A WEARY WAIT.
Florence settled down in her attic, and made herself as comfortable as
circumstances would permit.
With all her faults, and she had plenty, Florence had a straightforward
sort of nature. She was alive to temptation, and when occasion rose, as
has been already seen, could and did yield to it. But just now she was
most anxious to eat the bread of independence, not to sink under the
sway of Bertha Keys, to fight her own battle, and to receive her own
well-earned reward.
She made her little attic look as neat and cheery as she could; she was
extremely saving with regard to her food, and set to work at once trying
to obtain employment.
Now, Florence honestly hated the idea of teaching. She was a fairly
clever girl, but no more. She had certain aptitudes and certain talents,
but they did not lie in the teacher's direction. For instance, she was
no musician, and her knowledge of foreign languages was extremely small;
she could read French fairly well, but could not speak it; she had only
a smattering of German, and was not an artist. Her special forte was
English history and literature, and she also had a fair idea of some of
the sciences.
With only these weapons in hand, and the sum of twenty pounds in her
pocket, she was about to fight the world.
She herself knew well, none better, that her weapons were small and her
chance of success not particularly brilliant.
With a good heart, however, she started out from her lodging on the
morning after her arrival in town.
She went to a registry-office in the Strand and entered her name there.
From this office she went to two or three in the West End, and, having
put down her name in each office and answered the questions of the clerk
who took her subscription, returned home.
She had been assured in four different quarters that it was only a
matter of time; that as soon as ever the schools began she would get
employment.
"There is no difficulty," one and all said to her. "You want to get a
teacher's post; you are quite sure to succeed. There will be plenty of
people requiring assistance of all sorts at the schools when the
holidays are over."
"What shall I do in the meantime?" said Florence, who knew that several
weeks of the holidays had yet to run.
"In the meantime," said all these people, "there is nothing to do but
wait."
Florence wondered if she had really left her mother too soon.
"It would have been cheaper to stay on with the little Mummy," she said
to herself; "but, under the circumstances, I could not stay. I dared not
leave myself in Bertha's power. August is nearly through, and the
schools will open again about the 20th of September. By then I shall
surely hear of something. Oh, it is hateful to teach; but there is no
help for it."
Accordingly Florence returned home in as fair spirits as was to be
expected.
She wrote and told her mother what she had done, and resolved to spend
her time studying at the British Museum.
There were not many people yet in London, and she felt strange and
lonely. A great longing for her old school life visited her. She
wondered where her schoolfellows had gone, and what they were doing, and
if they were also as hard pressed as she was.
Her money seemed to her to be already melting away in a remarkably rapid
manner. She wanted new boots and a neat new serge dress, and thought she
might as well get these necessary articles of apparel now, while she was
waiting for a situation, as later; but, although she bought boots at the
very cheapest place she could find, her funds melted still further, and
before September was half through she had spent between five and six
pounds of her small stock of money.
"This will never do," she said to herself; "I shall get so frightened
that I shall become nervous. What am I to do? How am I to eke out the
money till I get a post as teacher?"
It was already time for different mistresses at schools to be applying
to her for her valuable services; but, although she listened with a
beating heart as she heard the postman run up the stairs and deposit
letters in the different hall doors of the various flats, very seldom
indeed did the good man come up as far as her attic, and then it was a
letter from her mother.
She decided to go again to the offices where she had entered her name,
and enquire if there were any post likely to suit her which she could
apply for. She was now received in a totally different spirit.
"It is extremely unlikely, miss," said one and all of the clerks who had
been so specious on the occasion of her first visit, "that we can get
you anything to do. You are not a governess, you know, in the ordinary
sense. You cannot teach music, nor languages, nor drawing. What can you
expect, madam?"
"But you told me," began poor Florence, "you told me when I paid my fee
on the previous occasion of calling that you could get me a post without
the slightest difficulty."
"We will do our utmost, of course, madam; but, with your want of
experience, we can make no definite promise. We certainly made none in
the past," and the clerk whom Florence was interrogating gave her a
severe glance, which was meant as a dismissal.
"If you cannot get me anything to do as a teacher, is there nothing else
you can think of to suit me? Secretaries are sometimes employed, are
they not?"
"Secretaryships are not in our line," said the clerk; "at least, not for
ladies. People prefer men for the post--clever men who understand
shorthand. You, of course, know nothing of that accomplishment?"
"Certainly not! Girls never learn shorthand," said Florence.
She left one office after the other, feeling sadder and sadder.
"What is to be done?" she said to herself, almost in tones of despair.