"What would I do, sir? Why, if I were as poor as you say you are, and
couldn't get on here, I'd go abroad."
"But where, sir? where to?"
"Anywhere. Don't ask me. The world's big enough and round enough for
you, isn't it?"
"But without means, Mr Dempster?"
"Yes, sir, without means. Work, sir--work. The same as I have done. I
pay my poor rate, and I can't afford to help other people. Good
morning."
I heard every word uttered as I sat on my stool in the outer office, and
I felt as if I could see my employer, short, stout, fierce-looking and
grey, frowning at the thin, pale, middle-aged man whom I had ushered
in--Mr John Dempster he told me his name was--and who had come to ask
for the loan of a little money, as he was in sore distress.
Every word of his appeal hurt me, and I felt, when the words came
through the open door, as if I should have liked to take my hat and go
away. But I dared not, for I had been set to copy some letters, and I
knew from old experience that if Mr Dempster--Mr Isaac Dempster that
is--came out or called for me, and I was not there, I should have a
repetition of many a painful scene.
I tried not to listen, but every word came, and I heard how unfortunate
Mr John Dempster had been; that his wife had been seriously ill, and
now needed nourishing food and wine; and as all that was said became
mixed up with what I was writing, and the tears would come into my eyes
and make them dim, I found myself making mistakes, and left off in
despair.
I looked cautiously over the double desk, peeping between some books to
see if Esau Dean, my fellow boy-clerk, was watching me; but as usual he
was asleep with his head hanging down over his blotting-paper, and the
sun shining through his pale-coloured knotty curls, which gave his head
the appearance of a black man's bleached to a whitey brown; and as I
looked through the loop-hole between the books, my fellow-clerk's head
faded away, and I was looking back at my pleasant old school-days at
Wiltboro', from which place I was suddenly summoned home two years
before to bid good-bye to my mother before we had to part for ever.
And then all the old home-life floated before me like a bright sunny
picture, and the holidays at the rambling red-brick house with its great
walled garden, where fruit was so abundant that it seemed of no value at
all. There was my pony, and Don and Skurry, the dogs, and the river and
my boat, and the fellows who used to come and spend weeks with me--
school-fellows who always told me what a lucky chap I was; and perhaps
it was as well, for I did not understand it then, not till the news came
of my father's death, and my second summons home. I did not seem to
understand it then--that I was alone in the world, and that almost the
last words my mother said to me would have to be thought out and put to
the test. I had a dim recollection of her holding my hand, and telling
me that whatever came I was to be a man, and patient, and never to give
up; but it was not till months after that I fully realised that in place
of going back to school I was to go at once out into the world and fight
for myself, for I was quite alone.
I can't go into all this now--how I used to sit in my bed-room at night
with my head aching from thinking and trying to see impossibilities.
Let it be sufficient if I tell you that after several trials at various
things, for all of which I was soon told I was inefficient, I found
myself, a big, sturdy, country-looking lad, seated on an old
leather-covered stool at a double desk, facing Esau Dean, writing and
copying letters, while my fellow-clerk wrote out catalogues for the
printer to put in type, both of us in the service of Mr Isaac Dempster,
an auctioneer in Baring Lane, in the City of London, and also both of
us, according to Mr Dempster, the most stupid idiots that ever dipped
pen in ink.
I supposed then that Mr Dempster was right--that I was stupid and not
worth my salt, and that he had only to hold up his little finger and he
could get a thousand better lads than we were; but at the same time I
felt puzzled that he should keep us on, and that Saturday after Saturday
he should pay our wages and never say a word about discharging us--Esau
for going to sleep over his work, and me for making so many mistakes.
I had had scores of opportunities for judging that Mr Dempster was a
hard unfeeling man, who was never harder than when he had been out to
his lunch, and came back nibbling a toothpick, and smelling very
strongly of sherry; but it had never come so thoroughly home to me as on
that bright day, just at the time when for nearly an hour the sun shone
down into the narrow court-like lane, and bathed our desk, and made me
think of the country, the garden, the bright river, and above all, of
those who were dead and gone.
As I told you, my eyes were very dim when I saw Mr John Dempster come
out of the office slowly and close the door, to stand on the mat shaking
his head sadly.
"He who goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing," he said to himself, softly.
"I might have known--I might have known."
He turned then and glanced at Esau, smiling faintly to see him asleep,
and then his eyes met mine gazing at him fixedly, for somehow he seemed
just then to have a something in his face that recalled my father, as he
looked one day when he had had some very bad news--something about
money. And as I gazed at our visitor that day the likeness seemed to
grow wonderful, not in features, but in his aspect, and the lines about
his eyes and the corner of his mouth.
"Ah, my lad," he said, with a pleasant smile full of sadness, "you ought
to pray that you might be always young and free from care. Good-day."
He nodded and passed out of the office, and I heard his steps in the
narrow lane.
I glanced at Esau, who was asleep still, then at the door of the inner
office, and started as I heard a cough and the rustling of a newspaper.
Then, gliding off my stool, I caught my cap from the peg where it hung,
slipped out at the swing-door, and saw our late visitor just turning the
corner at the bottom of the lane into Thames Street.
The next minute I had overtaken him, and he turned sharply with a joyful
look in his eyes.
"Ah!" he said, "my cousin has sent you to call me back?"
"No, sir," I stammered, with my cheeks burning; and there I stopped, for
the words would not come.
How well I remember it! We were close to the open door of a warehouse,
with the scent of oranges coming out strongly, and great muscular men
with knots on their shoulders, bare-armed, and with drab breeches and
white stockings, were coming up a narrow court leading to a wharf,
bearing boxes of fruit from a schooner, and going back wiping their
foreheads with their bare arms.
"You came after me?" said our visitor, with the old pained look in his
eyes, as he half turned from me, and I stood turning over something in
my hand.
"You came after me?" he said again; and as he once more looked in my
eyes, they seemed to make me speak.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what is it? Speak out."
"I--I couldn't help hearing all you said to Mr Dempster, sir," I
faltered.
"Eh!" he cried, with a start. Then with a smile full of bitterness,
"Let it be a lesson to you, boy. Work--strive--do anything sooner than
humble yourself as I have done this day. But--but," he said, as if to
himself, "Heaven knows I was driven."
"Mr Dempster never will lend any one money, sir," I said hastily; "but
if you wouldn't mind--I don't want this for a bit. I've been saving it
up--for a long time--and--by and by--you can pay me again, and--"
I had stammered out all this and then stopped short, drawing my breath
hard, for he had seized my hand, and was gripping it so hard that the
coin I held was pressed into my fingers, as I gazed up into his face,
while he slowly relaxed his hold and looked down into my palm.
"A sovereign!" he said slowly; and then fiercely, "Did your employer
send you with that? And," he cried hastily, "you heard?"
"Yes, sir. I was not listening."
"How--how long has it taken you to save up this?"
"I don't know, sir--months."
"Ah!" Then as he held my hand tightly, he said in a half-mocking way,
"Do you know when I came into the office I envied you, my boy, for I
said, Here is one who has begun on the stool, and he'll grow up to be a
rich City man."
"I don't think I shall, sir," I said, with a laugh.
"No," he said, "you are of the wrong stuff, boy. Do you know that you
are a weak young idiot to come and offer me, a perfect stranger, all
that money--a man you have never seen before, and may never see again?
How do you know I am not an impostor?"
"I don't know how, sir," I said, "but I can see you are not."
He pressed my hand more firmly, and I saw his lips move for a few
moments, but no sound came. Then softly--
"Thank you, my lad," he said. "You have given me a lesson. I was
saying that it was a hard and a bitter and cruel world, when you came up
to show me that it is full of hope and sunshine and joy after all if we
only seek it. I don't know who you are, but your father, boy, must have
been a gentleman at heart, and your mother as true a lady as ever
breathed. Ah!"
He bent towards me as he still held my hand, for he must have read the
change in my face, for his words sent a curious pang through me.
"Your mother is--?" He finished his question with a look.