Chapter One.

Mr John Dempster.

“What would I do, sir? Why, if I were as poor as you say you are, and couldn’t get on here, I’d go abroad.”

“But where, sir? where to?”

“Anywhere. Don’t ask me. The world’s big enough and round enough for you, isn’t it?”

“But without means, Mr Dempster?”

“Yes, sir, without means. Work, sir—work. The same as I have done. I pay my poor rate, and I can’t afford to help other people. Good morning.”

I heard every word uttered as I sat on my stool in the outer office, and I felt as if I could see my employer, short, stout, fierce-looking and grey, frowning at the thin, pale, middle-aged man whom I had ushered in—Mr John Dempster he told me his name was—and who had come to ask for the loan of a little money, as he was in sore distress.

Every word of his appeal hurt me, and I felt, when the words came through the open door, as if I should have liked to take my hat and go away. But I dared not, for I had been set to copy some letters, and I knew from old experience that if Mr Dempster—Mr Isaac Dempster that is—came out or called for me, and I was not there, I should have a repetition of many a painful scene.

I tried not to listen, but every word came, and I heard how unfortunate Mr John Dempster had been; that his wife had been seriously ill, and now needed nourishing food and wine; and as all that was said became mixed up with what I was writing, and the tears would come into my eyes and make them dim, I found myself making mistakes, and left off in despair.

I looked cautiously over the double desk, peeping between some books to see if Esau Dean, my fellow boy-clerk, was watching me; but as usual he was asleep with his head hanging down over his blotting-paper, and the sun shining through his pale-coloured knotty curls, which gave his head the appearance of a black man’s bleached to a whitey brown; and as I looked through the loop-hole between the books, my fellow-clerk’s head faded away, and I was looking back at my pleasant old school-days at Wiltboro’, from which place I was suddenly summoned home two years before to bid good-bye to my mother before we had to part for ever.

And then all the old home-life floated before me like a bright sunny picture, and the holidays at the rambling red-brick house with its great walled garden, where fruit was so abundant that it seemed of no value at all. There was my pony, and Don and Skurry, the dogs, and the river and my boat, and the fellows who used to come and spend weeks with me—school-fellows who always told me what a lucky chap I was; and perhaps it was as well, for I did not understand it then, not till the news came of my father’s death, and my second summons home. I did not seem to understand it then—that I was alone in the world, and that almost the last words my mother said to me would have to be thought out and put to the test. I had a dim recollection of her holding my hand, and telling me that whatever came I was to be a man, and patient, and never to give up; but it was not till months after that I fully realised that in place of going back to school I was to go at once out into the world and fight for myself, for I was quite alone.

I can’t go into all this now—how I used to sit in my bed-room at night with my head aching from thinking and trying to see impossibilities. Let it be sufficient if I tell you that after several trials at various things, for all of which I was soon told I was inefficient, I found myself, a big, sturdy, country-looking lad, seated on an old leather-covered stool at a double desk, facing Esau Dean, writing and copying letters, while my fellow-clerk wrote out catalogues for the printer to put in type, both of us in the service of Mr Isaac Dempster, an auctioneer in Baring Lane, in the City of London, and also both of us, according to Mr Dempster, the most stupid idiots that ever dipped pen in ink.

I supposed then that Mr Dempster was right—that I was stupid and not worth my salt, and that he had only to hold up his little finger and he could get a thousand better lads than we were; but at the same time I felt puzzled that he should keep us on, and that Saturday after Saturday he should pay our wages and never say a word about discharging us—Esau for going to sleep over his work, and me for making so many mistakes.

I had had scores of opportunities for judging that Mr Dempster was a hard unfeeling man, who was never harder than when he had been out to his lunch, and came back nibbling a toothpick, and smelling very strongly of sherry; but it had never come so thoroughly home to me as on that bright day, just at the time when for nearly an hour the sun shone down into the narrow court-like lane, and bathed our desk, and made me think of the country, the garden, the bright river, and above all, of those who were dead and gone.

As I told you, my eyes were very dim when I saw Mr John Dempster come out of the office slowly and close the door, to stand on the mat shaking his head sadly.

“He who goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing,” he said to himself, softly. “I might have known—I might have known.”

He turned then and glanced at Esau, smiling faintly to see him asleep, and then his eyes met mine gazing at him fixedly, for somehow he seemed just then to have a something in his face that recalled my father, as he looked one day when he had had some very bad news—something about money. And as I gazed at our visitor that day the likeness seemed to grow wonderful, not in features, but in his aspect, and the lines about his eyes and the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, my lad,” he said, with a pleasant smile full of sadness, “you ought to pray that you might be always young and free from care. Good-day.”

He nodded and passed out of the office, and I heard his steps in the narrow lane.

I glanced at Esau, who was asleep still, then at the door of the inner office, and started as I heard a cough and the rustling of a newspaper. Then, gliding off my stool, I caught my cap from the peg where it hung, slipped out at the swing-door, and saw our late visitor just turning the corner at the bottom of the lane into Thames Street.

The next minute I had overtaken him, and he turned sharply with a joyful look in his eyes.

“Ah!” he said, “my cousin has sent you to call me back?”

“No, sir,” I stammered, with my cheeks burning; and there I stopped, for the words would not come.

How well I remember it! We were close to the open door of a warehouse, with the scent of oranges coming out strongly, and great muscular men with knots on their shoulders, bare-armed, and with drab breeches and white stockings, were coming up a narrow court leading to a wharf, bearing boxes of fruit from a schooner, and going back wiping their foreheads with their bare arms.

“You came after me?” said our visitor, with the old pained look in his eyes, as he half turned from me, and I stood turning over something in my hand.

“You came after me?” he said again; and as he once more looked in my eyes, they seemed to make me speak.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, what is it? Speak out.”

“I—I couldn’t help hearing all you said to Mr Dempster, sir,” I faltered.

“Eh!” he cried, with a start. Then with a smile full of bitterness, “Let it be a lesson to you, boy. Work—strive—do anything sooner than humble yourself as I have done this day. But—but,” he said, as if to himself, “Heaven knows I was driven.”

“Mr Dempster never will lend any one money, sir,” I said hastily; “but if you wouldn’t mind—I don’t want this for a bit. I’ve been saving it up—for a long time—and—by and by—you can pay me again, and—”

I had stammered out all this and then stopped short, drawing my breath hard, for he had seized my hand, and was gripping it so hard that the coin I held was pressed into my fingers, as I gazed up into his face, while he slowly relaxed his hold and looked down into my palm.

“A sovereign!” he said slowly; and then fiercely, “Did your employer send you with that? And,” he cried hastily, “you heard?”

“Yes, sir. I was not listening.”

“How—how long has it taken you to save up this?”

“I don’t know, sir—months.”

“Ah!” Then as he held my hand tightly, he said in a half-mocking way, “Do you know when I came into the office I envied you, my boy, for I said, Here is one who has begun on the stool, and he’ll grow up to be a rich City man.”

“I don’t think I shall, sir,” I said, with a laugh.

“No,” he said, “you are of the wrong stuff, boy. Do you know that you are a weak young idiot to come and offer me, a perfect stranger, all that money—a man you have never seen before, and may never see again? How do you know I am not an impostor?”

“I don’t know how, sir,” I said, “but I can see you are not.”

He pressed my hand more firmly, and I saw his lips move for a few moments, but no sound came. Then softly—

“Thank you, my lad,” he said. “You have given me a lesson. I was saying that it was a hard and a bitter and cruel world, when you came up to show me that it is full of hope and sunshine and joy after all if we only seek it. I don’t know who you are, but your father, boy, must have been a gentleman at heart, and your mother as true a lady as ever breathed. Ah!”

He bent towards me as he still held my hand, for he must have read the change in my face, for his words sent a curious pang through me.

“Your mother is—?” He finished his question with a look.

I nodded, and set my teeth hard.

“Now, sir, please!” cried a rough voice, as a heavily-laden man came up, and my companion drew me into the road.

“Tell me your name.”

“Gordon, sir,” I said. “Mayne Gordon.”

“Come and see me—and my wife,” he said, taking a card from a shabby pocket-book. “Come on Sunday evening and have tea with us—Kentish Town. Will you come?”

“Yes,” I said, eagerly.

“That’s right. There, I can’t talk now. Shake hands. Good-bye.”

He wrung my hand hard, and turned hurriedly away, but I was by his side again.

“Stop,” I said. “You have not taken the—the—”

“No,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder, “I can’t do that. You’ve given me something worth a thousand such coins as that, boy as you are—renewed faith in my fellow-man—better still, patience and hope. Good-bye, my lad,” he said, brightly. “On Sunday, mind. Don’t lose that card.”

Before I could speak again he had hurried away, and just then a cold chill ran through me, and I set off at a run.

Suppose Mr Isaac Dempster should have come out into the office and found I had gone out!

Chapter Two.

Mr Isaac Dempster.

I was in the act of opening the swing-door stealthily, and was half through when I saw that Mr Dempster was acting precisely in the same way, stealing through the inner doorway, and making me a sign to stop.

I obeyed, shivering a little at what was to come, and wishing that I had the courage to utter a word of warning. For there was Esau with his head hanging down over the catalogue he was copying out, fast asleep, the sun playing amongst his fair curls, and a curious guttural noise coming from his nose.

It was that sound, I felt, which had brought Mr Dempster out with his lips drawn back in an ugly grin, and a malicious look in his eyes as he stepped forward on tiptoe, placed both his hands together on my fellow-clerk’s curly head, and pressed it down with a sudden heavy bang on the desk.

Something sounded very hollow. Perhaps it was the desk. Then there was a sudden bound, and Esau was standing on the floor, gazing wildly at our employer.

“You lazy idiotic lump of opium,” roared the latter. “That’s the way my work’s done, is it?”

As our employer uttered these words he made at Esau, following up and cuffing him first on one side of the head and then on the other, while the lad, who seemed utterly confused with sleep, and the stunning contact of his brow against the desk, backed away round the office, beginning then to put up his arms to defend himself.

“Here,” he cried, “don’t you hit me—don’t you hit me.”

“Hit you!—you stupid, thick-headed, drowsy oaf! I’ll knock some sense into you. Nice pair, upon my word! And you—you scoundrel,” he cried, turning on me, “where have you been?”

“Only—only just outside, sir,” I stammered, as I felt my cheeks flush.

“I’ll only just outside you,” he roared, catching me by the collar and shaking me. “This is the way my work is done, is it? You’re always late of a morning—”

“No, sir,” I cried, indignantly.

“Silence!—And always the first to rush off before your work’s done; and as soon as my back’s turned, you’re off to play with the boys in the street. Where have you been?”

I was silent, I felt that I could not tell him.

“Sulky, eh? Here, you,” he roared, turning upon Esau, “where has he been? How long has he been gone?”

“Don’t you hit me! Don’t you hit me!” cried the boy, sulkily; “I shan’t stand this.”

“I say, how long has he been gone?”

“I was only gone a few minutes, sir,” I said.

“Gone a few minutes, you scoundrel! How dare you be gone a few minutes, leaving my office open? You’re no more use than a boy out of the streets, and if I did my duty by you, I should thrash you till you could not stand. Back to your desk, you dog, and the next time I catch you at any of these tricks off you go, and no character.”

As I climbed back to my place at the desk, hot, flushed, and indignant, feeling more and more unable to explain the reason for my absence, and guilty at the same time—knowing as I did that I had no business to steal off—Mr Dempster turned once more upon Esau, who backed away from him round the office, sparring away with his arms to ward off the blows aimed at him, though I don’t think they were intended to strike, but only as a malicious kind of torture.

“Here, don’t you hit me! don’t you hit me!” Esau kept on saying, as if this was the only form of words he could call up in his excitement.

“I’ll half break your neck for you, you scoundrel! Is that catalogue done?”

“How can I get it done when you keep on chivvying me about the place?” cried Esau.

“How can you get it done if you go to sleep, you scoundrel, you mean. Now then, up on to that stool, and if it isn’t done you stop after hours till it is done. Here, what are you staring at? Get on with those letters.”

Mr Dempster had turned upon me furiously as I sat looking, and with a sigh I went on with my writing, while red-faced and wet-eyed, for he could not keep the tears back, Esau climbed slowly on to his stool, and gave a tremendous sniff.

“I shall tell mother as soon as I get home,” he cried.

“Tell your mother, you great calf! You had better not,” roared Mr Dempster. “She has troubles enough. It was only out of charity to her that I took you on. For you are useless—perfectly useless. I lose pounds through your blunders. There, that will do. Get on with your work.”

He went back into the inner office, and banged the door so heavily that all the auction bills which papered the walls of our office began to flap and swing about. Then for a few minutes there was only the scratching of our pens to be heard.

Then Esau gave a tremendous sniff, began wiping his eyes on the cuffs of his jacket, and held the blotting-paper against each in turn as he looked across at me.

“’Tain’t crying,” he said. “Only water. Ketch him making me cry!”

“You were crying,” I said, quietly.

“No, I wasn’t. Don’t you get turning again’ me too. Take a better man than him to make me cry.”

I laughed.

“Ah, you may grin,” grumbled my companion; “but just you have your head knocked again’ the desk, and just you see if it wouldn’t make your eyes water.”

At that moment the door was opened with a snatch.

“Silence there! You, Gordon, will you go on with your work?”

The door was banged before I could have answered. Not that I should have said anything. But as soon as the door clicked Esau went on again without subduing his voice—

“I ain’t afraid of him—cheating old knocktioneer! Thinks he’s a right to knock everybody down ’cause he’s got a licence.”

“Go on with your work,” I whispered, “or he’ll come back.”

“Let him; I don’t care. I ain’t afraid. It was all your fault for going out.”

“And yours for being asleep.”

“I can’t help my head being heavy. Mother says it’s because I’ve got so much brains. But I’ll serve him out. I’ll make all the mistakes I can, and he’ll have to pay for them being corrected.”

“What good will that do?”

“I dunno; but I’ll serve him out. He shan’t hit me. I say, what did you go out to buy?”

“Nothing. I went out to speak to that gentleman who came.”

“What gentleman who came?”

“While you were asleep.”

“There you go! You’re as bad as old Knock-’em-down. Fellow’s only got to shut his eyes, and you say he’s asleep. But I don’t care. Everybody’s again’ me, but I’ll serve ’em out.”

“You’d better go on with your writing.”

“Shan’t. Go on with yours. I know. I’ll ’list—that’s what I’ll do. Like to see old Going-going touch me then!”

There was a busy interval of writing, during which something seemed to ask me why I let Mr Dempster behave so brutally to me, and I began wondering whether I was a coward. I felt that I could not be as brave as Esau, or I should have resisted.

“Not half a chap, you ain’t!” said my companion, suddenly.

“Why?”

“You’d say you’d come with me. Deal better to be soldiers than always scrawling down Lot 104 on paper.”

“I don’t want to be a soldier,” I said.

“No; you’re not half a chap. Only wait a bit. I’d ha’ gone long ago if it hadn’t been for mother.”

“Yes; she wouldn’t like you to go.”

“How do you know?”

“Mrs Dean told me so. She said you were mad about red-coats.”

“That’s just like mother,” said Esau, with a grin, “allus wrong. I don’t want to wear a red coat. Blue’s my colour.”

“What—a sailor?” I said quickly.

“Get out! Sailor! all tar and taller. I’m not going to pull ropes. I mean blue uniform—’Tillery—Horse Artillery. They do look fine. I’ve seen ’em lots o’ times.”

“Here, you two, I’m going out. I shall be back in five minutes,” said Mr Dempster, so suddenly that he made us both start. “Look sharp and get that work done.”

He stood drawing a yellow silk handkerchief round and round his hat, which was already as bright as it could be made, and then setting it on very much on one side, he gave his silk umbrella a flourish, touched his diamond pin with the tip of his well-gloved finger, and strutted out.

“Back in five minutes! Yah!” cried Esau. “It’s all gammon about being honest and getting on.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said, as I carefully dotted a few i’s.

“Yes, it is. Look at him—makes lots o’ money, and he cheats people and tells more lies in a day than I’ve told in all my life.”

“Nonsense!”

“Tain’t. He’s a regular bad ’un. Back in five minutes! Why he won’t come till it’s time to go, and then he’ll keep us waiting so as to get all the work he can out of us.”

But that time Esau was wrong, for in about five minutes the outer door was opened, and our employer thrust in his head.

“There’s a letter on my table to post, Gordon,” he said. “Be sure it goes.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and as the door closed again I looked at Esau and laughed.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said. “That wasn’t coming back. He only looked in to see if we were at work. I shan’t stop here; I shall ’list.”

“No, you will not,” I said, as I went on writing quietly.

“Oh, yes, I shall. You can go on lodging with the old woman, for you won’t be the chap to come with me.”

“You won’t go,” I said.