Chapter Twelve.
How my Friend Smith and I knocked about a Bit in our New Quarters.
Smith and I had a good deal more than dinner to discuss that morning as we rested for twenty minutes from our office labours.
He was very much in earnest about his new work, I could see; and I felt, as I listened to him, that my own aspirations for success were not nearly as deep-seated as his. He didn’t brag, or build absurd castles in the air; but he made no secret of the fact that now he was once in the business he meant to get on, and expected pretty confidently that he would do so.
I wished I could feel half as sure of myself. At any rate, I was encouraged by Jack Smith’s enthusiasm, and returned at the end of my twenty minutes to my desk with every intention of distinguishing myself at my work.
But somehow everything was so novel, and I was so curiously disposed, that I could not prevent my thoughts wandering a good deal, or listening to the constant running fire of small talk that was going on among my fellow-clerks. And this was all the less to be wondered at, since I myself was a prominent topic of conversation.
Mr Doubleday was a most curious mixture of humour, pomposity, and business, which made it very hard to know how exactly to take him. If I dared to laugh at a joke, he fired up, and ordered me angrily to get on with my work. And if I did become engrossed in the figures and entries before me, he was sure to trip me up with some act or speech of pleasantry.
“Why don’t you stick a nib on the end of your nose and write with it?” he inquired, as I was poring over an account-book in front of me, trying to make out the rather minute hieroglyphics contained therein.
I withdrew my nose, blushingly, to a more moderate distance, a motion which appeared greatly to entertain my fellow-clerks, whose amusement only added to my confusion.
“Hullo! I say,” said Doubleday, “no blushing allowed here, is there, Wallop?”
“Rather not. No one ever saw you blush,” replied Mr Wallop.
This turned the laugh against Doubleday, and I, despite my bashfulness, was indiscreet enough to join in it.
Mr Doubleday was greatly incensed.
“Get on with your work, do you hear? you young cad!” he cried. “Do you suppose we pay you eight bob a week to sit there and grin? How many accounts have you checked, I’d like to know?”
“Six,” I said, nervously, quite uneasy at Mr Doubleday’s sudden seriousness.
“Six in two hours—that’s three an hour.”
“Quite right; not bad for Dubbs, that, is it, Crow?” put in Wallop.
“No. He’s reckoned it up right this time.”
“I wish you’d reckon it up right now and then,” retorted Doubleday. “How about the change out of those two handkerchiefs?”
“There is no change,” said Crow, sulkily; “they were sixpence each.”
“What’s the use of saying that, when they are stuck up fourpence-halfpenny each in the window, you young thief?”
“You can get them yourself, then,” replied the injured Crow. “I’ll go no more jobs for you—there! I’m not the junior now, and I’m hanged if I’ll put up with it.”
“You’ll probably be hanged, whether you put up with it or not,” was Mr Doubleday’s retort, who, apparently desirous to change the conversation, suddenly rounded on me, as I was looking up and listening to the edifying dialogue.
“Now then, young Batchelor, dawdling again. Upon my word I’ll speak to Mr Barnacle about you. Mind, I mean what I say.”
“You’d better look-out, young turnip-top, I can tell you,” growled Crow; “when Dubbs means what he says, it’s no joke, I can tell you.”
On the whole my first afternoon’s work at Merrett, Barnacle, and Company’s was somewhat distracting, and by the time half-past six arrived I felt I had not accomplished quite as much as I had intended.
My first care on rejoining Jack was to sound him as to the possibility of his coming to lodge at Mrs Nash’s. To my delight he anticipated me by inquiring, “Have you got any place to lodge, Fred?”
“Yes,” said I, “and I only wish you’d come there too, Jack.”
“Whereabouts is it?” he asked.
“Mrs Nash’s, at Beadle Square. But you will come, won’t you?”
“Perhaps there’s not room.”
“Oh yes,” said I, taking upon myself to assert what I did not know, “there is. Come along, old man, it’ll make all the difference if we get together.”
“How much is it?” asked Jack, doubtfully.
“Come along, and we’ll ask,” said I, dragging him along.
He came, and together we bearded Mrs Nash in her den.
“I say, Mrs Nash,” said I, “my friend’s coming to lodge here, please.”
Mrs Nash eyed Jack suspiciously, and then said abruptly, “No room.”
“Oh, bother! Can’t he sleep with me, then?” I inquired.
“No,” replied she, “he can’t. It’s not allowed.”
“When will there be room?” Jack asked.
“Next week, may be.”
“Oh, how jolly!” I exclaimed. “Then you will come, Jack, won’t you?”
“How much is it?” inquired Jack of Mrs Nash.
“Three-and-six a week—in advance,” said Mrs Nash; “no tick.”
Jack pulled rather a long face.
“It’ll be a tight fit,” said he to me, “out of eight shillings a week.”
“Oh, I can pay part,” said I, too delighted at the prospect of Jack’s company to admit of any obstacle. “My uncle pays my lodging, you know, so I have the eight shillings all to myself.”
Jack, however, scouted the idea. After a little more parleying, to my unspeakable joy he told Mrs Nash he would come next week. I begged hard for him to be allowed to share my quarters in the meanwhile. The landlady was inexorable, so we had to submit.
Jack took me a long stroll through the London streets that evening, entertaining me with a description of his life as a grocer’s shop-boy, now happily at an end. I forbore to ask him any questions on the mysterious subject of his home, and he of course never referred to it. Our walk ended again at Beadle Square, where we parted for the night; he to return to some poor lodging in a distant part of the town, I to take part in the nine o’clock supper at Mrs Nash’s.
I was rather nervous as I approached the parlour where were congregated my fellow-lodgers, and heard the sound of their noisy voices and laughter. I half repented that I had committed myself to sup on the premises; it would have been so much less embarrassing to slip in just at ten o’clock and go straight to bed. However, I was in for it now.
I opened the door and entered the room. The parlour was full of boys—two dozen or more—of all ages, and engaged in all sorts of occupations. Some lounged lazily in front of the fireplace, some were indulging in rough horse-play in the corners, some were reading novels, some were writing, some were talking, some were laughing.
As I entered, however, everybody suddenly ceased his occupation and stared at me—everybody, that is, except the small group who were skirmishing in the corner nearest the door. These, with the most laudable presence of mind, took in my situation at once, and next moment I was one of the skirmishing party and having rather a lively time of it.
By this time the rest of the company had taken in the state of affairs.
“Pass him on there,” some one called, and I was accordingly passed on in rather a lively way to another party of skirmishers, who in turn, after buffeting me up and down a bit among themselves, passed me on to another group, and so on, till, with back and limbs and head all rather the worse for wear, I had performed the tour of the room and found myself finally pitched head-first into the embrace of the lordly youth who that morning had condescended to point out to me the way to Hawk Street.
“Look here,” cried he, kicking out somewhat savagely at my shins; “don’t you be so jolly familiar, do you hear? Look what you have done to my shirt-front!”
“I beg your pardon,” said I, rubbing my poor shin. “I couldn’t help—”
“Yes, you could, you young cad!” cried he, kicking again.
“No, I couldn’t, and—oh! I say, stop kicking, please!”
By this time most of the company had gathered round, some calling on the youth to “let me have it” others encouraging me “to go in and win.” I felt very greatly tempted, especially after the receipt of the third kick, to act on the suggestion given, and might have done so, had not Mrs Nash at that moment entered the room with the supper.
This interruption created a new diversion.
“I say, Mrs Nash,” cried my adversary, “who’s this kid? We don’t want him here.”
“You’ll have to have him whether you want him or not,” replied Mrs Nash, in her usual gracious way. “He’s a lodger here.”
“What do you want to shove another lodger in for when you know we’re chock-full?” demanded the youth.
“You hold your tongue, Mr Jackanapes,” replied Mrs Nash.
“I say, don’t you be so familiar,” cried the young gentleman, greatly offended. “My name’s Horncastle, not Jackanapes.”
“Very well, then, Mr Horncastle, you’d better hold your tongue.”
“I sha’n’t hold my tongue. You’ve got a spite against us, that’s what it is, or you wouldn’t go crowding us out with kids like this.”
“Crowding you out!” retorted Mrs Nash, scornfully. “You’ve got another kid coming next week, my beauty, so you’d better not talk of crowding out till then.”
“What! another besides this young cad? Oh, that’s too much! We won’t stand it. That’s all about that,” cried Mr Horncastle, in tones of utter disgust.
“Won’t you? Then you can cook your own sausages for supper, my man, and shell out what you owe on the nail. We’ll see who won’t stand it or not!”
This threat had the desired effect: Horncastle knuckled down as if by magic.
“Oh, don’t be a brute, Mrs Nash,” he said, in tones of agitation. “Do us those sausages, there’s a good body, and you can cram in half a dozen kids if you like.”
And so the question of my admission was settled satisfactorily, if not flatteringly, for me, and the fellows, the novelty of my appearance being once over, took no more notice of me than of any of the rest of their fellow-lodgers.
Mrs Nash’s establishment appeared to be one to which fond parents in the country, whose darlings were about to launch out on the sea of life in London, were invited to confide their sons, under the promise of a comfortable, respectable, and economical home.
As to the comfortable, we who were best able to judge did not admit the description a true one. As to the respectable, that was a matter of opinion. If each of us had been the only lodger there, the place would have been undoubtedly respectable, but with all the rest there, we each of us considered the society rather “mixed.” As to the economical, we were all agreed on that point. The place was fearfully and wonderfully economical!
By the time my first week in London was ended I had shaken down fairly well, both to my work at Merrett, Barnacle, and Company’s and my quarters at Mrs Nash’s. I still found the fellowship of Messrs Doubleday and Wallop and Crow rather distracting, and more than once envied Jack his berth among the Imports where, as a rule, silence reigned supreme. And yet I could hardly bring myself to dislike my fellow-clerks, who, all of them, as far as I had found out, were good-natured, and certainly very entertaining, and who, when they perceived that I was amused by their proceedings, relaxed a good deal in their attitude to me.
I gradually came to be on talking, if not on chaffing terms with several of the fellows, and found myself, I never exactly knew how, installed in the position, lately vacated by Mr Crow, of messenger and confidential commission agent to the company. Most of my twenty minutes in the middle of the day was thus taken up in buying articles of comfort or decoration for one and another of my seniors, or else changing books at the library, taking messages to other clerks in other offices, and otherwise laying myself out for the general good—a self-denial which brought me more kicks than halfpence, but which, all the same, served to establish my footing as a regular member of the Export fraternity at Merrett, Barnacle, and Company’s.
Smith, I discovered, was let in for something of the same work with the Imports, but to a much smaller extent. Indeed, he had so much less of it than me that I one day questioned him on the subject.
“I say, Jack, it seems to me the Exports want a jolly lot more things done for them than the Imports. To-day I’ve got to go to Mudie’s to change a book, then I’ve to get a scarf-pin mended for Crow, and buy a pair of flannel drawers for Wallop, and go and offer two shillings for a five-shilling mariner’s compass at the stores for Doubleday. I shall have to get my grub when I can to-day, I expect.”
“Oh!” said Jack, “the Imports wanted to let me in for that sort of thing, but I didn’t see the use of it, and told them so.”
“What did they say?” asked I, astonished at his boldness.
“They didn’t like it, of course,” said Jack; “but I don’t see why they shouldn’t do their own jobs.”
“Well,” said I, “I wouldn’t mind if I could stick out too, but somehow I’m in for it now.”
And off I started on my round of errands.
I was, however, greatly impressed with Jack’s cool treatment of the whole affair. I would as soon have dreamed of refusing to go an errand for Doubleday or Wallop as of flying. The office, I knew full well, would soon be made pretty hot for me if I did, and it was a marvel how Jack apparently got over the difficulty so easily. He was one of those fellows, you know, who seem to care absolutely nothing about what others think of them. It’s all one if fellows hate them or love them, and as for being influenced by any desire to cultivate the good graces of one’s neighbours, you might as well expect a bear to cultivate the good graces of a porpoise.
I soon began to suspect that Jack was not altogether comfortable in his new quarters, although he never hinted to the contrary. There were vague rumours which came across the partition of uncomfortableness which silently went on, and in which Jack took a prominent part; and an event which happened just a week after our arrival made the thing certain.
One morning, Mr Barnacle, apparently in a great hurry, looked in at the Import door and called out, “Smith, make me three copies of Elmore’s last consignment, at once, on foreign paper.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack.
After a pause, I heard him say, “Will you lend me that entry-book, please, Harris, to make the copies from?”
“No,” curtly replied Harris; “I’m using it.”
“But Mr Barnacle says he must have it at once.”
“I can’t help that,” said Harris.
“That’s right, Harris!” said another voice; “pay him out for his beastly, selfish ill-nature!”
“Will you lend me the book, Harris?” again demanded Jack, in tones which I could tell were fast losing their calmness.
“No, I won’t! and what’s more, shut up your row!” replied Harris.
There was a pause, then I heard Jack get off his stool and march boldly to the door. He came out and passed solemnly through our office to the door of Mr Barnacle’s room, which he entered.
Next moment Mr Barnacle came out, very red in the face, and demanded, in a loud voice, “Who is it using the entry-book? Didn’t you hear me say the copies were to be made at once, sir? Let Smith have the book.”
“It’s on his desk,” replied Harris, meekly. “I was only ruling off the last line, to show where the account ended.”
“Copy it at once,” said Mr Barnacle, sharply; “the papers have to be down before twelve, and here’s five minutes wasted already.”
Smith silently went to work, and Mr Barnacle withdrew.
“Vile young sneak!” I heard Harris say; “I’ll pay you out for that!”
“I didn’t want to sneak. You should have given me the book,” replied Jack solemnly.
“I’ll give you something, see if I don’t!” was the reply.
I believe Jack did receive this promised something. He did not come out at mid-day till late, and then he was pale and flurried.
“Has Harris been bullying you?” I said.
“Been doing his best,” replied Jack, gloomily. “I don’t much care for him.”
This was quite enough. I could guess what it meant.
“I suppose you think I was a fearful sneak?” said Jack.
“No I don’t, old man!” said I.
I had, I must confess, felt a little doubtful on the subject; but, then, what else could he have done?
“I’m sorry I did it now,” said Jack solemnly; “I sha’n’t do it again.”
“What else could you do?” I asked.
“I shall have to knock Harris down, I suppose,” said Jack, so seriously that I stared at him in bewilderment.
Without doubt my poor chum was preparing a warm time for himself with the Imports at Merrett, Barnacle, and Company’s!
That same evening he entered on his new quarters at Mrs Nash’s, greatly to my joy, and greatly to the disgust of everybody else.
Horncastle, who had recovered from his temporary fright for the cooling of his sausages, was specially loud in his remonstrances.
“It’s no use your coming here,” he said, advancing in a menacing way towards Jack on his arrival. “We aren’t going to have you—there!”
And with that, as in my case, he emphasised his remark with a smart kick on Jack’s shins.
Jack was not a short-tempered fellow, but this unprovoked assault startled him out of his usual composure.
“You’d better not do that again,” said he, glaring at his adversary.
Horncastle did not do it again. I don’t know what it was, but at those words, and the glare that accompanied them, his foot, already raised for further action, dropped quietly beside the other.
“I shall do it again if I choose,” he said surlily.
“Then you’d better not choose,” quietly said Jack.
“You’ve got no business here, that’s what I say,” exclaimed Horncastle, falling back upon a safer line of attack.
“Why haven’t I?” said Jack. “I’m a clerk like you.”
“And you call yourself a gentleman too, I suppose?” sneered the other.
Jack always fired up when any reference of this kind was made.
“I don’t want you to tell me whether I am,” he retorted.
“Why, he’s a regular cad,” cried some one. “I know him well; I saw him selling penn’orths of nuts a week or two ago in the Borough.”
“You hear that,” said Horncastle, turning to Jack. “Was it so?”
“I don’t see what it’s got to do with you,” replied Jack; “but if you want to know, I was.”
“I thought so! I thought so!” exclaimed Horncastle; “a wretched shop-boy! Ugh! get away from me.”
And by one consent the company followed the example of their leader and left poor Jack isolated in a corner of the room, with only me to stand by him.
But he was not greatly afflicted by the incident, and made no attempt to assert his rights further. And after all we got on very well and had a very jolly evening without the help of Mr Horncastle and his friends, and slept quite as soundly after our day’s excitement as if we had been in the wholesale line all our lives.