"Nothing to do yet, sir?" It was the ordinary salutation of his hard-working mite of a landlady when he came home to his meal in the afternoon. "I knows by the weary way ye walks upstairs, sir, you aren't successful yet, sir."
"Nothink to do yet, sir?" They were the usual words that the slavey used when she dragged upstairs of an evening with his tea-things.
"Nothink to do," she would say, as she deposited the tray on the table, and sank sans ceremonie into the easy-chair. "Nothink to do. What a 'appy life to lead! Now 'ere's me a draggin' up and down stairs, and a carryin' of coals and a sweepin', and a dustin' and a hanswering of the door, till, what wi' the 'eat and the dust and the fleas, my poor little life's well-nigh worrited out o' me. Heigho! hif I was honly back again in merrie England, catch me ever goin' to any Australia any more. But you looks a borned gent, sir. Nothink to do! My eye and Betty Martin, ye oughter to be 'appy, if you ain't."
Archie got up to-night, enrobed himself in his dressing-gown, and went and sat on his balcony. This soothed him. The stars were very bright, and seemed very near. He did not care for other companionship than these and his own all-too-busy thoughts. There was hardly a sound to be heard, except now and then the hum of a distant railway train increasing to a harsh roar as it crossed the bridge, then becoming subdued again and muffled as it entered woods, or went rolling over a soft and open country.
Nothing to do! But he must and would do something. Why should he starve in a city of plenty? He had arms and hands, if he hadn't a head. Indeed, he had begun of late to believe that his head, which he used to think so much of, was the least important part of his body. He caught himself feeling his forearm and his biceps. Why this latter had got smaller and beautifully less of late. He had to shut his fist hard to make it perceptible to touch. This was worse and worse, he thought. He would not be able to lift a fifty-six if he wanted to before long, or have strength enough left to wield a stable broom if he should be obliged to go as gardener to Winslow.
"What next, I wonder?" he said to himself. "First I lose my brains, if ever I had any, and now I have lost my biceps; the worst loss last."
He lit his candle, and took up the newspaper. "I'll pocket my pride, and take a porter's situation," he murmured. "Let us see now. Hullo! what is this? 'APPRENTICE WANTED—the drug trade—splendid opening to a pushing youngster.' Well, I am a pushing youngster. 'Premium required.' I don't care, I have a bit of money left, and I'll pay it like a man if there is enough. Why the drug trade is grand. Sydney drug-stores beat Glasgow's all to pieces. Druggists and drysalters have their carriages and mansions, their town and country houses. Hurrah! I'll be something yet!"
He blew out the candle, and jumped into bed. The gentle goddess required no further wooing. She took him in her lap, and he went off at once like a baby.
Rap—rap—rap—rap!
"Hullo! Yes; coming, Sarah; coming."