A VERY NICE OLD GENTLEMAN.
Two days had elapsed since a letter was despatched to Mr. A. B.,
informing him that Mr. George Smith was willing to accept his proffered
situation, and no reply had been received.
George declared that Bess’s nose was beginning to get quite flat at the
tip from being constantly pressed against the window-glass while she
watched for the postman.
He was a most disagreeable postman. He went next door and opposite, and
this side and that; he rattat-tatted at every door but Mr. Duck’s.
George got to know the time for the deliveries after the first day, and
he would go down and wait at the front-door and watch the postman as he
came down the street. When he got close up George felt quite hot; but
as time after time he passed by without the faintest indication of
having anything for the Ducks’ letter-box, a feeling of terrible
disappointment crept over the young man’s heart.
He had made so sure he should have an answer, and so had Bess.
On the morning of the third day, when they were sitting at breakfast,
lo and behold the long-expected rat-tat came, and there was a click in
the letter-box, and the postman’s boots were heard descending the
steps—not by themselves, of course, the postman was in them. Bess and
George jumped up, nearly knocking the table over, and Bess tore
downstairs.
Yes, there was a letter in the box. Nervously Bess put her hand in and
drew it out, and then, half-hopefully, half-fearfully, glanced at the
direction.
She could have sat down in the hall and cried with disappointment.
It was only a deep black-bordered letter for ‘The Occupier.’ Of course,
that was for the Ducks. While she was looking at it Miss Duck came out,
and Bess handed it to her.
‘Lor’, a black border!’ exclaimed Georgina. ‘I wonder who’s dead.’
Miss Duck opened the letter with a nervous hand, and then flung it down
in disgust. It was an undertaker’s circular, offering to bury the
occupier and family on strictly moderate terms.
Bess went slowly upstairs, and found George pacing the room.
He knew by his wife’s face there was nothing for him, so he sighed and
sat down to finish his breakfast.
‘Bess,’ he said presently, looking into the bottom of his cup as if he
thought there might be a letter there, ‘I shall go and look A, B. up.’
Bess was standing by him, with her hand on his shoulder.
‘Oh, George, look, there is a letter!’ she cried suddenly.
‘Where?’ said George, looking inquiringly about him.
‘In the cup, dear; look, four black dots at the bottom of the cup—that
means a letter. It always comes true.’
George laughed.
‘You didn’t see a coffin in the fire, or a thief in the candle last
night, did you, dear?’ he said. ‘What a silly goose you are to believe
in omens!’
But, as it happened, the teacup _was_ a prophet, and Bess was quite
triumphant over it, for by the twelve o’clock post there came a letter
from A. B., requesting Mr. George Smith to call on him that afternoon
at an address in the City.
When George had read the letter twice over, and Bess had read it three
times, they had a wild polka round the room, much to the astonishment
of Miss Duck below, who had fears for the ceiling.
At the appointed time George, letter in hand, presented himself at the
address given, and was a little taken aback to find it was a
public-house. While he was hesitating and wondering whether A. B. was
the man in his shirtsleeves behind the bar, and, if so, what he could
want with a gentlemanly person at £150 a year, an elderly gentleman,
with beautiful long white hair and a flowing beard, touched him on the
arm.
‘Are you Mr. George Smith?’ said the nice old gentleman, in a kind,
soft voice.
‘Yes, I am,’ said George. ‘Are you Mr. A. B.?’
‘Yes.’
George wanted to seize the old gentleman’s hand and shake it there and
then. He was delighted to find A. B. such a venerable and very pleasant
person.
‘You’ll excuse my meeting you here,’ said A. B., ‘but the fact is I
wasn’t sure my offices would be ready, and as I had business in this
neighbourhood I thought this would do. I shall be very glad to accept
you. The terms I think you know—£150 a year, paid weekly. The hours are
light—ten till four; the duties also are light. I think we shall get on
very nicely. You will come to-morrow at ten to the address on this
piece of paper, and commence work at once.’
‘Oh, thank you!’ exclaimed George, ready to hug the dear fatherly old
fellow. ‘I will be there.’
George took the piece of paper, and put it carefully in his pocket. The
old gentleman invited him to have a glass of sherry, shook hands, with
him and went out, and George rushed back to Bess, bursting with the
good news.
They had such a tea that evening on the strength of it. George ate
muffins and sallylunns, and talked and made jokes, and ate all at the
same time, and nearly choked himself through the tea going the wrong
way; and Bess was so excited that George declared he must take her to
the play to keep her quiet.
It was one of the happiest evenings of their short married life. The
play was beautiful, and they sat in the pit, squeezed up close
together, and George fell in love with the leading lady, and Bess
punched him for it, and declared that the villain of the piece had made
a great impression on her.
And then they went and had some supper—real chops, at a real
supper-room—and it was twelve o’clock before they got home. George
whistled ‘Cheer, boys, cheer’ all the way through the street, and would
have whistled all the way upstairs, had not a loud snore proclaimed the
fact that sleep was upon the tired eyelids of the inmates. So George
took off his boots and pretended to be a burglar, and Bess was obliged
to giggle out loud when he tumbled over the coal-scuttle on the landing
and said half a naughty word.
The next morning, punctually at ten o’clock, George arrived at the
address given him, and ascended to the third floor, as he had been
directed. There on a door he found a paper pasted with ‘Smith & Co.’
upon it, in a bold round hand.
He knocked, and the familiar voice of A. B. bade him enter.
‘Good-morning, Mr. Smith,’ said that gentleman. ‘Glad to see you so
punctual.’
George took off his overcoat and put it on a chair in the corner. Then
he looked round. It wasn’t much of an office, certainly, and had
evidently been taken ready furnished. There was a table and two old
chairs, a desk that had been a good deal used, and a couple of office
stools.
‘This is only a branch office of our firm,’ said Mr. Brooks, for such
was his name, he informed George. ‘We have offices all over London.’
Mr. Brooks waved his hands to the four points of the compass.
‘I see,’ said George.
‘Now, your duty will be to meet me here at ten, and execute the various
commissions that lie within this radius.’
George didn’t quite understand, but he said, ‘Certainly, sir,’ and sat
himself down on a stool.
‘The correspondence this morning is not heavy, and there are no
commissions, so you can open this ledger. Do you know how to open a
ledger?’
‘Certainly,’ said George. How could the old gentleman think him such a
fool as not to know how to open a book!
George took the ledger and opened it. The old gentleman smiled.
‘You can write a name at the top of each page.’
‘What name?’
‘What name?—well—ah! Look here, take the City Directory lying on the
desk, and write the top name of each page.’
George thought it singular that the firm should do business with the
top name on each page of a directory, but he knew how ignorant he was
of business matters, and thought he’d better say nothing, or he might
be found out.
While he was writing a gentleman came in to see Mr. Brooks.
He looked at George and then at the old gentleman.
‘Mr. Smith,’ said Mr. Brooks, ‘kindly go as far as Cannon Street
Station, and inquire at the parcel office if there is a box for Smith &
Co., from Dublin.’
George went on his errand, and the old gentleman and his visitor were
left alone.
‘Well,’ said the visitor, ‘will he do?’
‘Prime,’ answered the old gentleman. ‘Green as grass. Phew, these
things make me jolly hot.’
It was certainly a very extraordinary thing to do, but the aged
representative of Smith & Co. did with the above observation take off
his long flowing white beard and his long white hair and put them on
the desk, together with the gold spectacles, and he was a different man
altogether.
He had knocked quite thirty years from his age, and he didn’t look half
so nice and pleasant without the gold spectacles.
‘When shall you try him?’ asked the visitor.
‘As soon as there’s a good chance,’ answered Mr. Brooks.
Mr. Brooks and the visitor had a short conversation, and then the
visitor left. And Mr. Brooks put on his hair and beard, and amused
himself by practising handwriting on a piece of paper.
It was singular that he kept on writing the same name, and it wasn’t
his own.
When George returned he informed Mr. Brooks that there was nothing for
Smith & Co., from Dublin, and Mr. Brooks said, ‘Oh, all right,’ and
didn’t seem at all surprised.
At four o’clock George’s work was done for the day, and he went home.
Bess ran down to meet him at the door. She had been watching from the
windows, and had seen him coming along the street.
She had an idea that he would be quite worn out with hard work, and had
had half a mind to go and fetch him. City work, she knew, was very
hard. She had read in the newspapers about clerks committing suicide,
and merchants going mad through overwork. She was quite surprised to
see George come up the steps two at a time, and when he caught her in
his arms, and gave her a good hug that nearly squeezed the breath out
of her body, she was more astonished still.
When they got upstairs, and George had flung himself into his favourite
chair, Bess poured in a broadside of questions.
‘Did he like it? Was A. B. nice? What did he have to do? Was the office
comfortable?’
George, in reply, gave a full, true, and particular account of his
day’s work.
‘It’s nothing at all,’ he said. ‘I’d no idea how easy it was to earn
money in the City. I’m a jolly lucky fellow, little woman, and I’m glad
I’m able to earn my own living. You see, I shall have plenty of spare
time to do something else, and perhaps, if Smith & Co. like me, I shall
get promoted, and drop in for a good thing. Why, I have heard that a
thousand a year is nothing of a salary in the City. Fancy me earning a
thousand a year! By Jove, what would the governor say to that?’
Bess was lost in calculating how much a thousand a year would be a
week, and how much she should be able to spend in housekeeping.
Presently she started up.
‘Oh, dear me—I’d quite forgotten,’ she exclaimed, and, darting
downstairs, returned with a basinful of something that steamed
furiously, and a big spoon.
‘There,’ she said, putting it down in front of her husband; ‘now you
must have it all. You mustn’t leave a drop.’
‘Why, what the dickens is this, my dear?’ said George, staring at the
basin in astonishment.
‘Beef-tea—I made it myself. You must have it to keep your strength up
now you work so hard, dear.’
George roared with laughter. The idea of his wanting beef-tea to give
him strength to sit on a stool and write names out of a directory in a
big book!
But he scalded his throat with a few spoonfuls of the steaming liquid,
just to please his wife.
That evening George took Bess out to dinner. Had he not earned ten
whole shillings, the first money he had ever earned in his life? Of
course he had. Then he had a perfect right to spend fifteen shillings
and sixpence at once.
The young couple had a cab home that evening. George had earned ten
shillings, and surely he could afford half-a-crown for a cab out of it.
And before they retired to rest that evening Mr. and Mrs. Smith had
taken a charming little villa near town, and George had bought a little
pony and a basket-carriage for Bess to drive about in, and they had a
delightful garden, beautifully kept, and a little conservatory; and
George had condescended to make it up with his father, and had sent him
an invitation to come and dine with him at his villa.
But this was not done out of the ten shillings. Oh, dear, no. George
and Bess were not so foolish as that.
This was all arranged in advance out of the thousand a year which
George was going to get by-and-by.