Reginald Cruden, Talbot Baines Reed [best black authors txt] 📗

Reginald, meanwhile, blissfully unconscious of the arrangements which were being made for him, spent as comfortable an evening as he could in the conviction that to-morrow would witness his dismissal from the Rocket, and see him a waif on the great ocean of London life. To his mother, and even to young Gedge, he said nothing of his misgivings, but to Horace, as the two lay awake that night, he made a clean breast of all.

“You’ll call me a fool, I suppose,” he said; “but how could I help it?”

“A fool! Why, Reg, I know I should have done the same. But for all that, it is unlucky.”

“It is. Even eighteen shillings a week is better than nothing,” said Reginald, with a groan. “Poor mother was saying only yesterday we were just paying for our keep, and nothing more. What will she do now?”

“Oh, you’ll get into something, I’m certain,” said Horace; “and meanwhile—”

“Meanwhile I’ll do anything rather than live on you and mother, Horrors; I’ve made up my mind to that. Why,” continued he, “you wouldn’t believe what a sneak I’ve been already. You know what Bland said about the football club in his letter? No, I didn’t show it to you. He said it would go down awfully well if I sent the fellows my usual subscription. I couldn’t bear not to do it after that, and I—I sold my tennis-bat for five shillings, and took another five shillings out of my last two weeks’ wages, and sent them half a sov. the other day.”

Horace gave an involuntary whistle of dismay, but added, quickly,—

“I hope the fellows will be grateful for it, old man; they ought to be. Never mind, I’m certain we shall pull through it some day. We must hope for the best, anyhow.”

And with a brotherly grip of the hand they turned over and went to sleep.

Reginald presented himself at the Rocket next morning in an unusual state of trepidation. He had half made up his mind to march straight to the manager’s room and tell him boldly what had happened, and take his discharge from him. But Horace dissuaded him.

“After all,” he said, “Durfy may think better of it.”

“Upon my word I hardly know whether I want him to,” said Reginald, “except for young Gedge’s sake and mother’s. Anyhow, I’ll wait and see, if you like.”

Mr Durfy was there when he arrived, bearing no traces of last night’s fracas, except a scowl and a sneer, which deepened as he caught sight of his adversary. Reginald passed close to his table, in order to give him an opportunity of coming to the point at once; but to his surprise the overseer took no apparent notice of him, and allowed him to go to his place and begin work as usual.

“I’d sooner see him tearing his hair than grinning like that,” said young Gedge, in a whisper. “You may be sure there’s something in the wind.”

Whatever it was, Mr Durfy kept his own counsel, and though Reginald looked up now and then and caught him scowling viciously in his direction, he made no attempt at hostilities, and rather appeared to ignore him altogether.

Even when he was giving out the “copy” he sent Reginald his by a boy, instead of, as was usually his practice, calling him up to the table to receive it. Reginald’s copy on this occasion consisted of a number of advertisements, a class of work not nearly as easy and far less interesting than the paragraphs of news which generally fell to his share. However, he attacked them boldly, and, unattractive as they were, contrived to get some occupation from them for his mind as well as his hand.

Here, for instance, was some one who wanted “a groom, young, good-looking, and used to horses.” How would that suit him? And why need he be good-looking? And what was the use of saying he must be used to horses? Who ever heard of a groom that wasn’t? The man who put in that advertisement was a muff. Here was another of a different sort:

“J.S. Come back to your afflicted mother and all shall be forgiven.”

Heigho! suppose “J.S.” had got a mother like Mrs Cruden, what a brute he must be to cut away. What had he been doing to her? robbing her? or bullying her? or what? Reginald worked himself into a state of wrath over the prodigal, and very nearly persuaded himself to leave out the promise of forgiveness altogether.

“If the young gentleman who dropped an envelope in the Putney omnibus on the evening of the 6th instant will apply to B, at 16, Grip Street, he may hear of something to his advantage.”

How some people were born to luck! Think of making your fortune by dropping an envelope in a Putney omnibus. How gladly he would pave the floor of every omnibus he rode in with envelopes if only he could thereby hear anything to his advantage! He had a great mind to stroll round by Number 16, Grip Street that evening to see who this mysterious “B” could be.

“To intelligent young men in business.—Add £50 a year to your income without any risk or hindrance whatever to ordinary work.—Apply confidentially to Omega, 13, Shy Street, Liverpool, with stamp for reply. None but respectable intelligent young men need apply.”

Hullo! Reginald laid down his composing-stick and read the advertisement over again: and after that he read it again, word by word, most carefully. £50 a year! Why, that was as much again as his present income, and without risk or interfering with his present work too! Well, his present work might be his past work to-morrow; but even so, with £50 a year he would be no worse off, and of course he could get something else to do as well by way of ordinary work. If only he could bring in £100 a year to the meagre family store! What little luxuries might it not procure for his mother! What a difference it might make in that dreary, poky Dull Street parlour, where she sat all day! Or if they decided not to spend it, but save it up, think of a pound a week ready against a rainy day! Reginald used to have loose enough ideas of the value of money; but the last few weeks had taught him lessons, and one of them was that a pound a week could work wonders.

“Apply confidentially.” Yes, of course, or else any duffer might snatch at the prize. It was considerate, too, to put it that way, for of course it would be awkward for any one in a situation to apply unless he could do it confidentially—and quite right too to enclose a stamp for a reply. No one who wasn’t in earnest would do so, and thus it would keep out fellows who applied out of mere idle curiosity. “None but respectable intelligent young men need apply.” Humph! Reginald’s conscience told him he was respectable, and he hoped he was also moderately intelligent, though opinions might differ on that point. “Omega”—that sounded well! The man knew Greek—possibly he was a classical scholar, and therefore sure to be a gentleman. Oh, what a contrast to the cad Durfy! “Liverpool.” Ah, there was the one drawback; and yet of course it did not follow the £50 a year was to be earned in Liverpool, otherwise how could it fail to interfere with ordinary business? Besides, why should he advertise in the Rocket unless he meant to get applications from Londoners?

Altogether Reginald was pleased with the advertisement. He liked the way it was put, and the conditions it imposed, and, indeed, was so much taken up with the study of it that he almost forgot to set it up in type.

“Whatever are you dreaming about?” said young Gedge. “You’ve stood like that for a quarter of an hour at least. You’ll have Durfy after you if you don’t mind.”

The name startled Reginald into industry, and he set the advertisement up very clearly and carefully, and re-read it once or twice in the type before he could make up his mind to go on to the next.

The thought of it haunted him all day. Should he tell Horace, or Gedge, or his mother of it? Should he go and give Durfy notice then and there? No, he would reply to it before he told any one; and then, if the answer was unsatisfactory—which he could not think possible—then no one would be the wiser or the worse for it.

The day flew on leaden wings. Gedge put his friend’s silence down to anxiety as to the consequences of yesterday’s adventure and did and said what he could to express his sympathy. Mr Durfy alone, sitting at his table, and directing sharp glances every now and then in his direction, could guess the real meaning of his pre-occupation, and chuckled to himself as he saw it.

Reginald spent threepence on his way home that evening—one in procuring a copy of the Rocket, and two on a couple of postage-stamps. Armed with these he walked rapidly home with Horace, giving him in an absent sort of way a chronicle of the day’s doings, but breathing not a word to him or his mother subsequently about the advertisement.

After supper he excused himself from joining in the usual walk by saying he had a letter to write, and for the first time in his life felt relieved to see his mother and brother go and leave him behind them.

Then he pulled out the newspaper and eagerly read the advertisement once more in print. There it was, not a bit changed! Lots of fellows had seen it by this time, and some of them very likely were at this moment answering it. They shouldn’t get the start of him, though!

He sat down and wrote—

“Sir,—Having seen your advertisement in the Rocket, I beg to apply for particulars. I am respectable and fairly intelligent, and am at present employed as compositor in the Rocket