Something like the same sensation came over me when I made my way to
Great George Street, Westminster, as I had felt on the morning when I
presented myself at the great printing-office. But my nervousness soon
passed away on being received by Mr Girtley, a short, broad-shouldered
man, with a big head covered with crisp, curly grey hair.
"Ah," he said, speaking in a great hurry, "you're Antony Grace, our new
pupil, are you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Miss Carr's young friend. Knew Carr: clever, wealthy man."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Yes, only had one fault--died twenty years too soon. Been a
millionaire and a modest man combined. _Rara avis_, eh? Ha, ha, ha!
Tom!"
"Yes, father."
The answer came from an inner office, and a good-looking youth,
wonderfully like Mr Girtley, came out with a pencil across his mouth, a
pen behind his ear, a scale in one hand, and a pair of compasses in the
other. "This is Antony Grace; you take charge of him and show him
about. Take it coolly. _Festina lente_, you know. I say, Antony
Grace, what does _rara avis_ mean?"
"A rare or strange bird, sir."
"Good lad. And _festina lente_?"
"Hasten slowly, sir."
"Good lad. You're all right with your Latin, then. I wasn't when I
began. Had to learn it after I was twenty. Well, I'm busy, Tom; you
understand; he'll be a bit nervous and strange, so don't worry him. Let
him take in spoonfuls first. He'll learn to drink big draughts later
on."
"I'm very busy over those syphon plans, father."
"Ah, the new syphon. Yes, that must be done. Well, I'll set Browning
to do them."
"I'd--I'd much rather finish them myself," said the youth.
"Of course you would. Well, then, I'll give you a fortnight's
extension; then you can finish them and have plenty of time for Antony
Grace as well. Take him round the works, and then you can go down the
river for a run. And, by-the-way, Tom, go in one of the new boats, and
tip the engineer. Have a good look at those fresh oscillating
cylinders, and see whether you think they beat ours. I'm off. You were
quite punctual, Antony Grace, or you wouldn't have seen me. Always keep
your appointments exactly. Good-morning; glad to see you. Hope you'll
get on and like the business. Work hard at it, and mind this--steady
application wins. Bring him home to dinner to-night, Tom. Eh? yes."
"Mr Williamson to see you, sir," said a clerk.
"My compliments to Mr Williamson, and he must make another appointment.
He is an hour after the time he named, and I am engaged for the rest of
the day. Lesson in punctuality, Antony Grace," he said, nodding. "I'm
off."
The door closed after his retreating figure, and Tom and I stood
staring, probably thinking the same thing, whether we should like one
another. The result of the scrutiny was satisfactory to me, for there
was something very pleasant in the young fellow's frank open
countenance, and I longed to meet with a companion nearly my own age.
"Well," he said quietly, "suppose we have a look round. I shan't work
any more at my plans this morning. This is my place," he continued,
taking me into the inner office, where a great broad mahogany desk was
covered with papers. "You'll have that one; it was Bailey's; he was
father's pupil; he's gone out to India on the Great Central."
I said, "Has he?" but I had no idea whether the Great Central was a ship
or a great engine.
"There are my plans for a self-acting syphon. Those parts coloured red
are where the vacuum valves will come in, and, of course, this lower
part takes the place of a steam-pump."
"Does it?" I said, laughing. "But I don't understand it a bit."
"No, of course not," he said, laughing too. "Well, you'll soon learn.
You'll like father, and we'll like you if you'll work well. Bailey and
he did not get on at all."
"Didn't Bailey work well?" I said, as a vision of the idle apprentice
came before my eyes.
"Father used to say he was like an engine with a bad stoker. He was
either racing, or there was no steam un. He'd work furiously for two
days, and then he'd idle for a week."
"Mr Girtley is fond of work, then?"
"Father says everyone was meant to work, and life's too short for all we
have to do. But he likes play, too. We have a cricket-field at home,
and a billiard-table, and bowls--all sorts of games. Father plays at
all of them when he's at home and isn't gardening. He calls it oiling
his machinery and slackening his bands. Come along, I'll show you the
factory, and our workshop, where you and I will have to work, making
models, and then we'll oil our machinery."
"Shall we have to make models?" I cried eagerly.
"You will, of course. I'm going to be a lawyer. Father thinks the man
who is a good engineer is sure to have to invent, and if so, he ought to
be able to take the tools out of his men's hands, and show them how they
should be used. Shall you like that? It makes your hands black."
"Oh, I shan't mind that," I said, laughing. "I shall like it."
We went over the office, and then, taking our caps, he showed me the way
over Westminster Bridge to the great works in Lambeth, where steam was
puffing and panting, wheels whirring, and iron and steel were shrieking
as they were being tortured into shape.
It was a confusing place, and, after passing the timekeeper's box at the
entrance, we seemed to plunge into a kind of Pandemonium, where fires
glared, and white-hot masses of metal were being dragged out and beaten
till they sent sparks of brilliant fire flying in all directions. From
there we ascended to a floor where wheels were whirring and great
machines were at work, with men tending them, and pouring oil in the
wounds made by mighty steam-worked chisels, or bored in pieces of black
iron. In one place, shavings of iron were curling off before a plane
like so much soft wood; and on touching them I found them rigid, and hot
with the friction necessary to tear them away. Next we were in a higher
shop, where lathes were at work, and iron, steel, and brass were being
turned like so much ivory. Out of this great floor was a smaller
workshop, whose walls were covered with tools; and on shelves around
were dozens of strange models, which took my attention strongly as I
thought of Hallett's patient work, and longed to begin at something on
the spot.
Here, too, there were lathes, vices, and all the necessary paraphernalia
for the constructing engineers, and I left the place unwillingly to join
young Girtley in his run down the river, where, the right steamer being
chosen, we had our ride; the oscillating engines were examined, and we
were back and down at Dulwich in good time for dinner and a look round
the spacious grounds afterwards.
I returned to Caroline Street full of my day's adventures, and ready to
tell Mary of my progress towards prosperity, but, to my disappointment,
she seemed in nowise dazzled. It was quite a matter of course to her,
only a question of time before I should be a great engineer, and in that
faith she was a strong believer.
Time glided on, and the half-work, half-play system, upon which I had
commenced business at Great George Street had in the course of a month
settled into regular hours, but the work did not trouble me, for I led
so pleasant a life with Tom Girtley, and found his father so eager and
willing a teacher, that I quite enjoyed the toil. There was the one
idea, too, always before my mind that some day I should be able to help
Hallett, whom I joined nearly every night, to pore over and try to
scheme something new for the machine.
I could see that matters were in anything but a happy state at the
Halletts'--Mrs Hallett being more complaining and querulous than ever,
and, it seemed to me, rather disposed to side with Linny in her
rebellion against her brother's authority.
For they were not at one: Linny was pale, excitable, and troubled:
Hallett, loving, kind, and firm. But from hints he let drop, I found
that Linny was as obstinate as ever, and that she was still carrying on
a correspondence with her unknown admirer.
One night, after leaving Great George Street, I made my way to
Hallett's, but he was out, and Linny assured me that he would not be
back for hours. She evidently wanted me to go, and the reason was
plain--she was busy writing a letter; and as I went away, wondering
where to go, I bethought me of Mr Jabez Rowle, who lodged in the
neighbourhood, and as it would be his time for being home, I determined
to go and see him.
I easily found his lodgings, at a little grocer's shop in a bystreet,
where he had the first floor, the front window being turned into quite a
garden with flowers, and some scarlet-runners twining up strings on
either side.
I heard the familiar snap of his snuff-box as I tapped at the door, and
in reply to his "Come in," I entered, to find the old gentleman taking
his leisure by poring over a long slip, and, pen in hand, darting in
corrections with a grunt of satisfaction.
"Ah, young Grace," he cried, "you here! I thought you were lost. Glad
to see you, boy. Here, sit down--no, stand up; catch hold of that bit
of manuscript, and read it to me--only a dozen sides." And to my great
astonishment I found myself reading away to him in the old style for
quite half-an-hour before he reached the bottom of the slip proofs and
laid his pen down with a satisfied grunt and took a pinch of snuff.
"Quite a treat, Grace--quite a treat," he cried. "Sit down. I haven't
had a bit of copy read to me like that since you left. Boy I've got's a
fool, and I could knock his head against the wall. Shake hands. How
are you?"