If anything could have made up to the two boys for the hardships and
miseries of the day, it was the sight of their mother's bright face as
she awaited them that evening at the door of Number 6, Dull Street. If
the day had been a sad and lonely one for Mrs Cruden, she was not the
woman to betray the secret to her sons; and, indeed, the happiness of
seeing them back was enough to drive away all other care for the time
being.
Shabby as the lodgings were, and lacking in all the comforts and
luxuries of former days, the little family felt that evening, as they
gathered round the tea-table and unburdened their hearts to one another,
more of the true meaning of the word "home" than they had ever done
before.
"Now, dear boys," said Mrs Cruden, when the meal was over, and they
drew their chairs to the open window, "I'm longing to hear your day's
adventures. How did you get on? Was it as bad as you expected?"
"It wasn't particularly jolly," said Reginald, shrugging his
shoulders--"nothing like Wilderham, was it, Horrors?"
"Well, it was a different sort of fun, certainly," said Horace. "You
see, mother, our education has been rather neglected in some things, so
we didn't get on as well as we might have done."
"Do you mean in the literary work?" said Mrs Cruden. "I'm quite sure
you'll get into it with a little practice."
"But it's not the literary work, unluckily," said Reginald.
"Ah! you mean clerk's work. You aren't as quick at figures, perhaps, as
you might be?"
"That's not exactly it," said Horace. "The fact is, mother, we're
neither in the literary not the clerical department. I'm a `printer's
devil'!"
"Oh, Horace! what _do_ you mean?" said the horrified mother.
"Oh, I'm most innocently employed. I run messages; I fetch and carry
for a gentleman called Durfy. He gives me some parliamentary news to
carry to one place, and some police news to carry to another place--and,
by-the-way, they read very much alike--and when I'm not running
backwards or forwards I have to sit on a stool and watch him, and be
ready to jump up and wag my tail the moment he whistles. It's a fact,
mother! Think of getting eighteen shillings a week for that! It's a
fraud!"
Mrs Cruden could hardly tell whether to laugh or cry.
"My poor boy!" she murmured; then, turning to Reginald, she said, "And
what do you do, Reg?"
"Oh, I sweep rooms," said Reg, solemnly; "but they've got such a
shocking bad broom there that I can't make it act. If you could give me
a new broom-head, mother, and put me up to a dodge or two about working
out corners, I might rise in my profession!"
There was a tell-tale quaver in the speaker's voice which made this
jaunty speech a very sad one to the mother's ears. It was all she could
do to conceal her misery, and when Horace came to the rescue with a racy
account of the day's proceedings, told in his liveliest manner, she was
glad to turn her head and hide from her boys the trouble in her face.
However, she soon recovered herself, and by the time Horace's story was
done she was ready to join her smiles with those which the history had
drawn even from Reginald's serious countenance.
"After all," said she, presently, "we must be thankful for what we have.
Some one was saying the other day there never was a time when so many
young fellows were out of work and thankful to get anything to do. And
it's very likely too, Reg, that just now, when they seem rather in
confusion at the office, they really haven't time to see about what your
regular work is to be. Wait a little, and they're sure to find out your
value."
"They seem to have done that already as far as sweeping is concerned.
The manager said I didn't know how to hold a broom. I was quite
offended," said Reginald.
"You are a dear brave pair of boys!" said the mother, warmly; "and I am
prouder of you in your humble work than if you were kings!"
"Hullo," said Horace, "there's some one coming up our stairs!"
Sure enough there was, and more than one person, as it happened. There
was a knock at the door, followed straightway by the entrance of an
elderly lady, accompanied by a young lady and a young gentleman, who
sailed into the room, much to the amazement and consternation of its
occupants.
"Mrs Cruden, I believe?" said the elderly lady, in her politest tones.
"Yes," replied the owner of that name.
"Let me hintroduce myself--Mrs Captain Shuckleford, my son and
daughter--neighbours of yours, Mrs Cruden, and wishing to be friendly.
We're sorry to hear of your trouble; very trying it is. My 'usband,
Mrs Cruden, has gone too."
"Pray take a seat," said Mrs Cruden. "Reg, will you put chairs?"
Reg obeyed, with a groan.
"These are your boys, are they?" said the visitor, eyeing the youths.
"Will you come and shake 'ands with me, Reggie? What a dear, good-
looking boy he is, Mrs Cruden! And 'ow do you do, too, my man?" said
she, addressing Horace. "Pretty well? And what do they call you?"
"My name is Horace," said "my man," blushing very decidedly, and
retreating precipitately to a far corner of the room.
"Ah, dear me! And my 'usband's name, Mrs Cruden, was 'Oward. I never
'ear the name without affliction."
This was very awkward, for as the unfortunate widow could not fail to
hear her own voice, it was necessary for consistency's sake that she
should show some emotion, which she proceeded to do, when her daughter
hurriedly interposed in an audible whisper, "Ma, don't make a goose of
yourself! Behave yourself, do!"
"So I am be'aving myself, Jemima," replied the outraged parent, "and I
don't need lessons from you."
"It's very kind of you to call in," said Mrs Cruden, feeling it time to
say something; "do you live near here?"
"We live next door, at number four," said Miss Jemima; "put that
handkerchief away, ma."
"What next, I wonder! if my 'andkerchief's not my hown, I'd like to know
what is? Yes, Mrs Cruden. We heard you were coming, and we wish to
treat you with consideration, knowing your circumstances. It's all one
gentlefolk can do to another. Yes, and I 'ope the boys will be good
friends. Sam, talk to the boys."
Sam needed no such maternal encouragement, as it happened, and had
already swaggered up to Horace with a familiar air.
"Jolly weather, ain't it?"
"Yes," said Horace, looking round wildly for any avenue of escape, but
finding none.
"Pretty hot in your shop, ain't it?" said the lawyer's clerk.
"Yes," again said Horace, with a peculiar tingling sensation in his toes
which his visitor little dreamed of.
Horace was not naturally a short-tempered youth, but there was something
in the tone of this self-satisfied lawyer's clerk which raised his
dander.
"Not much of a berth, is it?" pursued the catechist.
"No," said Horace.
"Not a very chirrupy screw, so I'm told--eh?"
This was rather too much. Either Horace must escape by flight, which
would be ignominious, or he must knock his visitor down, which would be
rude, or he must grin and bear it. The middle course was what he most
inclined to, but failing that, he decided on the latter.
So he shook his head and waited patiently for the next question.
"What do you do, eh? dirty work, ain't it?"
"Yes, isn't yours?" said Horace, in a tone that rather surprised the
limb of the law.
"Mine? No. What makes you ask that?" he inquired.
"Only because I thought I'd like to know," said Horace artlessly.
Mr Shuckleford looked perplexed. He didn't understand exactly what
Horace meant, and yet, whatever it was, it put him off the thread of his
discourse for a time. So he changed the subject.
"I once thought of going into business myself," he said; "but they
seemed to think I'd do better at the law. Same time, don't think I'm a
nailer on business chaps. I know one or two very respectable chaps in
business."
"Do you?" replied Horace, with a touch of satire in his voice which was
quite lost on the complacent Sam.
"Yes. Why, in our club--do you know our club?"
"No," said Horace.
"Oh--I must take you one evening--yes, in our club we've a good many
business chaps--well-behaved chaps, too."
Horace hardly looked as overwhelmed by this announcement as his visitor
expected.
"Would you like to join?"
"No, thank you."
"Eh? you're afraid of being black-balled, I suppose? No fear, I can
work it with them. I can walk round any of them, I let you know; they
wouldn't do it, especially when they knew I'd a fancy for you, my boy."
If Horace was grateful for this expression of favour, he managed to
conceal his feelings wonderfully well. At the same time he had sense
enough to see that, vulgar and conceited as Samuel Shuckleford was, he
meant to be friendly, and inwardly gave him credit accordingly.
He did his best to be civil, and to listen to all the bumptious talk of
his visitor patiently, and Sam rattled away greatly to his own
satisfaction, fully believing he was impressing his hearer with a sense
of his importance, and cheering his heart by the promise of his favours
and protection.
With the unlucky Reginald, meanwhile, it fared far less comfortably.
"Jemima, my dear," said Mrs Shuckleford, who in all her domestic
confidences to Mrs Cruden kept a sharp eye on her family--"Jemima, my
dear, I think Reggie would like to show you his album!"
An electric shock could not have startled and confused our hero more.
It was bad enough to hear himself called "Reggie," but that was nothing
to the assumption that he was pining to make himself agreeable to Miss
Jemima--he to whom any lady except his mother was a cause of
trepidation, and to whom a female like Miss Jemima was nothing short of
an ogress!
"I've not got an album," he gasped, with an appealing look towards his
mother.
But before Mrs Cruden could interpose to rescue him, the ladylike Miss
Jemima, who had already regarded the good-looking shy youth with
approval, entered the lists on her own account, and moving her chair a
trifle in his direction, said, in a confidential whisper,--
"Ma thinks we're not a very sociable couple, that's what it is."
A couple! He and Jemima a couple! Reginald was ready to faint, and
looked towards the open window as if he meditated a headlong escape that
way. As to any other way of escape, that was impossible, for he was
fairly cornered between the enemy and the wall, and unless he were to
cut his way through the one or the other, he must sit where he was.
"I hope you don't mind talking to me, Mr Reggie," continued the young
lady, when Reginald gave no symptom of having heard the last
observation. "We shall have to be friends, you know, now we are
neighbours. So you haven't got an album?"
This abrupt question drove poor Reginald still further into the corner.
What business was it of hers whether he had got an album or not? What
right had she to pester him with questions like that in his own house?
In fact, what right had she and her mother and her brother to come there
at all? Those were the thoughts that passed through his mind, and as
they did so indignation got the better of good manners and everything
else.
"Find out," he said.
He could have bitten his tongue off the moment he had spoken. For
Reginald was a gentleman, and the sound of these rude words in his own
voice startled him into a sense of shame and confusion tenfold worse
than any Miss Shuckleford had succeeded in producing.
"I beg your pardon," he gasped hurriedly. "I--I didn't mean to be
rude."
Now was the hour of Miss Jemima's triumph. She had the unhappy youth at
her mercy, and she took full advantage of her power. She forgave him,
and made him sit and listen to her and answer her questions for as long
as she chose; and if ever he showed signs of mutiny, the slightest hint,
such as "You'll be telling me to mind my own business again," was enough
to reduce him to instant subjection.
It was a bad quarter of an hour for Reginald, and the climax arrived
when presently Mrs Shuckleford looked towards them and said across the
room,--
"Now I wonder what you two young people are talking about in that snug
corner. Oh, never mind, if it's secrets! Nice it is, Mrs Cruden, to
see young people such good friends so soon. We must be going now,
children," she added. "We shall soon see our friends in our own 'ouse,
I 'ope."
A tender leave-taking ensued. For a while, as the retreating footsteps
of the visitors gradually died away on the stairs, the little family
stood motionless, as though the slightest sound might recall them. But
when at last the street-door slammed below, Reginald flung himself into
a chair and groaned.
"Mother, we can't stay here. We must leave to-morrow!"
Horace could not help laughing.
"Why, Reg," he said, "you seemed to be enjoying yourself no end."
"Shut up, Horace, it's nothing to laugh about."
"My dear boy," said Mrs Cruden, "you think far more about it than you
need. After all, they seem kindly disposed persons, and I don't think
we should be unfriendly."
"That's all very well," said Reg, "if there was no Jemima in the
question."
"I should say it's all very well," said Horace, "if there was no Sam in
the question; though I dare say he means to be friendly. But didn't you
and Jemima hit it, then, Reg? I quite thought you did."
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" repeated Reg, this time half angrily.
"I don't see, mother," he added, "however poor we are, we are called on
to associate with a lot like that."
"They have not polished manners, certainly," said Mrs Cruden; "but I do
think they are good-natured, and that's a great thing."
"I should think so," said Horace. "What do you think? Samuel wants to
propose me for his club, which seems to be a very select affair."
"All I know is," said Reginald, "nothing will induce me to go into their
house. It may be rude, but I'm certain I'd be still more rude if I did
go."
"Well," said Horace, "I vote we take a walk, as it's a fine evening. I
feel a trifle warm after it all. What do you say?"
They said Yes, and in the empty streets that evening the mother and her
two sons walked happy in one another's company, and trying each in his
or her own way to gain courage for the days of trial that were to
follow.
The brothers had a short consultation that night as they went to bed,
_not_ on the subject of their next door neighbours.
"Horrors," said Reg, "what's to be done about the _Rocket_? I can't
stop there."
"It's awful," said Horace; "but what else can we do? If we cut it,
there's mother left a beggar."
"Couldn't we get into something else?"
"What? Who'd take us? There are thousands of fellows wanting work as
it is."
"But surely we're better than most of them. We're gentlemen and well
educated."
"So much the worse, it seems," said Horace. "What good is it to us when
we're put to sweep rooms and carry messages?"
"Do you mean to say you intend to stick to that sort of thing all your
life?" asked Reg.
"Till I can find something better," said Horace. "After all, old man,
it's honest work, and not very fagging, and it's eighteen shillings a
week."
"Anyhow, I think we might let Richmond know what a nice berth he's let
us in for. Why, his office-boy's better off."
"Yes, and if we knew as much about book-keeping and agreement stamps and
copying presses as his office-boy does, we might be as well off. What's
the good of knowing how many ships fought at Salamis, when we don't even
know how many ounces you can send by post for twopence? At least, I
don't. Good-night, old man."
And Horace, really scarcely less miserable at heart than his brother,
buried his nose in the Dull Street pillow and tried to go to sleep.