VII

Richard made an early start that morning in search of employment,

and duplicated the failure of the previous day. Nobody wanted him. If

nobody wanted him in the village where he was born and bred, a

village of counting-rooms and workshops, was any other place likely

to need him? He had only one hope, if it could be called a hope; at

any rate, he had treated it tenderly as such and kept it for the

last. He would apply to Rowland Slocum. Long ago, when Richard was an

urchin making pot-hooks in the lane, the man used occasionally to pat

him on the head and give him pennies. This was not a foundation on

which to rear a very lofty castle; but this was all he had.

It was noon when Richard approached the marble yard, and the men

were pouring out into the street through the wide gate in the rough

deal fence which inclosed the works,--heavy, brawny men, covered with

fine white dust, who shouldered each other like cattle, and took the

sidewalk to themselves. Richard stepped aside to let them pass, eying

them curiously as possible comrades. Suddenly a slim dark fellow, who

had retained his paper cap and leather apron, halted and thrust forth

a horny hand. The others went on.

"Hullo, Dick Shackford!"

"What, is that you, Will? _You_ here?"

"Been here two years now. One of Slocum's apprentices," added

Durgin, with an air of easy grandeur.

"Two years? How time flies--when it doesn't crawl! Do you like

it?"

"My time will be out next--Oh, the work? Well, yes; it's not bad,

and there's a jolly set in the yard. But how about you? I heard last

night you'd got home. Been everywhere and come back wealthy? The boys

used to say you was off pirating."

"No such luck," answered Richard, with a smile. "I didn't prey on

the high seas,--quite the contrary. The high sea captured my kit and

four years' savings. I will tell you about it some day. If I have a

limb to my name and a breath left to my body, it is no thanks to the

Indian Ocean. That is all I have got, Will, and I am looking around

for bread and butter,--literally bread and butter."

"No? and the old gentleman so rich!"

Durgin said this with sincere indignation, and was perhaps

unconscious himself of experiencing that nameless, shadowy

satisfaction which Rochefoucauld says we find in the adversity of our

best friends. Certainly Richard looked very seedy in his suit of

slop-shop clothes.

"I was on my way to Mr. Slocum's to see if I could do anything

with him," Richard continued.

"To get a job, do you mean?"

"Yes, to get work,--to learn _how_ to work; to master a

trade, in short."

"You can't be an apprentice, you know," said Durgin.

"Why not?"

"Slocum has two."

"Suppose he should happen to want another? He might."

"The Association wouldn't allow it."

"What Association?"

"The Marble Workers' Association, of course."

_"They_ wouldn't allow it! How is that?"

"This the way of it. Slocum is free to take on two apprentices

every year, but no more. That prevents workmen increasing too fast,

and so keeps up wages. The Marble Workers' Association is a very neat

thing, I can tell you."

"But doesn't Mr. Slocum own the yard? I thought he did."

"Yes, he owns the yard."

"If he wished to extend the business, couldn't he employ more

hands?"

"As many as he could get,--skilled workmen; but not apprentices."

"And Mr. Slocum agrees to that?" inquired Richard.

"He does."

"And likes it?"

"Not he,--he hates it; but he can't help himself."

"Upon my soul, I don't see what prevents him taking on as many

apprentices as he wants to."

"Why, the Association, to be sure," returned Durgin, glancing at

the town clock, which marked seven minutes past the hour.

"But how could they stop him?"

"In plenty of ways. Suppose Slocum has a lot of unfinished

contracts on hand,--he always has fat contracts,--and the men was to

knock off work. That would be kind of awkward, wouldn't it?"

"For a day or two, yes. He could send out of town for hands,"

suggested Richard.

"And they wouldn't come, if the Association said 'Stay where you

are.' They are mostly in the ring. Some outsiders might come,

though."

"Then what?"

"Why, then the boys would make it pretty hot for them in

Stillwater. Don't you notice?"

"I notice there is not much chance for me," said Richard,

despondingly. "Isn't that so?"

"Can't say. Better talk with Slocum. But I must get along; I have

to be back sharp at one. I want to hear about your knocking around

the worst kind. Can't we meet somewhere tonight,--at the tavern?"

"The tavern? That didn't used to be a quiet place."

"It isn't quiet now, but there's nowhere else to go of a night.

It's a comfortable den, and there's always some capital fellows

dropping in. A glass of lager with a mate is not a bad thing after a

hard day's work."

"Both are good things when they are of the right sort."

"That's like saying I'm not the right sort, isn't it?"

"I meant nothing of the kind. But I don't take to the tavern. Not

that I'm squeamish; I have lived four years among sailors, and have

been in rougher places than you ever dreamed of; but all the same I

am afraid of the tavern. I've seen many a brave fellow wrecked on

that reef."

"You always was a bit stuck up," said Durgin candidly.

"Not an inch. I never had much reason to be; and less now than

ever, when I can scarcely afford to drink water, let alone beer. I

will drop round to your mother's some evening--I hope she's

well,--and tell you of my ups and downs. That will be pleasanter for

all hands."

"Oh, as you like."

"Now for Mr. Slocum, though you have taken the wind out of me."

The two separated, Durgin with a half smile on his lip, and

Richard in a melancholy frame of mind. He passed from the

grass-fringed street into the deserted marble yard, where it seemed

as if the green summer had suddenly turned into white winter, and

threading his way between the huge drifts of snowy stone, knocked at

the door of Mr. Slocum's private office.

William Durgin had summed up the case fairly enough as it stood

between the Marble Workers' Association and Rowland Slocum. The

system of this branch of the trades-union kept trained workmen

comparatively scarce, and enabled them to command regular and even

advanced prices at periods when other trades were depressed. The

older hands looked upon a fresh apprentice in the yard with much the

same favor as workingmen of the era of Jacquard looked upon the

introduction of a new piece of machinery. Unless the apprentice had

exceptional tact, he underwent a rough novitiate. In any case he

served a term of social ostracism before he was admitted to full

comradeship. Mr. Slocum could easily have found openings each year

for a dozen learners, had the matter been under his control; but it

was not. "I am the master of each man individually," he declared,

"but collectively they are my master." So his business, instead of

naturally spreading and becoming a benefit to the many, was kept

carefully pruned down to the benefit of the few. He was often forced

to decline important contracts, the filling of which would have

resulted to the advantage of every person in the village.

Mr. Slocum recognized Richard at once, and listened kindly to his

story. It was Mr. Slocum's way to listen kindly to every one; but he

was impressed with Richard's intelligence and manner, and became

desirous, for several reasons, to assist him. In the first place,

there was room in the shops for another apprentice; experienced hands

were on jobs that could have been as well done by beginners; and, in

the second place, Mr. Slocum had an intuition that Lemuel Shackford

was not treating the lad fairly, though Richard had said nothing to

this effect. Now, Mr. Slocum and Mr. Shackford were just then at

swords' points.

"I don't suppose I could annoy Shackford more," was Mr. Slocum's

reflection, "than by doing something for this boy, whom he has always

shamelessly neglected."

The motive was not a high one; but Richard would have been well

satisfied with it, if he could have divined it. He did divine that

Mr. Slocum was favorably inclined towards him, and stood watching

that gentleman's face with hopeful anxiety.

"I have my regulation number of young men, Richard," said Mr.

Slocum, "and there will be no vacancy until autumn. If you could wait

a few months."

Richard's head drooped.

"Can't do that? You write a good hand, you say. Perhaps you could

assist the book-keeper until there's a chance for you in the yard."

"I think I could, sir," said Richard eagerly.

"If you were only a draughtsman, now, I could do something much

better for you. I intend to set up a shop for ornamental carving, and

I want some one to draw patterns. If you had a knack at designing, if

you could draw at all"--

Richard's face lighted up.

"Perhaps you _have_ a turn that way. I remember the queer

things you used to scratch in the mud in the court, when you were a

little shaver. Can you draw?"

"Why, that is the one thing I can do!" cried Richard,--"in a rough

fashion, of course," he added, fearing he had overstated it.

"It is a rough fashion that will serve. You must let me see some

of your sketches."

"I haven't any, sir. I had a hundred in my sea-chest, but that was

lost,--pencillings of old archways, cathedral spires, bits of frieze,

and such odds and ends as took my fancy in the ports we touched at. I

recollect one bit. I think I could do it for you now. Shall I?"

Mr. Slocum nodded assent, smiling at the young fellow's

enthusiasm, and only partially suspecting his necessity. Richard

picked up a pen and began scratching on a letter sheet which lay on

the desk. He was five or six minutes at the work, during which the

elder man watched him with an amused expression.

"It's a section of cornice on the façade of the Hindoo College at

Calcutta," said Richard, handing him the paper,--"no, it's the

custom-house. I forget which; but it doesn't matter."

The amused look gradually passed out of Mr. Slocum's countenance

as he examined the sketch. It was roughly but clearly drawn, and full

of facility. "Why, that's very clever!" he said, holding it at

arms'-length; and then, with great gravity, "I hope you are not a

genius, Richard; that would be too much of a fine thing. If you are

not, you can be of service to me in my plans."

Richard laughingly made haste to declare that to the best of his

knowledge and belief he was not a genius, and it was decided on the

spot that Richard should assist Mr. Simms, the bookkeeper, and

presently try his hand at designing ornamental patterns for the

carvers, Mr. Slocum allowing him apprentice wages until the quality

of his work should be ascertained.

"It is very little," said Mr. Slocum, "but it will pay your board,

if you do not live at home."

"I shall not remain at my cousin's," Richard replied, "if you call

that home."

"I can imagine it is not much of a home. Your cousin, not to put

too fine a point on it, is a wretch."

"I am sorry to hear you say that, sir; he's my only living

kinsman."

"You are fortunate in having but one, then. However, I am wrong to

abuse him to you; but I cannot speak of him with moderation, he has

just played me such a despicable trick. Look here."

Mr. Slocum led Richard to the door, and pointing to a row of new

workshops which extended the entire length of one side of the marble

yard, said,--

"I built these last spring. After the shingles were on we

discovered that the rear partition, for a distance of seventy-five

feet, overlapped two inches on Shackford's meadow. I was ready to

drop when I saw it, your cousin is such an unmanageable old fiend. Of

course I went to him immediately, and what do you think? He demanded

five hundred dollars for that strip of land! Five hundred dollars for

a few inches of swamp meadow not worth ten dollars the acre! 'Then

take your disreputable old mill off my property!' says Shackford,--he

called it a disreputable old mill! I was hasty, perhaps, and I told

him to go to the devil. He said he would, and he did; for he went to

Blandmann. When the lawyers got hold of it, they bothered the life

out of me; so I just moved the building forward two inches, at an

expense of seven hundred dollars. Then what does the demon do but

board up all my windows opening on the meadow! Richard, I make it a

condition that you shall not lodge at Shackford's."

"Nothing could induce me to live another day in the same house

with him, sir," answered Richard, suppressing an inclination to

smile; and then seriously, "His bread is bitter."

Richard went back with a light heart to Welch's Court. At the gate

of the marble yard he met William Durgin returning to work. The

steam-whistle had sounded the call, and there was no time for

exchange of words; so Richard gave his comrade a bright nod and

passed by. Durgin turned and stared after him.

"Looks as if Slocum had taken him on; but it never can be as

apprentice; he wouldn't dare do it."

Mr. Shackford had nearly finished his frugal dinner when Richard

entered. "If you can't hit it to be in at your meals," said Mr.

Shackford, helping himself absently to the remaining chop, "perhaps

you had better stop away altogether."

"I can do that now, cousin," replied Richard sunnily. "I have

engaged with Slocum."

The old man laid down his knife and fork.

"With Slocum! A Shackford a miserable marble-chipper!"

There was so little hint of the aristocrat in Lemuel Shackford's

sordid life and person that no one suspected him of even self-esteem.

He went as meanly dressed as a tramp, and as careless of contemporary

criticism; yet clear down in his liver, or somewhere in his anatomy,

he nourished an odd abstract pride in the family Shackford. Heaven

knows why! To be sure, it dated far back; its women had always been

virtuous, and its men, if not always virtuous, had always been

ship-captains. But beyond this the family had never amounted to

anything, and now there was so very little left of it. For Richard as

Richard Lemuel cared nothing; for Richard as a Shackford he had a

chaotic feeling that defied analysis and had never before risen to

the surface. It was therefore with a disgust entirely apart from the

hatred of Slocum or regard for Richard that the old man exclaimed, "A

Shackford a miserable marble-chipper!"

"That is better than hanging around the village with my hands in

my pockets. Isn't it?"

"I don't know that anybody has demanded that you should hang

around the village."

"I ought to go away, you mean? But I have found work here, and I

might not find it elsewhere."

"Stillwater is not the place to begin life in. It's the place to

go away from, and come back to."

"Well, I have come back."

"And how? With one shirt and a lot of bad sailor habits."

"My one shirt is my only very bad habit," said Richard, with a

laugh,--he could laugh now,--"and I mean to get rid of that."

Mr. Shackford snapped his fingers disdainfully.

"You ought to have stuck to the sea; that's respectable. In ten

years you might have risen to be master of a bark; that would have

been honorable. You might have gone down in a gale,--you probably

would,--and that would have been fortunate. But a stone-cutter! You

can understand," growled Mr. Shackford, reaching out for his straw

hat, which he put on and crushed over his brows, "I don't keep a

boarding-house for Slocum's hands."

"Oh, I'm far from asking it!" cried Richard. "I am thankful for

the two nights' shelter I have had."

"That's some of your sarcasm, I suppose," said Mr. Shackford, half

turning, with his hands on the door-knob.

"No, it is some of my sincerity. I am really obliged to you. You

weren't very cordial, to be sure, but I did not deserve cordiality."

"You have figured that out correctly."

"I want to begin over again, you see, and start fair."

"Then begin by dropping Slocum."

"You have not given me a chance to tell you what the arrangement

is. However, it's irrevocable."

"I don't want to hear. I don't care a curse, so long as it is an

arrangement," and Mr. Shackford hurried out of the room, slamming the

door behind him.

Then Richard, quite undisturbed by his cousin's unreasonableness,

sat himself down to eat the last meal he was ever to eat under that

roof,--a feat which his cousin's appetite had rendered comparatively

easy.

While engaged in this, Richard resolved in his mind several

questions as to his future abode. He could not reconcile his thought

to any of the workingmen's boarding-houses, of which there were five

or six in the slums of the village, where the doorways were greasy,

and women flitted about in the hottest weather with thick woolen

shawls over their heads. Yet his finances did not permit him to

aspire to lodgings much more decent. If he could only secure a small

room somewhere in a quiet neighborhood. Possibly Mrs. Durgin would

let him have a chamber in her cottage. He was beginning life over

again, and it struck him as nearly an ideal plan to begin it on the

identical spot where he had, in a manner, made his first start.

Besides, there was William Durgin for company, when the long nights

of the New England winter set in. The idea smiled so pleasantly in

Richard's fancy that he pushed the plate away from him impatiently,

and picked up his hat which lay on the floor beside the chair.

That evening he moved from the Shackford house to Mrs. Durgin's

cottage in Cross Street. It was not an imposing ceremony. With a

small brown-paper parcel under his arm, he walked from one threshold

to the other, and the thing was done.