UNBUSINESSLIKE PROCEEDINGS IN "THE OFFICE"--PEEKINS GROWS DESPERATE AND
TAKES REFUGE IN THE "THREE JOLLY TARS."
Mr Denham stood in front of his office fire with a coat-tail, as usual,
under each arm; his feet planted on two little roses that grew on each
side of a large bouquet which flourished perennially on his rug, and his
eyes fixed on the ceiling. He had just arrived at Redwharf Lane, and
looked quite fresh and ruddy from the exercise of walking, for Denham
was a great walker, and frequently did the distance between his house
and his office on foot.
Mr Crumps sat shivering in his own room, looking the reverse of ruddy,
for Crumps was old and his blood was thin, and there was no fire in his
room. It is but justice to say, however, that this was no fault of
Denham's, for the apartment of his junior partner did not possess a
fireplace, and it could not be expected that a fire should be lit, _a
la_ Red Indian, on the middle of the floor. At all events Crumps did
not expect it. He was not, therefore, liable to disappointment in his
expectations. He contented himself, poor old man, with such genial
gusts of second-hand warmth as burst in upon him from time to time from
Denham's room when the door was open, or poured in upon him in
ameliorating rivulets through the keyhole, like a little gulf-stream,
when the door was shut.
"The letters, sir," said Peekins, the meek blue tiger in buttons,
entering at that moment and laying a pile of letters on the table.
Had Peekins been a little dog without a soul, capable of wagging his
tail and fawning, Denham would have patted him, but, being only a boy in
blue with a meek spirit, the great man paid no attention to him
whatever. He continued to gaze at the ceiling as if he were reading his
destiny there. Perhaps he would have looked as blank as the ceiling had
he known what that destiny was to be; but he did not know, fortunately
(or unfortunately, if the reader chooses), hence he turned with a calm
undisturbed countenance to peruse his letters after the boy had retired.
We do not say that Denham was a hard man; by no means; he was only
peculiar in his views of things in general; that was all!
For some time Denham broke seals, read contents, and made jottings,
without any expression whatever on his countenance. Presently he took
up an ill-folded epistle addressed to "Mister Denham" in a round and
rather rugged hand.
"Begging," he muttered with a slight frown.
"`Dear Uncle' (`eh!' he exclaimed,--turned over the leaf in surprise,
read the signature, and turned back to the beginning again, with the
least possible tinge of surprise still remaining), `I'm sorry' (humph)
`to have to inform you that the _Nancy_ has become a total wreck,'
(`indeed!') `on the Goodwin Sands.' (`Amazing sands these. What a
quantity of wealth they have swallowed up!') `The cargo has been
entirely lost,'--(`ah! it was insured to its full value,') `also two of
the hands.' (`H'm, their lives wouldn't be insured. These rough
creatures never do insure their lives; wonderfully improvident!') `I am
at present disabled, from the effects of a blow on the head received
during the storm.' (Very awkward; particularly so just now.) `No doubt
Bax will be up immediately to give you particulars.'" (Humph!)
"`The cause of the loss of your schooner was, in _my_ opinion,' (Mr
Denham's eyebrows here rose in contemptuous surprise), `_unseaworthiness
of vessel and stores_.'"
Mr Denham made no comment on this part of the epistle. A dark frown
settled on his brow as he crumpled the letter in his hand, dropped it on
the ground as if it had been a loathsome creature, and set his foot on
it.
Denham was uncommonly gruff and forbidding all that day. He spoke
harshly to old Mr Crumps; found fault with the clerks to such an
extent, that they began to regard the office as a species of Pandemonium
which _ought_ to have smelt sulphurous instead of musty; and rendered
the life of Peekins so insupportable that the poor boy occupied his few
moments of leisure in speculating on the average duration of human life
and wondering whether it would not be better, on the whole, to make
himself an exception to the general rule by leaping off London Bridge at
high water--blue-tights, buttons, and all!
Things continued in this felicitous condition in the office until five
in the afternoon, when there was a change, not so much in the moral as
in the physical atmosphere. It came in the form of a thick fog, which
rolled down the crooked places of Redwharf Lane, poured through
keyholes, curled round the cranes on the warehouses, and the old
anchors, cables, and buoys in the lumber-yards; travelled over the
mudflats, and crept out upon the muddy river among the colliers,
rendering light things indistinct, black things blacker, dark places
darker, and affording such an opportunity for unrestrained enjoyment to
the rats, that these creatures held an absolute carnival everywhere.
About this period of the day Mr Denham rose, put on his hat and
greatcoat, and prepared to go. Peekins observed this through a private
scratch in the glass door, and signalised the gladsome news in dumb-show
to his comrades. Hope at once took the place of despair in the office,
for lads and very young men are happily furnished with extremely elastic
spirits. The impulse of joy caused by the prospect of Denham's
departure was so strong in the breast of one youth, with red hair, a red
nose, red cheeks, large red lips, blue eyes, and red hands (Ruggles by
name), that he incontinently seized a sheet of blotting-paper, crumpled
it into a ball, and flung it at the head of the youngest clerk, a dark
little boy, who sat opposite to him on a tall stool, and who, being a
new boy, was copying letters painfully but diligently with a heavy
heart.
The missile was well aimed. It hit the new boy exactly on the point of
the nose, causing him to start and prolong the tail of a y an inch and a
quarter beyond its natural limits.
This little incident would not have been worth mentioning but for the
fact that it was the hinge, so to speak, on which incidents of a more
important nature turned. Mr Denham happened to open his door just as
the missile was discharged and saw the result, though not the thrower.
He had no difficulty, however, in discovering the offender; for each of
the other clerks looked at their comrade in virtuous horror, as though
to say, "Oh! how could you?--please, sir, it wasn't _me_, it was _him_;"
while Ruggles applied himself to his work with an air of abstraction and
a face of scarlet that said plainly, "It's of no use staring in that
fashion at me, for I'm as innocent as the unborn babe."
Denham frowned portentously, and that peculiarly dead calm which usually
precedes the bursting of a storm prevailed in the office. Before the
storm burst, however, the outer door was opened hastily and our friend
Bax stood in the room. He was somewhat dishevelled in appearance, as if
he had travelled fast. To the clerks in that small office he appeared
more fierce and gigantic than usual. Peekins regarded him with
undisguised admiration, and wondered in his heart if Jack the
Giant-Killer would have dared to encounter such a being, supposing him
to have had the chance.
"I'm glad I am not too late to find you here, sir," said Bax, puffing
off his hat and bowing slightly to his employer.
"Humph!" ejaculated Denham, "step this way."
They entered the inner office, and, the door being shut, Ruggles
internally blessed Bax and breathed freely. Under the influence of
reaction he even looked defiant.
"So you have lost your schooner," began Denham, sitting down in his
chair of state and eyeing the seaman sternly. Bax returned the gaze so
much more sternly that Denham felt disconcerted but did not allow his
feelings to betray themselves.
"The schooner _has_ been lost," said Bax, "and I am here to report the
fact and to present these letters, one from the seamen's missionary at
Ramsgate, the other from your nephew, both of which will show you that
no blame attaches to me. I regret the loss, deeply, but it was un--"
Bax was going to have said unavoidable, but he felt that the expression
would have been incorrect, and stopped.
"Finish your remark," said Denham.
"I merely wished to say that it was out of _my_ power to prevent it."
"Oh!" interjected Denham, sarcastically, as he read the letters. "The
seamen's missionary is one of whom I know nothing. His opinion,
therefore, carries no weight. As to my nephew, _his_ remarks are simply
unworthy of notice. But you say that no blame attaches to _you_. To
whom then does blame attach, if not to the skipper of the vessel? Do
you mean to lay it at the door of Providence?"
"No, sir, I do not," replied Bax.
"Have you, then, the presumption to insinuate that it lies with _me_?"
Bax was silent.
"Am I to expect an answer?" said Denham.
"I make no insinuations," said Bax, after a short pause; "I do but state
facts. If the `Nancy' had been fitted with a new tops'l-yard and
jib-boom, as I advised last summer, I would have carried her safe into
the Downs."
"So," said Denham, in a tone of increasing sarcasm, "you have the
hardihood to insinuate that it was _my_ fault?"
Bax reddened with indignation at the tone of insult in which these words
were uttered. His bass voice grew deeper and sterner as he said:--
"If you insist on plain speaking, sir, you shall have it. I _do_ think
the blame of the loss of the `Nancy' lies at your door, and worse than
that, the loss of two human lives lies there also. There was not a
sound timber or a seaworthy article aboard of the schooner from stem to
stern. You know well enough that I have told you this,--in more civil
language it may be,--again and again; and I hope that the telling of it
now, flatly, will induce you to consider the immense responsibility that
lies on your shoulders; for there are other ships belonging to your firm
in much the same condition--ships with inferior charts and instruments,
unsound spars, not enough of boats, and with anchors and chains scarce
powerful enough to hold a Deal lugger in a moderate gale."
Mr Denham was not prepared for this sudden and wholesale condemnation
of himself and his property. He gazed at the seaman's flushed
countenance for a few seconds in mute surprise. At last he recovered
self-possession, and said in a calm voice--
"You applied last year, if I remember rightly, for the situation of mate
aboard our ship the `Trident'--now on her second voyage from Australia?"
"I did," said Bax, shortly, not knowing how to take this sudden change
of subject.
"Do you suppose," said Denham, with a peculiar curl of his lip, "that
this interview will tend to improve your chance of obtaining that
situation?"
Denham put the question with the full expectation of humbling Bax, and
with the further intention of following up his reply with the assurance
that there was much greater probability of the moon being turned into
green cheese than of his promotion taking place; but his intentions were
frustrated by Bax starting, and, in a voice of indignation,
exclaiming--"Sir, do you suppose I have come here to beg? If you were
to offer me the _command_ of the `Trident,' or any other ship that you
possess, I would refuse it with scorn. It is bad enough to risk one's
life in the rotten craft you send to sea; but that would be nothing
compared with the shame of serving a house that thinks only of gain, and
holds human life cheaper than the dirt I tread under my feet. No, sir;
I came here to explain how the `Nancy' was lost. Having done so, I take
my leave."
"Stay," said Denham, as Bax turned to go. "Perhaps you will do me one
more service before we part. Will you kindly inform my nephew that he
need not be in a hurry to come back here. I extend his leave. He may
continue to absent himself as long as he pleases--to all eternity if it
suits him."
Mr Denham flushed up with anger as he said the last words. Bax,
without deigning a reply, turned on his heel and strode out of the room,
slamming the glass-door behind him with such violence that every panel
in it was shivered to atoms! He wheeled round and re-entered the room.
Denham grew pale, supposing that the roused giant was about to assault
him; but Bax only pointed to the door, and said sternly--"Part of the
wages due me will pay for that. You can keep the balance, and buy
yourself a Bible with it."
Next moment he was gone, and Peekins stood staring at his master through
the shattered door, trembling from head to foot. Immediately afterwards
Denham took his hat and stick, and passed through the office. Pausing
at the door he looked back:--
"Ruggles."
"Yes, sir."
"There are five or six foreign letters in my desk for tomorrow's post.
Copy them out to-night. See that you do it _to-night_. Peekins will
remain with you, and lock up after you have done."
Ruggles, who knew that this involved work till near midnight, humbly
replied, "Yes, sir."
Having thus secured the misery of at least two human beings, Denham went
home, somewhat relieved, to dinner.
Bax unconsciously, but naturally, followed his example. He also went to
dinner, but, having no home in that quarter, he went to the "Three Jolly
Tars," and found the landlord quite willing to supply all his wants on
the shortest possible notice, namely, three-quarters of an hour.
In a snug box of that celebrated place of entertainment, he found Tommy
Bogey (whom he had brought with him) awaiting his appearance. The
precocious youth was deeply immersed in a three-days'-old copy of _The
Times_.
"Hallo! Bax, you've been sharp about it," said Tommy, laying down the
paper and pulling a little black pipe out of his pocket, which he
proceeded coolly and quietly to fill just as if he had been a bearded
and grey-headed tar; for Tommy, being a worshipper of Bax, imitated, as
all worshippers do, the bad as well as the good qualities of his hero,
ignorant of, as well as indifferent to, the fact that it would have been
more noble to imitate the good and avoid the bad.
"Ay, we've settled it all slick off in no time," said Bax, sitting down
beside his young companion, and proceeding also to fill his pipe.
"An' wot about the widders and horphans?" inquired Tommy, beginning to
smoke, and using his extremely little finger as a tobacco-stopper in a
way that might have surprised a salamander.
"The widows!" exclaimed Bax.
"Ay, the widders--also the horphans," repeated Tommy, with a grave nod
of the head. "I 'ope he's come down 'andsome."
"Tommy," said Bax, with a disconcerted look, "I've forgot 'em
altogether!"
"Forgot 'em? Bax!"
"It's a fact," said Bax, with much humility, "but the truth is, that we
got to loggerheads, an' of course you know it was out of the question to
talk on such a subject when we were in that state."
"In course it was," said Tommy. "But it's a pity."
The fact was that Bax had intended to make an appeal to Mr Denham in
behalf of the widows and children of the poor men who had been drowned
on the night when the "Nancy" was wrecked; but the unexpected turn which
the conversation took had driven that subject utterly out of his mind.
"Well, Tommy, it can't be helped now; and, after all, I don't think the
widows will come by any loss by my forgetfulness, for certain am I that
Denham would as soon supply a best-bower anchor to the `Trident' as give
a sovereign to these poor people."
Bax and his young friend here relapsed into a state of silent fumigation
from which they were aroused by the entrance of dinner. This meal
consisted of beef-steaks and porter. But it is due to Bax to say that
he advised his companion to confine his potations to water, which his
companion willingly agreed to, as he would have done had Bax advised him
to drink butter-milk, or cider, or to go without drink altogether.
They were about done with dinner when a weak small voice in the passage
attracted their attention.
"Is there one of the name of Bax 'ere," said the meek voice.
"Here I am," shouted Bax, "come in; what d'ye want with me?"
Peekins entered in a state of great agitation.
"Oh! sir, please sir,--I'll never do it again; but I couldn't help it
indeed, indeed--I was dyin', I was. It's a great sin I knows, but--"
Here Peekins burst into tears, and sat down on the seat opposite.
"Wot a green 'un!" muttered Tommy, as he gazed at the tiger in blue
through a volume of tobacco smoke.
"What's the matter, boy?" inquired Bax, in some surprise. "Anything
wrong at Redwharf Lane?"
"Ye-es--that's to say, not exactly, only I've run'd away."
"You han't run far, then," said Bax, smiling. "How long is't since you
ran away?"
"Just ten minutes."
Tommy burst into a laugh at this, and Peekins, feeling somewhat
relieved, smiled idiotically through his tears.
"Well now, my lad," said Bax, leaning forward in a confidential way
which quite won the affection of the tiger, and patting him on the
shoulder, "I would advise you strongly to go back."
"Oh! sir, but I can't," said Peekins dolefully. "I dursn't. My life is
miserable there. Mr Denham is so 'ard on me that I feels like to die
every time I sees 'im. It ain't o' no use" (here Peekins became wildly
desperate), "I _won't_ go back; 'cause if I do I'm sure to die slow; an'
I'd rather die quick at once and be done with it."
Bax opened his eyes very wide at this. It revealed a state of things
that he had never before imagined. Tommy Bogey puffed so large a cloud
that his face was quite concealed by it, and muttered "you _air_ a rum
'un!"
"Where d'ye stop, boy?" inquired Bax.
"In lodgin's in Fenchurch Street."
"D'ye owe 'em anything at the office?"
"No, nothin'; they owes me seventeen and six."
"D'ye want it very much?"
"O no, I don't mind _that_, bless ye," said Peekins, earnestly.
"What d'ye mean to do?" inquired Bax.
"Go with _you_--to sea," replied the tiger, promptly.
"But I'm not going to sea."
"Then, I'll go with you wherever you please. I like you," said the boy,
springing suddenly to his side and grasping his hand, "I've no one in
the world to care for but you. I never heard any one speak like you.
If you'll only let me be your servant, I'll go with you to the end of
the world, and--and--"
Here poor Peekins was again overcome.
"Bray_vo_!" shouted Tommy Bogey in admiration. "You're not such a bad
fellow after all."
"Poor boy," said Bax, stroking the tiger's head, "you are willing to
trust too easily to a weak and broken reed. But, come, I'll take you to
the coast. Better to go there, after all, than stop with such a
tender-hearted Christian as Mr Denham. Here, take a bit of dinner."
Having tasted no food since breakfast, Peekins gladly accepted the
invitation, and ate heartily of the remnants of the meal, to the great
satisfaction of his companions, especially of Tommy, who regarded him as
one might regard a pet canary or rabbit, which requires to be fed
plenteously and handled with extreme gentleness and care.