"Old man, I hope, whatever they do, they'll let us be together at this
place."
"We needn't expect any such luck," said Reginald. "It wouldn't be half
so bad if they would."
"You know," said Horace, "I can't help hoping they'll take us as clerks,
at least. They must know we're educated, and more fit for that sort of
work than--"
"Than doing common labourer's work," said Reg. "Rather! If they'd put
us to some of the literary work, you know, Horace--editing, or
correcting, or reporting, or that sort of thing, I could stand that.
There are plenty of swells who began like that. I'm pretty well up in
classics, you know, and--well, they might be rather glad to have some
one who was."
Horace sighed.
"Richmond spoke as if we were to be taken on as ordinary workmen."
"Oh, Richmond's an ass," said Reg, full of his new idea; "he knows
nothing about it. I tell you, Horace, they wouldn't be such idiots as
to waste our education when they could make use of it. Richmond only
knows the manager, but the editor is the chief man, after all."
By this time they had reached Fleet Street, and their attention was
absorbed in finding the by-street in which was situated the scene of
their coming labours. They found it at last, and with beating hearts
saw before them a building surmounted by a board, bearing in characters
of gold the legend, _Rocket_ Newspaper Company, Limited.
The boys stood a moment outside, and the courage which had been slowly
rising during the walk evaporated in an instant. Ugly and grimy as the
building was, it seemed to them like some fairy castle before which they
shrank into insignificance. A board inscribed, "Work-people's
Entrance," with a hand on it pointing to a narrow side court, confronted
them, and mechanically they turned that way. Reginald did for a moment
hesitate as he passed the editor's door, but it was no use. The two
boys turned slowly into the court, where, amid the din of machinery, and
a stifling smell of ink and rollers, they found the narrow passage which
conducted them to their destination.
A man at a desk half way down the passage intercepted their progress.
"Now, then, young fellows, what is it?"
"We want to see the manager, please," said Horace.
"No use to-day, my lad. No boys wanted; we're full up."
"We want to see the manager," said Reginald, offended at the man's tone,
and not disposed to humour it.
"Tell you we want no boys; can't you see the notice up outside?"
"Look here!" said Reginald, firing up, and heedless of his brother's
deprecating look; "we don't want any of your cheek. Tell the manager
we're here, will you, and look sharp?"
The timekeeper stared at the boy in amazement for a moment, and then
broke out with,--
"Take your hook, do you hear, you--or I'll warm you."
"It's a mistake," put in Horace, hurriedly. "Mr Richmond said we were
to come here to see the manager at nine o'clock."
"And couldn't you have said so at first?" growled the man, with his hand
still on his ruler, and glaring at Reginald, "without giving yourselves
airs as if you were gentry? Go on in, and don't stand gaping there."
"For goodness' sake, Reg," whispered Horace, as they knocked at the
manager's door, "don't flare up like that, you'll spoil all our chance."
Reg said nothing, but he breathed hard, and his face was angry still.
"Come in!" cried a sharp voice, in answer to their knock.
They obeyed, and found a man standing with a pen in his mouth at a desk,
searching through a file of papers. He went on with his work till he
found what he wanted, apparently quite unconscious of the boys'
presence. Then he rang a bell for an overseer, whistled down a tube for
a clerk, and shouted out of the door for a messenger, and gave orders to
each. Then he sent for some one else, and gave him a scolding that made
the unlucky recipient's hair stand on end; then he received a visit from
a friend, with whom he chatted and joked for a pleasant quarter of an
hour; then he took up the morning paper and skimmed through it,
whistling to himself as he did so; then he rang another bell and told
the errand-boy who answered it to bring him in at one o'clock sharp a
large boiled beef underdone, with carrots and turnips, and a pint of "s.
and b." (whatever that might mean). Then he suddenly became aware of
the fact that he had visitors, and turned inquiringly to the two boys.
"Mr Richmond--" began Horace, in answer to his look.
But the manager cut him short.
"Oh, ah! yes," he said. "Nuisance! Go to the composing-room and ask
for Mr Durfy."
Saying which he sat down again at his desk, and became absorbed in his
papers.
It was hardly a flattering reception, and gave our heroes very little
chance of showing off their classical proficiency. They had at least
expected, as Mr Richmond's nominees, rather more than a half glance
from the manager; and to be thus summarily turned over to a Mr Durfy
before they had as much as opened their mouths was decidedly
unpromising.
Reginald did make one feeble effort to prolong the interview, and to
impress the manager at the same time.
"Excuse me," said he, in his politest tones, "would you mind directing
us to the composing-room? My brother and I don't know the geography of
the place yet."
"Eh? Composing-room? Get a boy to show you. Plenty outside."
It was no go, evidently; and they turned dismally from the room.
The errand-boy was coming up the passage as they emerged--the same
errand-boy they had seen half an hour ago in the manager's room; but, as
their classical friends would say--
"Quantum mutatus ab illo Hectore!"
His two arms were strung with the handles of frothing tin cans from the
elbow to the wrist. He carried two tin cans in his mouth. His apron
was loaded to bursting with bread, fish, cheese, potatoes, and other
edibles; the necks of bottles protruded from all his pocket's,--from the
bosom of his jacket and from the fob of his breeches,--and round his
neck hung a ponderous chain of onions. In short, the errand-boy was
busy; and our heroes, even with their short experience of business life,
saw that there was little hope of extracting information from him under
present circumstances.
So they let him pass, and waited for another. They had not to wait
long, for the passage appeared to be a regular highway for the junior
members of the staff of the _Rocket_ Newspaper Company, Limited. But
though several boys came, it was some time before one appeared whose
convenience it suited to conduct our heroes to the presence of Mr
Durfy. Just, however, as their patience was getting exhausted, and
Reginald was making up his mind to shake the dust of the place from his
feet, a boy appeared and offered to escort them to the composing-room.
They followed him up several flights of a rickety staircase, and down
some labyrinthine passages to a large room where some forty or fifty men
were busy setting up type. At the far end of this room, at a small
table, crowded with "proofs," sat a red-faced individual whom the boy
pointed out as "Duffy."
"Well, now, what do _you_ want?" asked he, as the brothers approached.
"The manager said we were to ask for Mr Durfy," said Reginald.
"I wish to goodness he'd keep you down there; he knows I'm crowded out
with boys. He always serves me that way, and I'll tell him so one of
these days."
This last speech, though apparently addressed to the boys, was really a
soliloquy on Mr Durfy's part; but for all that it failed to enchant his
audience. They had not, in their most sanguine moments, expected much,
but this was even rather less than they had counted on.