Half way up stairs a sudden thought occurred to me, which caused me to drop my burden and hurry back to my uncle’s room.
“Uncle, do you know the Smiths of Packworth?”
My uncle looked up crossly.
“Haven’t you learned more sense at school, sir, than that? Don’t you know there are hundreds of Smiths at Packworth?”
This was a crusher. I meekly departed, and picking up my papers where I had dropped them, completed the journey to my room.
It had been a cherished idea of mine, the first day I got home to make inquiries about my friend Smith. It had never occurred to me before that Smith was such a very common name; but it now dawned slowly on me that to find a Smith in Packworth would be about as simple as to find a needle in a bottle of hay.
Anyhow, I could write to him now without fear—that was a comfort. So I turned to my newspapers and began to read through a few of the advertisements my uncle had considerately marked.
The result was not absolutely exhilarating. My uncle evidently was not ambitious on my account.
“Sharp lad wanted to look after a shop.” That was the first I caught sight of. And the next was equally promising.
“Page wanted by a professional gentleman. Must be clean, well-behaved, and make himself useful in house. Attend to boots, coals, windows, etcetera. Good character indispensable.”