not be a horrible sell to have worked so hard for
nothing.
Then for a day or so I came in a little late, and took to grumbling over
my tasks.
"Now, look here, Jones," said she, one day, "you were five minutes late
on Monday, ten minutes late on Tuesday and Wednesday, and a quarter of
an hour late to-day. How much is that in the week?"
"Forty minutes," said I; mental arithmetic was a strong point with me.
"Very good; there's forty minutes lost. The examination may turn on the
very lesson you might have learned in that time. Now, I'm not going to
threaten you, but what should you say if I were to call at the office
and fetch you every day?"