"Do you know your letters?"
Here was a question to put to the captain of the fifth at Wilderham!
"I believe I do," said Reginald, with a touch of scorn in his voice
which was quite lost on the practical Mr Durfy.
"What do you mean by believe? Do you, or do you not?"
"Of course I do."
"Then why couldn't you say so at once? Take this bit of copy and set it
up at that case there. And you, young fellow, take these proofs to the
sub-editor's room, and say I've not had the last sheet of the copy of
the railway accident yet, and I'm standing for it. Cut away."
Horace went off.
"After all," thought he to himself, "what's the use of being particular?
I suppose I'm what they call a `printer's devil'; nothing like starting
modestly! Here goes for my lords the sub-editors, and the last page of
the railway accident."
And he spent a festive ten-minutes hunting out the sub-editor's domains,
and possessing himself of the missing copy.
With Reginald, however, it fared otherwise. A fellow may be head of the
fifth at a public school, and yet not know his letters in a printing-
office, and after five or ten-minutes' hopeless endeavour to comprehend
the geography of a typecase, he was obliged to acknowledge himself
beaten and apprise Mr Durfy of the fact.
"I'm sorry I misunderstood you," said he, putting the copy down on the
table. "I'm not used to printing."
"No," said Mr Durfy, scornfully, "I guessed not. You're too stuck-up
for us, I can tell you. Here, Barber."
An unhealthy-looking young man answered to the name.
"Take this chap here to the back case-room, and see he sweeps it out and
dusts the cases. See if that'll suit your abilities, my dandy"; and
without waiting to hear Reginald's explanations or remonstrances, Mr
Durfy walked off, leaving the unlucky boy in the hands of Mr Barber.
"Now, then, stir your stumps, Mr Dandy," said the latter. "It'll take
you all your time to get that shop straight, I can tell you, so you'd
better pull up your boots. Got a broom?"
"No," muttered Reg, through his teeth, "I've not got a broom."
"Go and get that one, then, out of the corner there."
Reginald flushed crimson, and hesitated a moment.
"Do you 'ear? Are you deaf? Get that one there."
Reginald got it, and trailing it behind him dismally, followed his guide
to the back case-room. It was a small room, which apparently had known
neither broom nor water for years. The floor was thick with dirt, and
the cases ranged in the racks against the walls were coated with dust.
"There you are," said Mr Barber. "Open the window, do you 'ear? and
don't let none of the dust get out into the composing-room, or there'll
be a row. Come and tell me when you've done the floor, and I'll show
you 'ow to do them cases. Rattle along, do you 'ear? or you won't get
it done to-day;" and Mr Barber, who had had his day of sweeping out the
shops, departed, slamming the door behind him.
Things had come to a crisis with Reginald Cruden early in his business
career.
He had _come_ into the City that morning prepared to face a good deal.
He had not counted on much sympathy or consideration from his new
employers; he had even vaguely made up his mind he would have to rough
it at first; but to be shut up in a dirty room with a broom in his hand
by a cad who could not even talk grammar was a humiliation on which he
had never once calculated.
Tossing the broom unceremoniously into a corner, he opened the door and
walked out of the room. Barber was already out of sight, chuckling
inwardly over the delicious task he had been privileged to set to his
dandy subordinate, and none of the men working near knew or cared what
this pale, handsome new boy did either in or out of the back case-room.
Reginald walked through them to the passage outside, not much caring
where he went or whom he met. If he were to meet Mr Barber, or Mr
Durfy, or the manager himself, so much the better. As it happened, he
met Horace, looking comparatively cheerful, with some papers in his
hand.
"Hullo, Reg," said he; "have they promoted you to a `printer's devil'
too? Fancy what Bland would say if he saw us! Never mind, there's four
hours gone, and in about another six we shall be home with mother
again."
"I shall be home before then," said Reg. "I'm going now. I can't stand
it, Horace."
Horace stared at his brother in consternation.
"Oh, Reg, old man, you mustn't; really you mustn't. Do let's stick
together, however miserable it is. It's sure to seem worse at first."
"It's all very well for you, Horace, doing messenger work. You haven't
been set to sweep out a room."
Horace whistled.
"Whew! that _is_ a drop too much! But," he added, taking his brother's
arm, "don't cut it yet, old man, for mother's sake, don't. I'll come
and help you do it if I can. Why couldn't they have given it me to do,
and let you go the messages!"
Reginald said nothing, but let his brother lead him back slowly to the
big room presided over by Mr Durfy.
"Where is it?" Horace inquired of him at the door.
"That little room in the corner."
"All right. I'll come if I possibly can. Do try it, old man, won't
you?"
"I'll try it," said Reginald, with something very like a groan as he
opened the door and walked grimly back to the back case-room.
Horace, full of fear and trembling on his brother's account, hurried
with his copy to Mr Durfy, and waited impatiently till that grandee
condescended to relieve him of it.
"Is there anything else?" he inquired, as he gave it up.
"Anything else? Yes, plenty; but don't come bothering me now."
Horace waited for no more elaborate statement of Mr Durfy's wishes, but
thankfully withdrew, and made straight for Reginald.
He found him half hidden, half choked by the dust of his own raising, as
he drew his broom in a spiritless way across the black dry floor.
He paused in his occupation as Horace entered, and for a moment, as the
two stood face to face coughing and sneezing, a sense of the ludicrous
overcame them, and they finished up their duet with a laugh.
"I say," said Horace, as soon as he could get words, "I fancy a little
water would be an improvement here."
"Where are we to get it from?" said Reg.
"I suppose there must be some about. Shall I go and see?"
"We might tip one of those fellows outside a sixpence to go and get us
some."
"Hold hard, old man!" said Horace, laughing again. "We're not so flush
of sixpences as all that. I guess if we want any water we shall have to
get it ourselves. I'll be back directly."
Poor Reg, spirited up for a while by his brother's courage, proceeded
more gingerly with his sweeping, much amazed in the midst of his misery
to discover how many walks in life there are beyond the capacity even of
the captain of the fifth of a public school.
He was not, however, destined on the present occasion to perfect himself
in the one that was then engaging his attention. Horace had scarcely
disappeared in quest of water when the door opened, and no less a
personage than the manager himself entered the room.
He was evidently prepared neither for the dust nor the duster, and
started back for a moment, as though he were under the impression that
the clouds filling the apartment were clouds of smoke, and Reginald was
another Guy Fawkes caught in the act. He recovered himself shortly,
however, and demanded sharply,--
"What are you doing here, making all this mess?"
"I'm trying to carry out Mr Durfy's instructions," replied Reginald,
leaning on his broom, and not at all displeased at the interruption.
"Durfy's instructions? What do you mean, sir?"
"Mr Durfy's--"
"That will do. Here you," said the manager, opening the door, and
speaking to the nearest workman, "tell Mr Durfy to step here."
Mr Durfy appeared in a very brief space.
"Durfy," said the manager, wrathfully, "what do you mean by having this
room in such a filthy mess? Aren't your instructions to have it swept
out once a week? When was it swept last?"
"Some little time ago. We've been so busy in our department, sir,
that--"
"Yes, I know; you always say that. I'm sick of hearing it. Don't let
me find this sort of thing again. Send some one at once to sweep it
out; this lad doesn't know how to hold a broom. Take care it's done by
four o'clock, and ready for use. Pheugh! it's enough to choke one."
And the manager went off in a rage, coughing.
Satisfactory as this was, in a certain sense, for Reginald, it was not a
flattering way of ending his difficulties, nor did the spirit in which
Mr Durfy accepted his chief's reprimand at all tend to restore him to
cheerfulness.
"Bah, you miserable idiot, you! Give up that broom, and get out of
this, or I'll chuck you out."
"I don't think you will," said Reginald, coolly dropping the broom and
facing his enemy.
He was happier at that moment than he had been for a long time. He
could imagine himself back at Wilderham, with the school bully shouting
at him, and his spirits rose within him accordingly.
"What do you say? you hugger-mugger puppy you--you--"
Mr Durfy's adjectives frequently had the merit of being more forcible
than appropriate, and on the present occasion, what with the dust and
his own rage, the one he wanted stuck in his throat altogether.
"I said I don't think you will," repeated Reginald.
Mr Durfy looked at his man and hesitated. Reginald stood five foot
nine, and his shoulders were square and broad, besides, he was as cool
as a cucumber, and didn't even trouble to take his hands out of his
pockets. All this Mr Durfy took in, and did not relish; but he must
not cave in too precipitately, so he replied, with a sneer,--
"Think! A lot you know about thinking! Can't even hold a broom. Clear
out of here, I tell you, double quick; do you hear?"
Reginald's spirits fell. It was clear from Mr Durfy's tone he was not
going to attempt to "chuck him out," and nothing therefore could be
gained by remaining.
He turned scornfully on his heel, knowing that he had made one enemy, at
any rate, during his short connection with his new business.
And if he had known all, he could have counted two; for Mr Durfy,
finding himself in a mood to wreak his wrath on some one, summoned the
ill-favoured Barber to sweep out the back case-room, and gave his orders
so viciously that Barber felt distinctly aggrieved, and jumping to the
conclusion that Reginald had somehow contrived to turn the tables on
him, he registered a secret vow, there and then, that he would on the
first opportunity, and on all subsequent opportunities, be square with
that luckless youth.
Caring very little about who hated him or who liked him, Reginald
wandered forth, to intercept the faithful Horace with the now
unnecessary water; and the two boys, finding very little to occupy them
during the rest of the day, remained in comparative seclusion until the
seven o'clock bell rang, when they walked home, possibly wiser, and
certainly sadder, for their first day with the _Rocket_ Newspaper
Company, Limited.