She darted an intelligent look at me, and then hastily pulled down her crape veil as Mr Lister followed her to her chair.
“Come here, my lad,” said Mr Ruddle, in quiet business-like tones. “We want boys here, but boys used to the printing trade, for it does not answer our purpose to teach them; we have no time. But as you seem a sharp, respectable boy, and pretty well educated, you might, perhaps, be willing to try.”
“Oh, if you’ll try me, I’ll strive so hard to learn, sir!” I cried excitedly.
“I hope you will, my boy,” he said drily, “but don’t profess too much; and mind this, you are not coming here as a young gentleman, but as a reading-boy—to work.”
“Yes, sir. I want to work,” I said earnestly.
“That’s well. Now, look here. I want to know a little more about you. If, as you say, you came from near Rowford, you can tell me the names of some of the principal people there?”
“Yes, sir; there’s Doctor Heston, and the Reverend James Wyatt, and Mr Elton.”
“Exactly,” he said gruffly; and he opened a large book and turned over a number of pages. “Humph! here it is,” he said to himself, and he seemed to check off the names. “Now, look here, my man. What is the name of the principal solicitor at Rowford?”
“Mr Blakeford, sir,” I said with a shiver, lest he should want to write to him about me.
“Oh, you know him?” he said sharply.