Horace meanwhile had wended his way with some trepidation and curiosity
to the manager's sanctum. He felt uncomfortable in being separated from
Reginald at all, especially when the latter was left single-handed in
such an uncongenial atmosphere as that breathed by Mr Durfy and Barber.
He could only hope for the best, and, meanwhile, what fate was in store
for himself?
He knocked at the manager's door doubtfully and obeyed the summons to
enter.
Brusque man as the manager was, there was nothing disagreeable about his
face as he looked up and said, "Oh--you're the youngster Mr Richmond
put in here?"
"Yes, sir, my brother and I are."
"Yes, and I hear you're both fools. Is that the case?"
"Reginald isn't, whatever I am," said Horace, boldly.
"Isn't he? I'm told he's the bigger fool of the two. Never mind that,
though--"
"I assure you," began Horace, but the manager stopped him.
"Yes, yes. I know all about that. Now, listen to me. I dare say
you're both well-meaning boys, and Mr Richmond is interested in you.
So I've promised to make room for you here, though it's not convenient,
and the wages you are to get are out of all proportion to your value--so
far."
Horace was glad at least that the manager dropped in those last two
words.
"If your brother is clever and picks up his work soon and doesn't give
himself airs he'll get on faster than you. I can't put you at case, but
they want a lad in the sub-editor's room. Do you know where that is?"
"Yes, sir," said Horace, "I took some proofs there yesterday. But,
sir--"
"Well, what?" said the manager, sharply.
"Is there no possibility of Reginald and me being together?" faltered
the boy.
"Yes--outside if you're discontented," said the manager.
It was evidently no use, and Horace walked dismally to the door.
The manager looked after him.
"Take my advice," said he, rather more kindly than he had hitherto
spoken; "make the best of what you've got, young fellow, and it'll be
better still in time. Shut the door after you."
The sub-editor's room--or rooms, for there was an inner and an outer
sanctum--was in a remote dark corner of the building, so dark that gas
was generally burning in it all day long, giving its occupants generally
the washed-out pallid appearance of men who do not know when day ends or
night begins. The chief sub-editor was a young, bald-headed, spectacled
man of meek appearance, who received Horace in a resigned way, and
referred him to the clerks in the outer room, who would show him how he
could make himself useful.
Feeling that, so far as he was concerned, he had fallen on his feet, and
secretly wishing poor Reginald was in his shoes, Horace obeyed and
retired to the outer room.
The occupants of that apartment were two young gentlemen of from
eighteen to twenty years of age, who, it was evident at a glance, were
not brothers. One was short and fair and chubby, the other was lank and
lean and cadaverous; one was sorrowful and lugubrious in countenance;
the other seemed to be spending his time in trying hard not to smile,
and not succeeding. The only thing they did appear to share in common
was hard work, and in this they were so fully engrossed that Horace had
to stand a full minute at the table before they had leisure to look up
and notice him.
"The gentleman in there," said Horace, addressing the lugubrious youth
as being the more imposing of the two, "said if I came to you you could
set me to work."