‘What! not gone, Mallinson?’ he cried. ‘Put on your hat at once. Here’s your money. Now go, and never darken my doors again!’ and, giving the boy a small envelope, he bundled him out of the door, which he banged behind him.
‘You’d better tidy up the place,’ he said to Blair; then again retired to his own room.
Blair did as he was bidden; then climbed up on to his high stool, and sat looking at the brilliant sunlight outside. His mind wandered back twelve months—to his old school and the pleasant cricket-meadow where probably the fellows were then playing, or perhaps his own old particular chums were having a pull up the river. The recollection made him sigh, for the last twelve months had held nothing but trouble and hard work for him. He looked round the dismal office, seeming ten times more dismal, he thought, now young Mallinson had gone, and his head fell forward on his hands, for the future looked dark indeed before him.
Less than fifteen months ago he had lost his father. At the end of the summer term he had gone home to find his mother and sisters removed from the great, rambling old house in Hampshire, where he had been born, to a humble lodging in London. There nothing but bad news met him. Mr Bailey, the old lawyer who had managed his father’s business for years, had stated that Mr Blair’s affairs were in a far from flourishing state. Unfortunate speculations had dissipated his fortune; his property was mortgaged, and most of his securities had to be disposed of to meet his liabilities. The house and best part of the furniture were sold, and the proceeds, being invested, were just sufficient to bring in a bare pittance, enough to keep a roof over the widow’s head. Jack Blair had to turn out into the world to earn his own living.
His first place had been in a wholesale drapery establishment, where he worked twelve hours a day. The hard work and the confinement, together with the bad and insufficient food, had in a few months made him but a ghost of his former self, and his mother had insisted upon his leaving. His second situation had been with a firm of merchants who in less than two months went bankrupt, and Jack Blair was once more thrown on his mother’s hands. Then the family lawyer had procured him his present situation with Messrs Phogg & Cheetham, a place where he worked from eight in the morning till eight or often nine at night, Saturdays included. He lived on the premises, and, besides his board, received the magnificent sum of four shillings a week for his services.
The old lawyer had told him that at any cost he must keep that situation, as he must not be a burden to his mother, who had as much as she could do to keep herself.
Jack had determined to succeed, and in spite of drudgery and continual snubs and insults, had been there six months; and now—well, after that afternoon’s work—he knew that his days there were numbered, and, worst of all, Mr Phogg had said he would not give him a reference. Jack knew his employer’s vindictive nature too well to doubt that he would carry out his threat. He felt he could not write and tell his mother, and what to do he knew not.
At eight o’clock that night he was turned out into the street, all his worldly possessions packed in a small portmanteau, a week’s wages (less one shilling and fourpence stopped for the broken window) added to his small stock of money, seven shillings and eightpence in all, forming the whole of his wealth, for Jack had sent his mother half his slender earnings ever since he had been in his situation. He went straight to the Mallinsons’ and arranged for a night’s lodging with them, he having been on very friendly terms with the family since he had been in Wycombe.
Early on the Sunday morning, Jack, portmanteau in hand, started on his long tramp from Wycombe to London, for he decided he dared not spend the two and tenpence for the railway fare. Cecil accompanied Jack some distance on the way, and when they parted he said, as he wrung Jack’s hand, ‘I can’t help feeling it’s all my fault your going.’
‘Don’t say a word about it, Cecil. I should do the same again to-morrow.’