"`My dear sir,--I have given the most careful consideration to your
proposal, and I am quite willing to--to--to--to--' If you please, sir,
I'm very sorry," I stammered, "but I can't make out that word."
"No, boy, nor I neither. I don't believe the writer can. There, go and
wash those dirty hands," he continued, snatching the letter from me.
"No: stop!" cried Mr Grimstone wrathfully; "I want that boy here."
"Then you may take your great clever noodle, Jem Smith," said the little
man.
"Mr Rowle, I will not have my rules and regulations broken in this way,
sir."
"Hang you and your rules," said the little man. "Have a pinch? No?
Then let it alone."
"I cannot and will not spare that boy," cried Mr Grimstone, motioning
away the snuff-box.
For answer the little man tightened his lips, snapped-to the lid of his
snuff-box, hastily took a pinch, snapped his fingers in the overseer's
face, and taking me by the shoulder, marched me before him towards the
door, and past Mr Hallett's frame.
"Here, get your jacket, my lad," said the little man. "You can wash
your hands upstairs."
Mr Hallett nodded to me and looked, as I thought, pleased as I passed
him, and preceding my new taskmaster, I went up to the next floor, where
he led me to a glass case, exactly like that occupied by Mr Grimstone
and the reader in his room, the sides being similarly decorated with
slips of paper hanging from nails.
He showed me where to wash, and, this done, I was soon by his side,
reading steadily on to him various pieces of manuscript, while,
spectacles on nose, he pored over and made corrections on the margins of
the printed slips of paper that were constantly being brought to him by
a youth who printed them from the column galleys at a small hand-press.
I got on pretty well, for my home training had made manuscript easy to
me. In fact, I had often copied pieces for my father, containing
letters from various naturalist friends, while my sojourn at Mr
Blakeford's had made anything of a legal character perfectly clear.
That night, when it was time to go, and I had had no greater
unpleasantness to contend with than several severe fits of sneezing
brought on when the little man used his snuff-box, I timidly asked him
if I was wanted the next day, for as yet no opportunity had served for
making known my knowledge of his brother.
"Wanted!" he cried; "why, I had serious thoughts of locking you up, boy,
so as to make sure of you to-morrow. Wanted! Yes: I've got you, and I
mean to keep you; and if Grimstone says another word--but only let him.
Look here: you are very stupid yet, but you'll soon improve; and mind
this, come with clean hands and face to-morrow, and clean apron."
"Yes, sir," I said, and then I hesitated.
"Well, what is it?"
"Please, sir, you are Mr Jabez Rowle, are you not?"
"Yes, and what then?" he said shortly.
"Only, sir, that Mr Peter Rowle, who is a friend of mine, said I might
mention his name to you."
"Oh, he did, did he? Well, he need not have taken the trouble. There,
be off, and mind you are here in good time."
This was damping, especially as Mr Jabez Rowle took snuff viciously,
and stood staring before him, tapping his box, and muttering angrily, in
which state I left him, and made the best of my way home.
I was in good time next morning, but, all the same, there sat Mr Jabez
Rowle in his glass case waiting for me, and as I entered and said
"Good-morning, sir," he just nodded shortly and pointed with the
penholder in his hand to a piece of paper.
"Go on?" he said; and, taking it up, I began to read.
"Not quite so fast, and say _par_ when you come to a fresh paragraph."
I read on, making a good many blunders in my anxiety to be right, but, I
presume, getting on very well, for Mr Rowle found but little fault, as
he seemed to dart his pen down at every error in the slip proofs before
him--turned letters, _p's_ where _q's_ should be, and _b's_ for _d's_;
_c's_ were often in the place of _e's_; and then there were omissions,
repetitions, absence of spaces or points, a score of different little
omissions on the compositor's part; and, besides all these, the busy pen
made marks and signs that were cabalistic to me.
This had gone on about a couple of days, and I was reading away to him
what I believed was a prayer in a chancery-bill, when Mr Jabez suddenly
laid down his pen, took out his snuff-box, and said, looking me full in
the face, "How's Peter?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"I say, how's Peter?"
"How's Peter, sir?"
"Don't pretend to be stupid, boy, when you're as sharp as a needle," he
cried, tapping the desk angrily with his snuff-box. "Didn't you say you
knew my brother Peter?"
"Oh yes, sir! he was very kind to me, but I haven't seen him for some
weeks. He was quite well then."
"Humph! look old?"
"He looks very much like you, sir."
"Then he does look old. We're very fond of one another, boy, but we;
always quarrel; so we never meet. `And your petitioner furthermore
sayeth--'"
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"`And your petitioner furthermore sayeth'--get on, boy: go on."
I dashed at the manuscript again, for he had resumed his work, and read
on to the end, for he made no further inquiries about his brother.
I soon grew quite accustomed to reading, and found that Mr Jabez Rowle
meant what he said about keeping to me, for I was regularly installed as
reading-boy, and, as I have said, I was delighted with the change. I
often met Jem Smith, and, from his looks, it was evident that he bore me
no good will, and, to be frank, I felt rather revengeful for his
treatment. One day, during the dinner hour, I went down into the lower
part before the men came back, and, after getting some slips which Mr
Rowle had told me to have ready for him, my enemy pounced upon me,
coming in at the door just as I was about to leave.
"Now I've got yer, then," he cried, with a malicious grin, and, rushing
at me, I had only time to evade the first onslaught by running round the
frames, when a hot chase ensued, ending in my being brought to bay, and
receiving blow after blow from my stronger antagonist.
I did all I could to defend myself, till, closing with me, he held me
tight with one arm, and struck me so cruelly in the face, that it roused
me to greater efforts, and, after a short wrestle, I was free.
It was but a moment's respite before he dashed at me again, and, in my
rage and desperation, I struck out at him so fiercely that my fist
caught him full between the eyes, making him stagger and catch at the
first object he could to save himself, and the result was that he pulled
over a full case of small type. There was a crash, I uttered a cry, and
some twenty pounds of type were scattered in confusion all over the
floor.
Before I had recovered from my horror, the door was thrown open, and Mr
Grimstone came hurrying in.
"What's this--what's this?" he cried.
"Please, sir, Grace was playing larks with one of the cases, and he let
it fall."
"Then Mr Grace shall soon find out what it is to destroy the property
of the firm in this wanton way," he cried.
"Indeed, sir--" I began.
"Not a word, sir--not a word!" he cried. "Smith, go about your work.
You, Grace, pick up every bit of that pie at once."
"But please, sir, I did not knock it down, and Mr Rowle is waiting for
me."
"Pick it up, sir."
"But Mr Rowle--"
"Pick it up, sir."
I was so hot and excited that I was about to declare angrily that I
would not, when I caught Mr Hallett's eyes gazing fixedly at me, and
without a word, but feeling half-choked with anger and indignation, I
fetched a galley and began to pick up the fallen type.
I had not been engaged in my uncongenial task many minutes before Mr
Jabez Rowle came down to see where I was, and I noticed that there was
quite a triumphant look in Mr Grimstone's eyes as he said I must stay
and pick up all the type, the matter being compromised on the
understanding that as soon as the metal was picked up I was to resume my
reading upstairs, and, by Mr Grimstone's orders, stay in every
dinner-time and get to the office an hour sooner every morning till I
had set up and distributed the whole of the pie.
How I dwelt on the injustice of that task! It was one which seemed to
give Mr Grimstone great satisfaction, for it took my inexperienced
fingers many weeks, and I had to toil very hard. But all the same, it
was no waste of time, for it gave me dexterity in handling type such as
I should not otherwise have had.
I had suffered a great deal from anxiety lest some morning Mr Blakeford
should step into the office and claim me; for, unpleasant as were my
dealings with Mr Grimstone, Jem Smith, and through the latter with
several of the other boys, I thoroughly enjoyed my present existence.
Revitts was very kind, and, in spite of his sharp abruptness, I did not
dislike quaint old Mr Jabez Rowle, who seemed never to be happy unless
he was correcting proofs.
My dread arose from the thought that Revitts might in some communication
to Mary be the cause of her naming my whereabouts to the lawyer. Then I
was afraid that Mr Ruddle might write down and make inquiries. Lastly,
that Mr Jabez Rowle might mention me in writing to his brother. But I
grew more reassured as it became evident that Mr Ruddle had not
written, while Mr Jabez Rowle said one day, just in the middle of some
corrections:
"Ah, I'm very fond of Peter, so I never write to him."
Then, too, I found that Mr Revitts never wrote to Mary without, in a
half-bashful way, showing me the letter.
"Lookye here," he would say, "we said we'd help one another, lad. Some
o' these days you'll want to write such a letter as this here, and so
you may as well see how it's done. Then you can just shove your pen
through where the spellin' ain't quite square, and I'll write it out
again. I don't know as it's quite right to let her get thinking as I'm
such a tip-topper at spellin', but she came the same game with me over
the writing, making me think as she'd improved wonderful, when it was
you; so it's six o' one and half-a-dozen o' t'other. What do you say?"
"I don't think Mary meant to deceive you, Bill," I said. "Poor girl,
she had to work very hard, and her hands were not used to holding a pen.
I don't suppose she ever thought of saying who wrote for her. There's
nothing to be ashamed of in trying to improve your spelling."
"No, there ain't, is there, lad?"
"Nothing at all. Mr Hallett says we go on learning all our lives."
"Hah! I suppose we do. What would you do then?"
"I should tell Mary I helped you."
"So I will--so I will," he said, in his quiet simple way; for as sure as
the subject _Mary_ was in question, all William Revitts' sharp
police-constable ways dropped off, and he was as simple and smiling as a
child.
"Give my love to her, Bill," I said.
He looked heavily and steadily at me for a few moments, and then in a
very stupid way he began:
"I say, youngster, do you think Mary is fond of you?"
"I'm sure she is--very," I said.
He fidgeted in his chair, and then continued:
"And you like her?"
"Very, very, very much. She was horribly cross at first, but towards
the last nobody could have been kinder."
"I say, how old are you?"
"Between thirteen and fourteen," I said.
"Ah, to be sure; of course, lad, so you are," he said, brightening up
and shaking hands. "Yes, I'll give your love to her. I say, boy, it
won't be long first," he continued, rubbing his hands.
"Won't it?" I said, easily divining what he meant.
"No, not long now, for we've been engaged a precious long while."