XIV

One of the odd things about that first evening of mine in Sydney was

that it introduced me to the tobacco habit, one of the few indulgences

which I have never at any time since relinquished. I smoked several

cigarettes that evening, with steadily increasing satisfaction. And,

on the following day, acting on the advice of my room-mate, Mr. Smith,

I bought a shilling briar pipe and a sixpenny plug of black tobacco as

a week's allowance. From that point my current outgoings were

increased by just sixpence per week, no less, and for a considerable

period, no more.

For some days, at least, and it may have been for longer, Mr. William

Smith became the mentor to whom I owed the most of such urban

sophistication as I acquired. He was a very kindly and practical

mentor, worldly, but in many respects not a bad adviser for such a lad

so situated. When I recall the stark ugliness of his views and advice

to me regarding a young man's needs and attitude generally where the

opposite sex was concerned, I suppose I must admit that a moralist

would have viewed my tutor with horror. But, particularly at that

period, I am not sure that the average man of the world, in any walk

of life, would have differed very much from Mr. Smith in this

particular matter. One could imagine some quite worthy colonels of

regiments giving not wholly dissimilar counsel to a youngster, I

think.

Morning and evening Mr. Smith applied some sort of cosmetic to his

fine grey moustache, which kept its ends like needles. He always wore

white or biscuit-coloured waistcoats, and was scrupulously particular

about his linen. He generally had an air of being fresh from his bath.

His thin hair was never disarranged, and his mood seemed to be

cheerfully serene. Summer heats drew plentiful perspiration from him,

but no sign of languor or irritation. On Sunday mornings he stayed in

bed till ten-thirty, with the _Sydney Bulletin_, and on the stroke of

eleven o'clock he invariably entered the church at the corner of Mill

Street. I used to marvel greatly at this, because he never missed his

bath, and his Sunday morning appearance gave the impression that his

toilet had received the most elaborate attention. He carried an ivory

crutch-handled malacca walking-stick, and in church I used to think of

him as closely resembling Colonel Newcome. His voice was a mellow

baritone, he never missed any of the responses; and the odour which

hung about him of soap and water, cosmetic, light yellow kid gloves,

and good tobacco--he smoked a golden plug, very superior to my cheap,

dark stuff--seemed to me at that time richly suggestive of luxury,

sophistication, distinction, and knowledge of affairs.

Many years have passed since I set eyes on Mr. Smith, and no doubt he

has long since been gathered to his fathers; but I believe I am right

in saying that his was a rather remarkable character. I know now that

he really was a dipsomaniac of a somewhat unusual kind. At ordinary

times he touched no stimulant of any sort. But at intervals of about

three months he disappeared, quite regularly and methodically, and

always with a handbag. To what place he went I do not know. Neither I

think did Mrs. Hastings or his employers. At the end of a week he

would reappear, clothed as when he went away, but looking ill and

shaken. For a few days afterwards he was always exceedingly subdued,

ate little, and talked hardly at all. But by the end of a week he was

himself again, and remained perfectly serene and normal until the time

of his next disappearance. I once happened to see the contents of the

handbag. They consisted of an old, rather ragged Norfolk coat and

trousers and a suit of pyjamas; nothing else.

Mr. Smith was a sort of time-keeper at the works of Messrs. Poutney,

Riggs, Poutney and Co., the wholesale builders' and masons' material

people. I was informed that he had once been the chief traveller for

this old-established firm, on a salary of seven hundred pounds a year,

with a handsome commission, and all travelling expenses paid. His

salary now was two pounds twelve shillings and sixpence a week; and I

apprehend that his services were retained by the firm rather by virtue

of what he had done in the past than for the sake of what he was doing

at this time. I was told that commercial travelling in New South

Wales, when Mr. Smith had been in his prime, was a dashing profession

which produced many drunkards. But from Mr. Smith himself I never

heard a word about his previous life.

I recall many small kindnesses received at his hands, and at the

outset the domestic routine of my Sydney life was largely arranged for

me by Mr. Smith.

'Never wear a collar more than once, or a white shirt more than

twice,' was one of the first instructions I received from him.

Subsequently he modified this a little for me, upon economic grounds,

advising me to take special care of my shirt on Sunday, in order that

it might serve for Monday and Tuesday. 'Then you've two days each for

the other two shirts in each week, you see. But socks and collars you

change every day. In Sydney you must never wear a coloured shirt;

always a stiff, white shirt, in Sydney.'

On my second evening there Mr. Smith took me to a hatter's shop and

chose a billycock hat for me, in place of the soft felt which I

usually wore.

'You must have a hard hat in Sydney,' he said, 'except in real hot

weather; and then you could wear a flat straw, if you liked. I prefer

a grey hard hat for summer. But straw will do for a youngster. You

should have a pair of gloves, for Sunday, you know. They're useful,

too, for interviewing principals.'

One might have fancied that gloves were a kind of passport, or perhaps

a skeleton key guaranteed to open principals' doors. It was Mr. Smith

who first made me feel that there was a connection between morals,

respectability, and cold baths. To miss the morning tub, as Mr. Smith

saw it, was not merely a calamity but also a disgrace; a thing to make

one ashamed; a lapse calculated seriously to affect character. How

oddly that does clash, to be sure, with his views of a young man's

relations with the other sex! And yet, I am not so sure. Shocked as

many people would be by those views, they might admit in them perhaps

a sort of hygienic intention. It was that I fancy, more than anything

else, which did as a fact shock me. As companions, co-equals,

fellow-humans, I believe this curious man absolutely detested women. I

wonder what sort of a wife he had had! ...

When I come to compare my launch in Sydney with all that I know and

have read of youthful beginnings in Old World centres, I marvel at the

luxurious ease and freedom of Australian conditions. To put it into

figures now--my start in Sydney did not cost me a sovereign. I did not

spend two days without earning more than enough to defray all my

modest outgoings. My search for employment, so far from wearing out

shoe-leather, was confined to a single application, to one brief

interview. This was not at all due to any cleverness on my part, but

in the first place to the good offices of Mr. Perkins of Dursley, and

in the second place to the easygoing character of prevailing

Australian conditions.

On the morning after my first evening's dissipation in Sydney, I made

my way to the business premises of Messrs. Joseph Canning and Son, the

Sussex Street wholesale produce merchants and commission agents. This

firm had had dealings with Dursley's Omnigerentual and Omniferacious

Agent ever since his first appearance in that part, and it was no

doubt because of this that Mr. Perkins wrote to them on my behalf.

After waiting for a time in a dark little chamber containing specimens

of cream separators and churns, I was taken to the private room of Mr.

Joseph Canning, the senior partner, who, as I was presently to learn,

visited the office chiefly to attend to such out-of-the-way trifles as

my call, to smoke cigars, and to take selected clients out to lunch.

The practical conduct of the business was entirely in the hands of Mr.

John, this gentleman's only son.

I found Mr. Joseph Canning with his feet crossed on his blotting-pad,

his body tilted far back in his chair, and his first morning cigar

tilted far upward between his teeth, its ash perilously close to one

bushy grey eyebrow.

'Well, me lad,' he said as I entered, 'how's the Omniferacious one?

Blooming as ever, I hope.'

I explained that I had left Mr. Perkins in the best of health, and

proceeded to answer, so far as I was able, the string of subsequent

questions put to me regarding the town of Dursley, its principal

residents, business progress, and chief hotel. I gathered that Mr.

Canning had paid one visit to Dursley, under the auspices of its

Omnigerentual Agent, and that while there he had contrived, with Mr.

Perkins's assistance no doubt, 'to make that little town fairly hum.'

We talked in this strain for some time, and then Mr. Canning rose from

his chair, clearly under the impression that his business with me had

been satisfactorily completed, and prepared to dismiss me cordially,

and proceed to other matters.

'Ah!' he ejaculated cheerfully, extending his right hand to me, and

moving toward the door. 'Quite pleasant to have a chat about little

Dursley. Well, take care of yourself in the big city, you know--bed by

ten o'clock, and that sort of thing, you know; and--er--never touch

anything in the morning. Safest plan.'

By this time the door was open, and I, on the threshold, was feeling

considerably bewildered. With a great effort I managed to force out

some such words as:

'And if you should hear of any sort of situation that I----'

At that he grabbed my hand again, and pulled me back into the room.

'Of course, of course! God bless my soul, I'd clean forgotten!' he

exclaimed hurriedly as he strode across to his table and rang a bell.

'Ask Mr. John to kindly step this way a minute, will ye?' he said to

the lad who answered the bell. 'Forget me name next, I suppose,' he

added to me in a confidential undertone. 'Tut, tut! And I read

Perkins's letter again just before you came in, too! Ah, here you are,

John. Come in a minute, will you?'

A vigorous-looking fair-haired man of about five-and-thirty came into

the room now, with the air of one who had been interrupted. He wore no

coat, and his spotless shirt-sleeves were held well up on his arms by

things like garters clasped above the elbow.

'Ah, John,' began his father, 'this is Mr. Perkins's "Nickperry"; you

remember? Nick Freydon.' He referred to a letter on the table.

'Shorthand, you know, and all that. Well, what about it? D'jew

remember?'

'Yes, yes, to be sure. Well, what about it?' This seemed to be a

favourite phrase between father and son.

'Well, what was it you said? Thirty-five bob for a start, eh? Oh,

well, you'll see to it, anyway, won't you? That's right. So

long--er--Nickperry!'

'Good-morning, sir!'

And with that I found myself following Mr. John along a darkish

passage to a well-lighted apartment, divided by a ground-glass

partition from an office in which I saw perhaps eight or ten clerks at

work.

'Now, Mr. Freydon,' said my guide, as he flung himself into a

revolving chair, and motioned me to another on the opposite side of

the table. 'We'll make it no more than five minutes, please, for I've

got a stack of letters to answer, and some men to see at eleven

sharp.'

And then I had a rather happy inspiration.

'Do you write your own letters, sir?' I asked.

'Eh? Oh, Lord, yes!' he said brusquely. 'I know some men dictate 'em

to clerks, to be done in copper-plate, an' all that. But, goodness, I

can write 'em myself quicker'n that! And we have to be mighty careful

to say just the right kind of thing in our letters, too. It makes a

difference.'

'Well, will you just try dictating one or two to me, sir, and let me

take them in shorthand. Then I would bring them to you when you have

seen the gentlemen at eleven.'

'Eh? Well, that's rather an idea. Let's have a shot. Here you are

then. Pencil? Right? Well: "Dear Mr. Gubbins, yours of 14th, received

with thanks." Got that? Yes; well, tell him--that is--"You are quite

mistaken, I assure you, about your butter having been held back till

the bottom was out of the market." Old fool's always grousing about

his rotten butter. You see, the fact is his butter is second or third

quality stuff, and he reads the quotations in the paper for the

primest, and kicks like a steer because he doesn't get the same, or a

penny more. Always threatening to change his agents, and I wish to God

he would; only, o' course, it doesn't do to tell 'em so. There's a lot

like Gubbins, an' one has to try an' sweeten 'em a bit once a week or

so. Yes! Well, where were we? Eh? That all right?'

'Yes, sir. "Yours faithfully," or "Yours truly," sir?'

'Oh, well, I always say: "'shuring you vour bes' 'tention, bleeve me,

yours faithfully, J. Canning and Son." It pleases them, an'----'

'Yes, sir.'

And some of the others were a good deal more sketchy, but fortunately

there were only five in all. I asked Mr. John to let me take the

original letters. It was plain that dictation was not his strong

point. Neither, I thought, had he much idea of letter-writing; whereas

I, so I flattered myself, could do it rather well. At least I had read

something about commercial correspondence, and had also read the

published letters of many famous people. So, as soon as I decently

could, I pretended Mr. John had really dictated replies to his five

letters, and that I had recorded his words in indelible shorthand.

Then I said I would run away and write the letters while he kept his

engagements.

'Right!' he said. 'Tell you what. Go into my father's room. He's gone

out now, and you'll find paper and that there.'

So I made my first practical essay in commercial correspondence from

the chair of the head of the firm, and among the fumes of the head's

morning cigar.

In an old pocket-book I discovered a year or two ago the draft of the

first letter I wrote for J. Canning and Son. Here it is:

'_To_ Mr. R. B. Gubbins,

'Ferndale Farm,

'Unaville, N.S.W.

'Nov. 3rd, 1879.

'Dear Mr. Gubbins,--Thank you for your letter of the 2nd inst. We have

looked carefully into the matter of your complaint, and are glad to be

able to assure you that your fears are quite unnecessary. We were, of

course, prepared to take the matter up seriously with those

responsible, but investigation proved that there had been no delay

whatever in disposing of your last consignment of butter. It happened,

however, that an exceptionally large supply of the very primest

qualities were on offer that morning, and though one or two may have

reached higher prices, as the result of exceptional circumstances, the

bulk changed hands at the price obtained for yours, and many

consignments at a lower figure. In several cases the prices given in

the newspapers are either incorrect, or apply only to one or two

special lots.

'In conclusion, permit us to assure you, dear Mr. Gubbins, that while

your interests are entrusted to our hands they will always receive the

closest possible attention, and that nothing will be left undone which

could be in any way of benefit to you.

'Trusting this will make the position perfectly clear to you, and that

you will be under no further anxiety with regard to your consignments

to us, now, or at any future time.--We are, dear Mr. Gubbins, yours

faithfully,'

In the same unexceptional style I wrote to four other clients, after

very careful perusal of their letters, combined with reflections upon

Mr. John's running commentaries. As I wrote what my father had called

'an almost painfully legible and blameless hand,' and gave the closest

care to these particular letters, their appearance was tolerably

business-like when finished. Carrying these letters, and those they

answered, I now began to reconnoitre passages and doorways to

ascertain the whereabouts and occupation of Mr. John. Presently I saw

him come hurrying in from the street, wiping his lips with a

handkerchief.

'The letters, sir,' I began.

'Ah! Got 'em done already? Right. Come into my room.'

I stood and watched him reading my effusions, at first with upward

twitching brows, and then with smiling satisfaction.

'H'm!' he said, as he gave them the firm's signature. 'It's a pretty

good thing then, this shorthand. Wonderful the way you've got every

little word down. That "In conclusion, permit us to assure you, dear

Mr. Gubbins"--now, that's as a business letter should be, you know.

There's not a house in Sussex Street turns out such good sweeteners as

we do. I've always been very careful about that. That's how we keep up

our connection. These farmers are touchy beggars, you know; but if

only you take the right tone with 'em, you can twist 'em round your

little finger. That's why I always lay it on pretty thick in the

firm's letters. It pays, I can assure you.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, that's very good, Mr. Freydon; very good. We've never had this

shorthand in the office before; but I think it's time we did, high

time. It's no use my wasting valuable time writing all these letters

myself, and with this shorthand of yours, I believe you can take 'em

down as fast as I can say it--eh?'

'Oh yes, sir; easily,' I said, with shameless mendacity. As a fact,

neither that morning, nor at any other time, did I 'take down' what

Mr. John said in shorthand. But it was already apparent to me that he

could be made quite happy by fancying that the letters were of his

composition, and I did not conceive that it was part of my duty to

undeceive him.

'Ah! Well, now, when could you begin work, Mr. Freydon?'

I smiled, and told him I could go on at once with any further letters

he had.

'Yes, yes; to be sure. Begun already, as you say. Well, I told the

old--I told my father I thought thirty-five shillings a week would-- Well,

I'll tell you what. You go ahead as you've begun, and at the end

of a month we'll make your pay two pounds a week. How'll that suit?'

'Thank you, sir; that will suit me very well.'

'Right. By the way, don't say "sir" to me, please. They all call me

"Mr. John," and my father "Mr. Canning." See! Now, I'll just introduce

you to Mr. Meadows, our accountant, and he will show you round. Mr.

Meadows has charge of our clerical staff, you understand; but you'll

have most to do with me, of course. There's a little bit of a room

opposite mine, where we keep the stationery an' that. I dare say

you'll be able to work there.'

In this wise, then, with most fortunate ease, I secured my first

employment in the capital city; and very well it suited me, for the

present. Within a week I found that I was left to open all letters,

and to deal with them very much as I thought best, with references of

course to Mr. John, and at times, in a matter of accounts, to Mr.

Meadows, or again to the storekeeper and others. It was not good

shorthand practice, but his correspondence pleased Mr. John very

much--especially its more rotund phrases--whilst for my part I keenly

relished the fact that I, the most junior member of the staff, had

really less of supervision in my work than any one else in the office.

Upon the whole I was entitled, on that evening of my first day in the

Sussex Street offices, to feel that I had made a tolerably creditable

beginning, and that Sydney had treated the latest suppliant for her

favour rather well. What I very well remember I did feel was that I

should have an interesting story for Mr. William Smith that night when

I reached 'my rooms' at North Shore.