It was a long time before Eddie and Bertie Rivers could realise that Riversdale was no longer their home—that they were quite poor lads, dependent on the kindness of their relatives, and that if they wished to win fame and fortune, there was nothing for it but hard work. Bertie was the first to realise the great change in his position. Mr. Gregory was not unkind, but he was stern and cold, and after introducing him to the head clerk (who showed him a corner in the office where he might sit, and explained his work), Mr. Gregory took no more notice of him than of the other lads. After the first day, he found that he would have to go to the City by himself, and return alone; his uncle gave him a second-class season ticket, and desired him to catch the half-past eight train every morning. He also told him where he was to have his dinner, and for the first month desired one of the older clerks to see to him, and pay only a certain sum; then he was to return to Kensington at half-past five every evening, have his tea in the school-room, and read or amuse himself as best he could till bed-time. His aunt, he rarely saw; she was not up when he left in the morning, and always was either entertaining visitors at home or going out to parties in the evening. His two cousins were quite grown-up young ladies, who seldom condescended to notice the little office-boy, as they called him, and two other cousins, about his own age and Eddie's, were away at Eton. So that poor Bertie would not have had a very lively time, had he not possessed a wonderful capacity for enjoyment, and a perfect genius for finding occupation and amusement for himself. He had undisturbed possession of the deserted school-room, and before long it was a sort of little museum. He had a number of pets; then he begged corks from the butler, and manufactured ingenious flower-pots and stands, in which he grew dainty little mosses and ferns; he made cork frames for some of Agnes' pretty little pictures, and his grandest achievement was a boat that he built and rigged entirely himself. Often in the early mornings he would go for a walk as far into the country as he could, and sometimes, before going home in the evenings, he would have a run in the park, and those were all his pleasures. Mr. Gregory scarcely ever thought of him out of the office; there he always observed every one closely, and he saw that Bertie was quiet, attentive, industrious, and, best of all, quick: he never had to be told to do anything a second time. On Saturdays and Sundays he might go and see his brother, provided he returned in good time, for he dined with the family on Sundays; but Eddie was never invited to Gore House, and Uncle Clair was never mentioned without contempt. But to Bertie, the hours spent in the dingy old house in Fitzroy Square were the pleasantest of his life. He was too happy when he got there to notice that Eddie looked gloomy sometimes, but little Agnes was always sweet and happy, and Aunt Amy's welcome was worth anything.
"How I do wish I could come and live here!" Bertie cried one wet afternoon, when they were all gathered round the fire in Mrs. Clair's old-fashioned parlour. "I should not mind being in the office a bit if I could see you all in the evenings; but it is dull at home!"
"It's dull everywhere at times, dear," Aunt Amy said gently, remembering how very gloomy Eddie often looked. "You must try and make the best of it."
"I do, auntie," Bertie replied; "and I suppose I won't have to live with Uncle Gregory always."
"Gore House is pleasanter than Fitzroy Square, I think," Eddie said, a little crossly.
"And Fitzroy Square is ever so much pleasanter than Mincing Lane," Bertie replied. "Why, if you were in our office, Eddie, I don't know what would become of you! You would have to sit on a high stool all day, copying things into big books, or else copying things out of them. Then you have to add up columns of figures till your eyes ache, and if you are even one wrong, Mr. Wilson seems to know just by instinct. I wonder," Bertie added suddenly, "how many columns I shall have to add up, and how many ledgers fill with entries, before I begin to grow rich?"
"I wonder how many pictures I'll have to paint before I begin to grow famous?" Eddie replied; and then, as Aunt Amy left the room, he jumped up impatiently. "I'll never be an artist, Bert, if Uncle Clair keeps me drawing lines and triangles and cubes. Any one can do them; I want to begin to paint!"
"Then why don't you do just as Uncle Harry says; he knows best!" Bertie replied gravely. "I always do exactly as Uncle Gregory says, no matter what it is; and now it's time for me to go back. Oh, I forgot to tell you something: our cousins, Dick and Harry, are coming home in a few weeks; I'll bring them to see you. It won't be so bad when they come, but it is dull at home these long evenings."
"It does me good to see Bertie: he's always so happy and cheerful," Aunt Amy said, after she had kissed him, and watched him a little way down the street. "I wish, Eddie dear, you would try to be contented and happy."
"I do try, Aunt Amy, but I can't while I have to do so many unpleasant things," Eddie replied, drawing near her. One comfort was, he was always sure of ready sympathy from her, while Uncle Harry sometimes laughed at his fretful impatience. "If uncle would only let me begin a picture!"