A NEW CHANCE.
A FORTNIGHT or so later, Roger Read was hard at work. The first train
was to run the next day. He heard voices raised as if in anger, and
standing still for a moment to listen, knew that one speaker was Tom
Avery and that the other had a voice that he had heard before, though
he did not at once recognise it. Avery was saying,—
"No, I won't, indeed. You were the plague of my life before with your
cheek and your idleness. I've got a lad in your place that does his
work like a man. I'll have no more to say to you,—" here the speaker
and his companion came round some carriages which had hidden them from
Roger,—"so be off with you, you needn't say another word."
"Ah, then, Mr. Avery, ye might listen to me. I worked wid ye three
whole years, and well you know I was honest and willing—now you say,
sir, was I ever in mischief till we came here and I took up with
Bowles? In mischief to spake of, I mean."
"You were in too much here to please me."
"Yes, because I took up with Bowles, and you were always down on me;
and then I gave impudence, and angered you worse; and then I ran off,
thinking to get work on the fishing boats, but they won't have me; and
I've tramped the country, and the farmers won't have me, and if you
don't take me on again, sir, there's nothing before me but to starve,
and that's the gospel truth, so 'tis."
It was Deasy, and his appearance quite confirmed his pitiful tale;
he was very ragged, his shoes were in holes, he was very thin, and
altogether very unlike the saucy, bright-eyed, Easy Deasy Roger
remembered.
"Well, I can't take you on, and you know that as well as I do. You're
not able to do a man's work, and I haven't leave to have more than one
boy. And Read has the place, and I can tell you he isn't the lad to
throw away a chance, as he'd tell you himself."
Roger came forward and drew Avery aside.
"Mr. Avery," he said, "listen to me. Maybe I ought to give it up. Was
he really three years with you, and only got idle here?"
"Well, it is pretty true. He never put much into his work, took it
easy, he did. But indeed there's no harm in the lad, and I'm sorry for
him. He's learned this work, and he's not one that can turn his hand
to anything. I was hasty with him too, but you're in your rights, and
Deasy must just take his chance."
"And starve," said Deasy, who had drawn near unobserved.
"You can go to the workhouse," said Avery, at which Deasy set up a
dismal howl.
"And be sent back to Dublin for me stepfather to kill me! Oh, musha!
Thank you, but I won't do that if the water in these parts can drown
me. Do you mind the way I was in when you took me on first?"
"I do; but where is the use of talking?" Avery said angrily. "I'm sorry
for you, but I can't help you. Roger's got the place, and does the work
better than you did."
"But," said Roger, "I'll go, all the same; if you'll take Deasy back,
I'll go. I've saved money enough to set me going. I see a real good
chance of getting on here; I'd rather go, anyhow, than stand in his
way."
Avery looked hard at him—then shouted, "Jack Sparling, come here."
And Jack left his work and came.
"Look here, Jack. Young Deasy has come back, and, as you may see, he
hasn't been making his fortune since he left us. He wants to get his
place again, and I thought Roger was the lad to stick to it when he had
it; but Roger says he will give up and won't stand in Deasy's way. Now
the boy learned that kind of talk from you, Jack, so I just called you
to see what you'd say."
[Illustration]
Jack nodded and looked at Roger, who said,—
"'Do unto others as you would that they should do to you,'
"That's plain enough."
"You may never get such another chance," put in Avery, who looked
annoyed.
"That's just it," said Roger, still speaking to Sparling. "I've been
all for No. 1 as long as I can remember. I'm never likely to be able
to do much, but here's a chance, I may do something. If I don't do it,
I suppose it would just show that I'm not in real earnest. And don't
be afraid for me, Jack. I have a plan, and I've saved enough to set it
going. I shall do very fairly."
"Ay, lad," said Jack. And he stretched out a grimy paw and gave Roger's
equally grimy paw a hearty shake, and then turned and walked back to
his work.
Avery broke into a laugh, in which there was a queer mixture of
unwilling admiration and annoyance.
"It's well for you, Roger, I do believe, that you'll be parted from
him, he's making you as great a fool as he is himself; but there,
you'll say you wish to be just such another, I suppose. All I have to
say is,—Remember, if you give it up, you must stand by what you've
done; I won't allow another change."
And Avery walked off.
"You be off now," said Roger to Deasy. "Here's sixpence, go and get
some food, and come to work in the morning."
Deasy, who had passed the last ten minutes in staring hard at every one
in turn, now stared harder than ever at Roger. Finally, his face began
to work, and big tears ran down his dirty cheeks, making strange tracks
of whiteness in the grey tint his countenance presented.
"Roger—Roger Read! I'm—not good at saying it—but I feel it, I do! I'll
never forget—"
Here Roger was loudly called by half a dozen voices at once.
"Go," said he, "I have no time to talk now;" and when he came back
Deasy was gone, to his great contentment.
That evening, when the men left work, Roger unfolded his plan to his
friend Sparling, who pronounced it a good one, but said that if it did
not succeed, Roger was to write to him at an address in Birmingham, and
he would get a friend to answer the letter and send him money to come
to Birmingham, where he thought so handy a fellow would surely get work.
Among the other men, particularly the younger ones, Roger's decision
about his place was much spoken of, some calling it an act of folly,
some admiring it. Avery told his wife privately that he was rather
glad, for that one saint was enough! But between Sparling and Roger
very little was said on the subject. Very unlike in most things, they
were alike in this—they were honestly in earnest in their endeavour to
be like their Master. To Sparling, Roger's act seemed natural under
the circumstances, though he was sorry that the lad had exchanged
a certainty for a chance. In a few days the workmen returned to
Birmingham, and Roger was left alone.
At first, he felt very lonely, but he was soon far too busy to think
about it, though he missed Jack Sparling very much, and regretted
greatly that his friend could not write. He began to carry out his
cherished plan at once. In fact, the first day that the train began to
run regularly between Kingsmore and Sandsea, Roger, with a huge basket
filled with fine fish, was one of the first third-class passengers. He
saw with satisfaction that none of the owners of the original baskets
and carts seemed to have thought of leaving their old beats.
He had found out that no fish was brought to Kingsmore regularly, and,
to use his own words, "to be first in the field was half the battle,
and this was a fine chance." First in the field he surely was; and
before one o'clock he had sold every fish in his basket at good prices.
And he returned to Sandsea, to be ready for the morning boats, a proud
and happy lad.
"If I could only tell Jack!" he said.
And now time passed rapidly with Roger for though his work was not
exactly hard, it required him to be always on the alert, and to be at
the place where the boats came in very early. After a time, others set
up baskets to convey fish to Kingsmore, finding the prices there better
than at Sandsea. Then, indeed, Roger had a rather anxious time for they
tried to undersell him; but after a few days, he found that most of his
customers waited for him, saying that he always gave them good fish,
and never tried to cheat. He went on making money steadily; in fact,
his savings presently amounted to so considerable a sum that his common
sense told him he ought not to carry it about with him, even though he
had sewed it up in a piece of stout leather, and the leather in a piece
of calico, and wore it tied to a piece of cord round his neck.
All this time Roger attended church regularly at Sandsea, where he
always slept and spent his Sundays. He now rented the room he had once
shared with Sparling; and here he kept his few belongings and his
Bible, which he still studied, and still longed to understand better.
Many a kind action too, known only to himself and those he helped,
Roger did; and Jack Sparling would have felt satisfied if he could have
seen how the lad he was so fond of was living.
But Roger, a far more intelligent fellow than Jack, felt his ignorance
weigh very heavily on him, and often longed for "a chance" of learning
many things—to understand his Bible, to write a fair hand, and to learn
arithmetic. He was clever at figures, and could calculate the price of
a fish when he sold by weight, well enough; but as he aspired to rise
in life, he felt that he ought to know how to keep accounts.
A year and some months went by, and Roger began to feel sure that he
could sell more fish than he could carry, even if the basket were yet
woven of willow that would contain them: in fact, he knew, to use his
own words, that he was losing chances, and to lose a chance went to his
heart.
One afternoon he was going up Cecil Street towards the railway station
with his empty basket, when an adventure befel him which proved of
some importance. He saw a neatly dressed little girl with pretty curly
hair, kneeling on the pavement beside a rusty grating which admitted
the light to a small window below. The child resisted every effort to
get her out of the way, holding on to the bars and screaming dismally.
Every one seemed in a hurry, for a train to Sandsea was just about to
leave, and many Kingsmore people had lodgings in Sandsea that year,
going out there in the afternoon.
Roger stooped over the child and said,—
"What's the matter, you poor little thing? Stop crying and tell me, and
I'll help you."
"My shilling, my new bright shilling that father gave me."
"Well, where is it?" said Roger.
"It went down there! Father gave it to me, to buy a wooden spade and a
tub, for we're going to Sandsea, you know, and I want to dig like the
others; and he bid me keep it in my pocket, but I took it out to look
at it, and some one hit my elbow, and it fell, and it rolled along, and
I—and it went down there!"
"Well now, you dry your eyes and never fear, we'll get the shilling.
Why, it's the shut up house—and the train will be gone. Never mind, I
can go by the late one for once. Come along, missy, till I find out who
has the key of this house. Your shilling is safe enough, for no one can
get at it."
He entered the shop next door, a baker's shop, where Roger was well
known; and fortunately it turned out that the baker had the key
himself, and he at once handed it to Roger.
With the little girl confidently holding his hand, Roger unlocked the
door, and saw before him a narrow passage, with a door at the side
which opened into the shop. But the place was so dark that the little
girl would not enter it, and Roger could see no way of descending to
the basement storey. He groped his way to the window, and, after much
fumbling, found that the shutters were outside—a fact which he ought to
have remembered, for he was quite familiar with the look of the house.
Out he went, and having with difficulty removed the heavy bar, he took
down one shutter.
Then the light showed him a small shop, and behind the counter, he
found a flight of steps going down to the lower storey. Down he went,
groped about in darkness, and found a little door by which he could get
out into the area; so he ran back for the little girl, and they went
out together.
But at first, the shilling could not be found, and the child was almost
in despair, when Roger's keen eyes caught a glimmer from something
bright, and with a shout, he pounced upon the coin. The child set up a
joyful cry, whereupon a voice from above called aloud,—
"Mary! That's certainly Mary's voice—Where are you, child?"
"That's father. Oh, look, what fun! He's walking over our heads!
Father, father—I'm here in this hole."
"Why, how on earth did you get there?" exclaimed the man on the
pavement, gazing down at his little daughter in great amazement.
"Wait one moment, and I'll come to you," said the child.
Roger let her go, but he stayed to close up the door and window, and
then followed. He found her at the door, telling her story as fast as
her little tongue could wag, to a well-dressed man without a hat, who
seemed greatly relieved at having found her.
"And I should never, never, have seen my shilling again, only for him.
He said he'd find it, and he did find it; and he was so kind, father,
and I was just mis'able."
"Why, Read! Is it you?" and Roger recognised Mr. Wilson, who kept the
Post Office and had a fine shop, where he carried on business as a
bookseller and stationer.
"I am greatly obliged to you. It was very kind of you to waste your
time helping my careless little woman here. Her mother missed her from
the door, and was so frightened that I had to be off without my hat to
search for her. She can't pay me visits in the shop, if she runs off
like this."
"I didn't want to run off, indeed! I wanted to look in the window at
the spades and pails."
"Well, you came the wrong way, You little goose. Come now, let us get
home. Thank you, Read—look in with your basket in the morning."
"Yes, sir," said Roger absently; he was in deep thought, and hardly
heard what Mr. Wilson said. As soon as he was alone, he took down a
second shutter and examined the shop. It was very dirty, it wanted
painting badly, and the woodwork was broken and defaced. Roger looked
carefully at everything. Behind the shop there was a tiny room,
upstairs there were two rooms, and below there was a good kitchen and a
little back yard, all much in need of repair and very dirty.
"I wonder why it is not let; but as it is now, it ought to go cheap,"
said Roger, standing once more in the shop. "Here's a chance; I can
only try."
And having shut up the house carefully, he went back to the baker with
the key.