Mrs. May handed over her other two papers: a “character” from the schoolmaster and another from the rector.
When the gentleman had read them, “Yes, yes, very good—very good, indeed,” he said. “But you’ve not finished learning yet, you know, my boy, if you’re to be an engineer. Fond of drawing?”
“Yes, sir.”
And Nan May chimed in: “O, yes, sir, very fond.”
“Well, if you stick well at your drawing in the evenings, and learn the theory, you’ll be a foreman some day—perhaps a manager. It all depends on yourself. You shall have a chance to show us what you’re made of. That’s all we can do—the rest is for yourself, as I’ve said.”
“Yes, sir, thank-you, sir—I’ll try.” And Mrs. May was audibly thankful too, and confident of Johnny.
“Very well, it’s settled.” The gentleman rang a bell, and bade the junior clerk “Just send for Cottam.”
“I have sent for the foreman,” he went on, “whose shop you will be in. He’ll look after you as long as you behave well and keep up to your work. You won’t see me very often, but I shall know all about you, remember.” And he turned to his table, and wrote.
Presently there was a sudden thump at the door, which opened slowly and admitted the foremost part—it was the abdomen—of Cottam the foreman. He was of middle height, though he seemed short by reason of his corpulence; deliberate in all his movements, yet hard, muscular, and active. He turned, as it were on his own axis, at the edge of the door, shut it with one hand, while he dangled a marine peaked cap in the other; and looked, with serene composure, from over his scrub of grey beard, first at Mrs. May, then at Johnny, and last at his employer.
“Oh, Cottam,” the gentleman said, writing one more word, and letting drop his pen, “this lad’s name is John May. I expect you’ll remember his father. Bad accident, I believe, in the heavy turning shop; died, in fact.” This with a slight glance at Nan May.