Chapter Four.
The “Rocket” Newspaper Company, Limited.
The reader may imagine that the walk our two heroes took Citywards that Monday morning was not a very cheerful one. It seemed like walking out of one life into another. Behind, like a dream, were the joyous, merry days spent at Garden Vale and Wilderham, with no care for the future, and no want for the present. Before them, still more like a dream, lay the prospect of their new work, with all its anxiety, and drudgery, and weariness, and the miserable eighteen shillings a week it promised them; and, equally wretched at the present moment, there was the vision of their desolate mother, alone in the Dull Street lodgings, where they had just left her, unable at the last to hide the misery with which she saw her two boys start out into the pitiless world.
The boys walked for some time in silence; then Horace said,—
“Old man, I hope, whatever they do, they’ll let us be together at this place.”
“We needn’t expect any such luck,” said Reginald. “It wouldn’t be half so bad if they would.”
“You know,” said Horace, “I can’t help hoping they’ll take us as clerks, at least. They must know we’re educated, and more fit for that sort of work than—”
“Than doing common labourer’s work,” said Reg. “Rather! If they’d put us to some of the literary work, you know, Horace—editing, or correcting, or reporting, or that sort of thing, I could stand that. There are plenty of swells who began like that. I’m pretty well up in classics, you know, and—well, they might be rather glad to have some one who was.”
Horace sighed.
“Richmond spoke as if we were to be taken on as ordinary workmen.”
“Oh, Richmond’s an ass,” said Reg, full of his new idea; “he knows nothing about it. I tell you, Horace, they wouldn’t be such idiots as to waste our education when they could make use of it. Richmond only knows the manager, but the editor is the chief man, after all.”
By this time they had reached Fleet Street, and their attention was absorbed in finding the by-street in which was situated the scene of their coming labours. They found it at last, and with beating hearts saw before them a building surmounted by a board, bearing in characters of gold the legend, Rocket Newspaper Company, Limited.
The boys stood a moment outside, and the courage which had been slowly rising during the walk evaporated in an instant. Ugly and grimy as the building was, it seemed to them like some fairy castle before which they shrank into insignificance. A board inscribed, “Work-people’s Entrance,” with a hand on it pointing to a narrow side court, confronted them, and mechanically they turned that way. Reginald did for a moment hesitate as he passed the editor’s door, but it was no use. The two boys turned slowly into the court, where, amid the din of machinery, and a stifling smell of ink and rollers, they found the narrow passage which conducted them to their destination.
A man at a desk half way down the passage intercepted their progress.
“Now, then, young fellows, what is it?”
“We want to see the manager, please,” said Horace.
“No use to-day, my lad. No boys wanted; we’re full up.”
“We want to see the manager,” said Reginald, offended at the man’s tone, and not disposed to humour it.
“Tell you we want no boys; can’t you see the notice up outside?”
“Look here!” said Reginald, firing up, and heedless of his brother’s deprecating look; “we don’t want any of your cheek. Tell the manager we’re here, will you, and look sharp?”
The timekeeper stared at the boy in amazement for a moment, and then broke out with,—
“Take your hook, do you hear, you—or I’ll warm you.”
“It’s a mistake,” put in Horace, hurriedly. “Mr Richmond said we were to come here to see the manager at nine o’clock.”
“And couldn’t you have said so at first?” growled the man, with his hand still on his ruler, and glaring at Reginald, “without giving yourselves airs as if you were gentry? Go on in, and don’t stand gaping there.”
“For goodness’ sake, Reg,” whispered Horace, as they knocked at the manager’s door, “don’t flare up like that, you’ll spoil all our chance.”
Reg said nothing, but he breathed hard, and his face was angry still.
“Come in!” cried a sharp voice, in answer to their knock.
They obeyed, and found a man standing with a pen in his mouth at a desk, searching through a file of papers. He went on with his work till he found what he wanted, apparently quite unconscious of the boys’ presence. Then he rang a bell for an overseer, whistled down a tube for a clerk, and shouted out of the door for a messenger, and gave orders to each. Then he sent for some one else, and gave him a scolding that made the unlucky recipient’s hair stand on end; then he received a visit from a friend, with whom he chatted and joked for a pleasant quarter of an hour; then he took up the morning paper and skimmed through it, whistling to himself as he did so; then he rang another bell and told the errand-boy who answered it to bring him in at one o’clock sharp a large boiled beef underdone, with carrots and turnips, and a pint of “s. and b.” (whatever that might mean). Then he suddenly became aware of the fact that he had visitors, and turned inquiringly to the two boys.
“Mr Richmond—” began Horace, in answer to his look.
But the manager cut him short.
“Oh, ah! yes,” he said. “Nuisance! Go to the composing-room and ask for Mr Durfy.”
Saying which he sat down again at his desk, and became absorbed in his papers.
It was hardly a flattering reception, and gave our heroes very little chance of showing off their classical proficiency. They had at least expected, as Mr Richmond’s nominees, rather more than a half glance from the manager; and to be thus summarily turned over to a Mr Durfy before they had as much as opened their mouths was decidedly unpromising.
Reginald did make one feeble effort to prolong the interview, and to impress the manager at the same time.
“Excuse me,” said he, in his politest tones, “would you mind directing us to the composing-room? My brother and I don’t know the geography of the place yet.”
“Eh? Composing-room? Get a boy to show you. Plenty outside.”
It was no go, evidently; and they turned dismally from the room.
The errand-boy was coming up the passage as they emerged—the same errand-boy they had seen half an hour ago in the manager’s room; but, as their classical friends would say—
“Quantum mutatus ab illo Hectore!”
His two arms were strung with the handles of frothing tin cans from the elbow to the wrist. He carried two tin cans in his mouth. His apron was loaded to bursting with bread, fish, cheese, potatoes, and other edibles; the necks of bottles protruded from all his pocket’s,—from the bosom of his jacket and from the fob of his breeches,—and round his neck hung a ponderous chain of onions. In short, the errand-boy was busy; and our heroes, even with their short experience of business life, saw that there was little hope of extracting information from him under present circumstances.
So they let him pass, and waited for another. They had not to wait long, for the passage appeared to be a regular highway for the junior members of the staff of the Rocket Newspaper Company, Limited. But though several boys came, it was some time before one appeared whose convenience it suited to conduct our heroes to the presence of Mr Durfy. Just, however, as their patience was getting exhausted, and Reginald was making up his mind to shake the dust of the place from his feet, a boy appeared and offered to escort them to the composing-room.
They followed him up several flights of a rickety staircase, and down some labyrinthine passages to a large room where some forty or fifty men were busy setting up type. At the far end of this room, at a small table, crowded with “proofs,” sat a red-faced individual whom the boy pointed out as “Duffy.”
“Well, now, what do you want?” asked he, as the brothers approached.
“The manager said we were to ask for Mr Durfy,” said Reginald.
“I wish to goodness he’d keep you down there; he knows I’m crowded out with boys. He always serves me that way, and I’ll tell him so one of these days.”
This last speech, though apparently addressed to the boys, was really a soliloquy on Mr Durfy’s part; but for all that it failed to enchant his audience. They had not, in their most sanguine moments, expected much, but this was even rather less than they had counted on.
Mr Durfy mused for some time, then, turning to Reginald, he said,—
“Do you know your letters?”
Here was a question to put to the captain of the fifth at Wilderham!
“I believe I do,” said Reginald, with a touch of scorn in his voice which was quite lost on the practical Mr Durfy.
“What do you mean by believe? Do you, or do you not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why couldn’t you say so at once? Take this bit of copy and set it up at that case there. And you, young fellow, take these proofs to the sub-editor’s room, and say I’ve not had the last sheet of the copy of the railway accident yet, and I’m standing for it. Cut away.”
Horace went off.
“After all,” thought he to himself, “what’s the use of being particular? I suppose I’m what they call a ‘printer’s devil’; nothing like starting modestly! Here goes for my lords the sub-editors, and the last page of the railway accident.”
And he spent a festive ten-minutes hunting out the sub-editor’s domains, and possessing himself of the missing copy.
With Reginald, however, it fared otherwise. A fellow may be head of the fifth at a public school, and yet not know his letters in a printing-office, and after five or ten-minutes’ hopeless endeavour to comprehend the geography of a typecase, he was obliged to acknowledge himself beaten and apprise Mr Durfy of the fact.
“I’m sorry I misunderstood you,” said he, putting the copy down on the table. “I’m not used to printing.”
“No,” said Mr Durfy, scornfully, “I guessed not. You’re too stuck-up for us, I can tell you. Here, Barber.”
An unhealthy-looking young man answered to the name.
“Take this chap here to the back case-room, and see he sweeps it out and dusts the cases. See if that’ll suit your abilities, my dandy”; and without waiting to hear Reginald’s explanations or remonstrances, Mr Durfy walked off, leaving the unlucky boy in the hands of Mr Barber.
“Now, then, stir your stumps, Mr Dandy,” said the latter. “It’ll take you all your time to get that shop straight, I can tell you, so you’d better pull up your boots. Got a broom?”
“No,” muttered Reg, through his teeth, “I’ve not got a broom.”
“Go and get that one, then, out of the corner there.”
Reginald flushed crimson, and hesitated a moment.
“Do you ’ear? Are you deaf? Get that one there.”
Reginald got it, and trailing it behind him dismally, followed his guide to the back case-room. It was a small room, which apparently had known neither broom nor water for years. The floor was thick with dirt, and the cases ranged in the racks against the walls were coated with dust.
“There you are,” said Mr Barber. “Open the window, do you ’ear? and don’t let none of the dust get out into the composing-room, or there’ll be a row. Come and tell me when you’ve done the floor, and I’ll show you ’ow to do them cases. Rattle along, do you ’ear? or you won’t get it done to-day;” and Mr Barber, who had had his day of sweeping out the shops, departed, slamming the door behind him.
Things had come to a crisis with Reginald Cruden early in his business career.
He had come into the City that morning prepared to face a good deal. He had not counted on much sympathy or consideration from his new employers; he had even vaguely made up his mind he would have to rough it at first; but to be shut up in a dirty room with a broom in his hand by a cad who could not even talk grammar was a humiliation on which he had never once calculated.
Tossing the broom unceremoniously into a corner, he opened the door and walked out of the room. Barber was already out of sight, chuckling inwardly over the delicious task he had been privileged to set to his dandy subordinate, and none of the men working near knew or cared what this pale, handsome new boy did either in or out of the back case-room.
Reginald walked through them to the passage outside, not much caring where he went or whom he met. If he were to meet Mr Barber, or Mr Durfy, or the manager himself, so much the better. As it happened, he met Horace, looking comparatively cheerful, with some papers in his hand.
“Hullo, Reg,” said he; “have they promoted you to a ‘printer’s devil’ too? Fancy what Bland would say if he saw us! Never mind, there’s four hours gone, and in about another six we shall be home with mother again.”
“I shall be home before then,” said Reg. “I’m going now. I can’t stand it, Horace.”
Horace stared at his brother in consternation.
“Oh, Reg, old man, you mustn’t; really you mustn’t. Do let’s stick together, however miserable it is. It’s sure to seem worse at first.”
“It’s all very well for you, Horace, doing messenger work. You haven’t been set to sweep out a room.”
Horace whistled.
“Whew! that is a drop too much! But,” he added, taking his brother’s arm, “don’t cut it yet, old man, for mother’s sake, don’t. I’ll come and help you do it if I can. Why couldn’t they have given it me to do, and let you go the messages!”
Reginald said nothing, but let his brother lead him back slowly to the big room presided over by Mr Durfy.
“Where is it?” Horace inquired of him at the door.
“That little room in the corner.”
“All right. I’ll come if I possibly can. Do try it, old man, won’t you?”
“I’ll try it,” said Reginald, with something very like a groan as he opened the door and walked grimly back to the back case-room.
Horace, full of fear and trembling on his brother’s account, hurried with his copy to Mr Durfy, and waited impatiently till that grandee condescended to relieve him of it.
“Is there anything else?” he inquired, as he gave it up.
“Anything else? Yes, plenty; but don’t come bothering me now.”
Horace waited for no more elaborate statement of Mr Durfy’s wishes, but thankfully withdrew, and made straight for Reginald.
He found him half hidden, half choked by the dust of his own raising, as he drew his broom in a spiritless way across the black dry floor.
He paused in his occupation as Horace entered, and for a moment, as the two stood face to face coughing and sneezing, a sense of the ludicrous overcame them, and they finished up their duet with a laugh.
“I say,” said Horace, as soon as he could get words, “I fancy a little water would be an improvement here.”
“Where are we to get it from?” said Reg.
“I suppose there must be some about. Shall I go and see?”
“We might tip one of those fellows outside a sixpence to go and get us some.”
“Hold hard, old man!” said Horace, laughing again. “We’re not so flush of sixpences as all that. I guess if we want any water we shall have to get it ourselves. I’ll be back directly.”
Poor Reg, spirited up for a while by his brother’s courage, proceeded more gingerly with his sweeping, much amazed in the midst of his misery to discover how many walks in life there are beyond the capacity even of the captain of the fifth of a public school.
He was not, however, destined on the present occasion to perfect himself in the one that was then engaging his attention. Horace had scarcely disappeared in quest of water when the door opened, and no less a personage than the manager himself entered the room.
He was evidently prepared neither for the dust nor the duster, and started back for a moment, as though he were under the impression that the clouds filling the apartment were clouds of smoke, and Reginald was another Guy Fawkes caught in the act. He recovered himself shortly, however, and demanded sharply,—
“What are you doing here, making all this mess?”
“I’m trying to carry out Mr Durfy’s instructions,” replied Reginald, leaning on his broom, and not at all displeased at the interruption.
“Durfy’s instructions? What do you mean, sir?”
“Mr Durfy’s—”
“That will do. Here you,” said the manager, opening the door, and speaking to the nearest workman, “tell Mr Durfy to step here.”
Mr Durfy appeared in a very brief space.
“Durfy,” said the manager, wrathfully, “what do you mean by having this room in such a filthy mess? Aren’t your instructions to have it swept out once a week? When was it swept last?”
“Some little time ago. We’ve been so busy in our department, sir, that—”
“Yes, I know; you always say that. I’m sick of hearing it. Don’t let me find this sort of thing again. Send some one at once to sweep it out; this lad doesn’t know how to hold a broom. Take care it’s done by four o’clock, and ready for use. Pheugh! it’s enough to choke one.”
And the manager went off in a rage, coughing.
Satisfactory as this was, in a certain sense, for Reginald, it was not a flattering way of ending his difficulties, nor did the spirit in which Mr Durfy accepted his chief’s reprimand at all tend to restore him to cheerfulness.
“Bah, you miserable idiot, you! Give up that broom, and get out of this, or I’ll chuck you out.”
“I don’t think you will,” said Reginald, coolly dropping the broom and facing his enemy.
He was happier at that moment than he had been for a long time. He could imagine himself back at Wilderham, with the school bully shouting at him, and his spirits rose within him accordingly.
“What do you say? you hugger-mugger puppy you—you—”
Mr Durfy’s adjectives frequently had the merit of being more forcible than appropriate, and on the present occasion, what with the dust and his own rage, the one he wanted stuck in his throat altogether.
“I said I don’t think you will,” repeated Reginald.
Mr Durfy looked at his man and hesitated. Reginald stood five foot nine, and his shoulders were square and broad, besides, he was as cool as a cucumber, and didn’t even trouble to take his hands out of his pockets. All this Mr Durfy took in, and did not relish; but he must not cave in too precipitately, so he replied, with a sneer,—
“Think! A lot you know about thinking! Can’t even hold a broom. Clear out of here, I tell you, double quick; do you hear?”
Reginald’s spirits fell. It was clear from Mr Durfy’s tone he was not going to attempt to “chuck him out,” and nothing therefore could be gained by remaining.
He turned scornfully on his heel, knowing that he had made one enemy, at any rate, during his short connection with his new business.
And if he had known all, he could have counted two; for Mr Durfy, finding himself in a mood to wreak his wrath on some one, summoned the ill-favoured Barber to sweep out the back case-room, and gave his orders so viciously that Barber felt distinctly aggrieved, and jumping to the conclusion that Reginald had somehow contrived to turn the tables on him, he registered a secret vow, there and then, that he would on the first opportunity, and on all subsequent opportunities, be square with that luckless youth.
Caring very little about who hated him or who liked him, Reginald wandered forth, to intercept the faithful Horace with the now unnecessary water; and the two boys, finding very little to occupy them during the rest of the day, remained in comparative seclusion until the seven o’clock bell rang, when they walked home, possibly wiser, and certainly sadder, for their first day with the Rocket Newspaper Company, Limited.