“Because,” said Holloway, “I thought if you heard what the woman said, when she saw me, you would have got it all out of her to be sure; therefore I thought it best to trust you with my secret, and so put you upon honour with me. All I ask of you is, to hold your tongue about my—my—my—frolic, and just make some excuse for my not going into the room again where the mulatto woman is: you may tell Supine, if he asks what’s become of me, that I’m gone to the music-shop, to get some new music for him: that will keep him quiet. Good by.”
When Howard returned to the room where the mulatto woman lay, he expected to be questioned by Mr. Supine about Holloway’s sudden departure; but this gentleman was not in the habit of paying great attention to his pupil’s motions. He took it for granted that Holloway had escaped, because he did not wish to be called upon for a charitable subscription. From the same fear, Mr. Supine affected unusual absence of mind whilst Mr. Russell talked to the mulatto woman, and at length, professing himself unable to endure any longer the smell of smoke, he pushed his way into the street. “Mr. Holloway, I suppose,” said he, “has taken himself home, very wisely, and I shall follow him: we make it a rule, I think, to miss one another; but to keep a young man in leading-strings would be a great bore. We’re upon the best footing in the world together: as to the rest—”
New difficulties awaited Holloway. He got home some time before Mr. Supine, and found his friend, the stage-coachman, waiting for him with a rueful face.
“Master,” said he, “here’s a sad job: there was a parcel lost last night, in the confusion of the overturn of the coach; and I must make it good; for it’s booked, and it’s booked to the value of five guineas, for it was a gold muslin gown that a lady was very particular about; and, master, I won’t peach if you’ll pay: but as for losing my place, or making up five guineas afore Saturday, it’s what I can’t take upon me to do.”
Holloway was much dismayed at this news; he now began to think he should pay too dear for his frolic. The coachman persisted in his demand. Mr. Supine appeared at the corner of the street; and his pupil was forced to get rid immediately of the coachman, by a promise, that the money should be ready on Saturday. When Holloway made this promise, he was not master of two guineas in the world; how to procure the whole sum was now the question. Alderman Holloway, with the hope of exciting in his son’s mind a love for literature, made it a practice to reward him with solid gold, whenever he brought home any certificate of his scholarship. Holloway had lately received five guineas from his father, for an approved copy of Latin verses; and the alderman had promised to give him five guineas more if he brought home the medal which was to be the reward for the best essay in the periodical paper, which the Westminster boys were now writing. Holloway, though he could write elegant Latin verses, had not any great facility in English composition; he, consequently, according to the usual practice of little minds, undervalued a talent which he did not possess. He had ridiculed the scheme of writing an English essay, and had loudly declared, that he did not think it worth his while to write English. His opinion was, however, somewhat changed by his father’s promised reward; and the stage-coachman’s impatience for his money now impelled Holloway to exertion. He began to write his essay late on Friday evening—the medal was to be given on Saturday morning—so that there could not be much time for revisal and corrections. Corrections he affected to disdain, and piqued himself upon the rapidity with which he wrote. “Howard,” said he, when they met to deliver in their compositions, “you have been three weeks writing your essay; I ran mine off in three hours and a quarter.”
Mr. Holloway had not considered, that what is written with ease is not always read with ease. His essay was written with such a careless superfluity of words, and such a lack of ideas appeared in the performance, that the judges unanimously threw it aside, as unworthy of their notice. “Gentlemen,” cried Dr. B., coming forward among the anxious crowd of expectants, “which of you owns this motto?—
“‘Hear it, ye Senates, hear this truth sublime,
He who allows oppression shares the crime{6}.’”
{Footnote 6: Botanic Garden, vol. ii.}
“It’s his!—it’s his!—it’s his!” exclaimed little Oliver, clapping his hands—“it’s Howard’s, sir.”
Dr. B., pleased with this grateful little boy’s honest joy, put the medal into his hands, without speaking, and Oliver ran with it to his friend. “Only,” said he, “only let me be by, when you show it to your aunt.”