The consequent change in his dress and manner, his amiable conduct, and gentlemanly deportment, at last completely won upon the esteem of the boisterous broker, who swore, (for that was generally his elegant manner of expressing his sincerity) that Dubois was a 'downright good'un;' and were it not for his foreign accent, he should have taken him for an Englishman born—really believing, that there was no virtue in the world but of English growth.
I had now been above twelve-months in his office, and although I had received but a moderate compensation for my services, yet the vast improvement I had made (thanks to the instruction of Monsieur Dubois,) was more valuable than gold. My father also, though but scantily furnished with book-knowledge, had, nevertheless, the good sense to appreciate and encourage my progress; he was well aware, from observation, that 'knowledge is power,' and would frequently quote the old saw, “When house, and land, and money's spent;
Then larning is most excellent”—
and spared all the money he could scrape together to purchase books for me.
One day Mr. Crobble came into the office with an open letter in his hand. “Here,”—cried he, “I've received a remittance at last from that, German fellow—two good bills on the first house in the city—but I can't make top nor tail of his rigmarole. Do you know any chap among your acquaintance who can read German?”
“Not I,” replied Mr. Timmis.
“Will you allow me, Mr. Crobble?” said I, stepping forward. “This letter is written in French, not German, Sir,” I observed.
“What's the difference to me, Master Andrew; it might as well be in wild Irish, for the matter o' that.”
“Andrew can read the lingo,” said my master.
“The devil he can!” exclaimed Mr. Crobble; “I dare say I shall be able to make it out,” said I; “and if not, Monsieur Dubois will be here; to-morrow morning, and you can have it by twelve o'clock, sir.”
“Ain't that the ticket?” exclaimed Mr. Timmis, delighted at the surprise of his friend; “you don't know how vastly clever we are, old fellow.”