"No, sir," I said; "I like learning all about the plants and the
pruning. Ike showed me on some dead wood the other day how to graft."
"Ah, I'll show you how to do it on live wood some day. There's a lot
more things I should like to show you, but I've no glass."
"No," I said; "I've often wished we had a microscope."
"A what, Grant?"
"Microscope, sir, to look at the blight and the veins in the plants'
leaves."
"No, no; I mean greenhouses and forcing-houses, where fruit and
vegetables and flowers are brought on early: but wait a bit."
I did wait a bit, and went on learning, getting imperceptibly to know a
good deal about gardening, and so a couple of years slipped away, when
one day I was superintending the loading of the cart after seeing that
it was properly supported with trestles. Ike was seated astride one of
the large baskets as if it were a saddle, and taking off his old hat he
began to indulge in a good scratch at his head.
"Lookye here," he exclaimed suddenly, "why don't you go to market?"
"Too young," I said, with a feeling of eagerness flashing through me.
"Not you," he said slowly, as he looked down at me and seemed to measure
me with his eye as one of my uncles did. "There's a much littler boy
than you goes with one of the carts, and I see him cutting about the
market with a book under his arm, looking as chuff as a pea on a shovel.
He ain't nothing to you. Come along o' me. I'll take an old coat for
wrapper, and you'll be as right as the mail. You ask him. He'll let
you come."
Ike was wrong, for when I asked Old Brownsmith's leave he shook his
head.
"No, no, boy. You're too young yet. Best in bed."
"Too partickler by half," Ike growled when I let him know the result of
my asking. "He's jealous, that's what he is. Wants to keep you all to
hisself. Not as I wants you. 'Tain't to please me. You're young and
wants eddicating; well, you wants night eddication as well as day
eddication. What do you know about the road to London of a night?"
"Nothing at all, Ike?" I said with a sigh.
"Scholard as you are too," growled Ike. "Why, my figgering and writing
ain't even worth talking about with a pen, though I am good with chalk,
but even I know the road to London."
"He'll let me go some day," I said.
"Some day!" cried Ike in a tone of disgust. "Any one could go by day.
It's some night's the time. Ah! it is a pity, much as you've got to
learn too. There's the riding up with the stars over your heads, and
the bumping of the cart, and the bumping and rattle of other carts, as
you can hear a mile away on a still night before and behind you, and
then the getting on to the stones."
"On to the stones, Ike?" I said.
"Yes, of course, on to the paving-stones, and the getting into the
market and finding a good pitch, and the selling off in the morning.
Ah! it would be a treat for you, my lad. I'm sorry for yer."
Ike's sorrow lasted, and I grew quite uneasy at last through being
looked down upon with so much contempt; but, as is often the case, I had
leave when I least expected it.
We had been very busy cutting, bunching, and packing flowers one day,
when all at once Old Brownsmith came and looked at my slate with the
total of the flower baskets set down side by side with the tale of the
strawberry baskets, for it was in the height of the season.
"Big load to-night, Grant," the old gentleman said.
"Yes, sir; largest load you've sent up this year," I replied, in all my
newly-fledged importance as a young clerk.
"You had better go up with Ike to-night, Grant," said the old man
suddenly. "You are big enough now, and a night out won't hurt you.
Here, Ike!"
"Yes, master."
"You'll want a little help to-morrow morning to stand by you in the
market. Will you have Shock?"
"Yes, master, he's the very thing, if you'll send some one to hold him,
or lend me a dog-collar and chain."
"Don't be an idiot, Ike," said Old Brownsmith sharply.
"No, master."
"Would you rather have this boy?"
"Would I rather? Just hark at him!"
Ike looked round at me as if this was an excellent joke, but Old
Brownsmith took it as being perfectly serious, and gave Ike a series of
instructions about taking care of me.
"Of course you will not go to a public-house on the road."
"'Tain't likely," growled Ike, "'less he gets leading me astray and
takes me there."
"There's a coffee-shop in Great Russell Street where you can get your
breakfasts."
"Lookye here, master," growled Ike in an ill-humoured voice, "ain't I
been to market afore?"
"I shall leave him in your charge, Ike, and expect you to take care of
him."
"Oh, all right, master!" said Ike, and then the old gentleman gave me a
nod and walked away.
"At last, Ike!" I cried. "Hurrah! Why, what's the matter?"
"What's the matter?" said Ike in tones of disgust; "why, everything's
the matter. Here, let's have a look at you, boy. Yes," he continued,
turning me round, and as if talking to himself, "it is a boy. Any one
to hear him would have thought it was a sugar-stick."