The next morning, in the printing office, Edwin came upon Big James
giving a lesson in composing to the younger apprentice, who in theory
had `learned his cases.' Big James held the composing stick in his
great left hand, like a match-box, and with his great right thumb and
index picked letter after letter from the case, very slowly in order to
display the movement, and dropped them into the stick. In his mild,
resonant tones he explained that each letter must be picked up
unfalteringly in a particular way, so that it would drop face upward
into the stick without any intermediate manipulation. And he explained
also that the left hand must be held so that the right hand would have
to travel to and fro as little as possible. He was revealing the basic
mysteries of his craft, and was happy, making the while the broad series
of stock pleasantries which have probably been current in composing
rooms since printing was invented. Then he was silent, working more and
more quickly, till his right hand could scarcely be followed in its
twinklings, and the face of the apprentice duly spread in marvel, When
the line was finished he drew out the rule, clapped it down on the top
of the last row of letters, and gave the composing stick to the
apprentice to essay.
The apprentice began to compose with his feet, his shoulders, his mouth,
his eyebrows--with all his body except his hands, which nevertheless
travelled spaciously far and wide.
"It's not in seven year, nor in seventy, as you'll learn, young son of a
gun!" said Big James.
And, having unsettled the youth to his foundations with a bland thwack
across the head, he resumed the composing stick and began again the
exposition of the unique smooth movement which is the root of rapid
type-setting.
"Here!" said Big James, when the apprentice had behaved worse than ever.
"Us'll ask Mr Edwin to have a go. Us'll see what _he_'ll do."
And Edwin, sheepish, had to comply. He was in pride bound to surpass
the apprentice, and did so.
"There!" said Big James. "What did I tell ye?" He seemed to imply a
prophecy that, because Edwin had saved the printing office from
destruction two days previously, he would necessarily prove to be a born
compositor.
The apprentice deferentially sniggered, and Edwin smiled modestly and
awkwardly and departed without having accomplished what he had come to
do.
By his own act of cool, nonchalant, unconsidered courage in a crisis, he
had, it seemed, definitely proved himself to possess a special aptitude
in all branches of the business of printer and stationer. Everybody
assumed it. Everybody was pleased. Everybody saw that Providence had
been kind to Darius and to his son. The fathers of the town, and the
mothers, who liked Edwin's complexion and fair hair, told each other
that not every parent was so fortunate as Mr Clayhanger, and what a
blessing it was that the old breed was not after all dying out in those
newfangled days. Edwin could not escape from the universal assumption.
He felt it round him as a net which somehow he had to cut.