The Battery and the Boiler, Robert Michael Ballantyne [best book club books .TXT] 📗

other than our hero Robin grown up to the mature age of fifteen.

He was perched on the top of a three-legged stool, and, from the slow and intensely earnest manner in which his head turned from side to side as he wrote, it was quite evident that he dotted all his _i's_ and stroked all his _t's_ with conscientious care. As he sat there--a sturdy little broad-shouldered fellow, so deeply engrossed with his work that he was oblivious of all around--he seemed the very _beau-ideal_ of a painstaking, hard-working clerk. So deeply was he engrossed in his subject--the copying of an invoice--that he failed to hear the voice of his fellow-clerk, although the end of the speaking-tube was not far, from where he sat. After listening a few seconds at the other end of the tube, Bob Sime repeated the summons with such vigour that Robin leaped from his stool as though he had received one of his favourite electric shocks. A minute later he stood in the presence of the Head of the House.

"Robert Wright," said the Head, pushing his spectacles up on his brow, "I shall be sorry to lose your services, but--"

He paused and turned over the papers before him, as if searching for something, and Robin's heart sank. Was he going to be dismissed? Had he done anything wrong, or had he unwittingly neglected some duty?

"Ah! here it is," resumed Mr Lowstoft, "a letter from a friend who has come by a slight injury to his right hand, and wants a smart amanuensis and general assistant. Now I think of sending _you_ to him, if you have no objection."

As the Head again paused while glancing over the letter, Robin ventured timidly to state that he had very strong objections; that he was very much satisfied with his situation and work, and had no desire to change.

Mr Lowstoft did not appear to listen to his remarks, but said suddenly--"You've studied the science of electricity, I believe?"

"Yes, sir--to some extent," answered the lad, with a look of surprise.

"I know you have. Your father has told me about your tastes and studies. You've heard of Mr Cyrus Field, I presume?"

"Indeed I have," said Robin, brightening up, "it was through his efforts that the Atlantic Cable was laid in 1858--which unfortunately went wrong."

"Well, my boy, it is through his efforts that another cable is to be laid in this year 1865, which we all hope sincerely won't go wrong, and my friend, who wants an assistant, is one of the electricians connected with the new expedition. Would you like to go?"

Robin's eyes blazed, and he could scarcely find breath or words to express his willingness--if his father did not object.

"Go home at once, then, and ask leave, for the Great Eastern is almost ready for sea, and you have to hasten your preparations."

Robin stroked no more _t's_ and dotted no more _i's_ that day. We fear, indeed, that he even left the invoice on his desk unfinished, with the last _i_ imperfect.

Bursting into his father's house, he found Madge--now become a pretty little slip of feminine thread-paper--seated at the piano agonising over a chord which her hand was too small to compass.

"Madge, Madge, cousin Madge!" he shouted, seizing both the extended little hands and kissing the musical wrinkles from her brow, "why am I like a magnet? You'll never guess."

"Because you attract everybody to you," said Madge promptly.

"Pooh! not at all. A magnet doesn't attract _every_ body. It has two poles, don't you know, and repels some bodies. No, Madge, it's because I have been electrified."

"Indeed? and what has electrified you, Robin?"

"The Atlantic Cable, Madge."

"Well, that ought to be able to do it powerfully," returned Madge, with a laugh; "but tell me all about it, and don't make more bad conundrums. I'm sure something has happened. What is it?"

Mrs Wright, entering at the moment, her son calmed himself as well as he could, and sat down to tell his tale and talk the matter over.

"Now, what think you, mother? Will father consent?"

"I think he will, Robin, but before going into the matter further, I will lay it before our Father in heaven. He must show us the way, if we are to go right."

According to invariable custom, Robin's mother retired to her own room to consider the proposal. Thereafter she had a long talk with her husband, and the result was that on the following day our hero found himself in a train with a small new portmanteau by his side, a new billy-cock hat on his head, a very small new purse in his pocket, with a remarkably small sum of money therein, and a light yet full heart in his breast. He was on his way to the Nore, where the Great Eastern lay, like an antediluvian macaroni-eater, gorging itself with innumerable miles of Atlantic Cable.

To say truth, Robin's breast--capacious though it was for his size-- could hardly contain his heart that day. The dream of his childhood was about to be realised! He had thirsted for knowledge. He had acquired all that was possible in his father's limited circumstances. He had, moreover, with the valuable assistance of Sam Shipton, become deeply learned in electrical science. He had longed with all his heart to become an electrician--quite ready, if need were, to commence as sweeper of a telegraph-office, but he had come to regard his desires as too ambitious, and, accepting his lot in life with the quiet contentment taught him by his mother, had entered on a clerkship in a mercantile house, and had perched himself, with a little sigh no doubt, yet cheerfully, on the top of a three-legged stool. To this stool he had been so long attached--physically--that he had begun to regard it almost as part and parcel of himself, and had made up his mind that he would have to stick to it through life. He even sometimes took a quaint view of the matter, and tried to imagine that through long habit it would stick to him at last, and oblige him to carry it about sticking straight out behind him; perhaps even require him to take it to bed with him, in which case he sometimes tried to imagine what would be the precise effect on the bedclothes if he were to turn from one side to the other. Thus had his life been projected in grey perspective to his mental eye.

But now--he actually was an electrician-elect on his way to join the biggest ship in the world, to aid in laying the greatest telegraph cable in the world, in company with some of the greatest men in the universe! It was almost too much for him. He thirsted for sympathy. He wanted to let off his feelings in a cheer, but life in a lunatic asylum presented itself, and he refrained. There was a rough-looking sailor lad about his own age, but much bigger, on the seat opposite, (it was a third class). He thought of pouring out his feelings on him--but prudence prevented. There is no saying what might have been the result, figuratively speaking, to his boiler if the sailor lad had not of his own accord opened a safety-valve.

"You seems pretty bobbish this morning, young feller," he said, after contemplating his _vis-a-vis_, for a long time in critical silence. "Bin an' took too much, eh?"

"I beg your pardon," said Robin, somewhat puzzled.

"You're pritty considerable jolly, I say," returned the lad, who had an honest, ugly face; and was somewhat blunt and gruff in manner.

"I am indeed very jolly," said Robin, with a bland smile, "for I'm going to help to lay the great Atlantic Cable."

"Wot's that you say?" demanded the lad, with sudden animation.

Robin repeated his remark.

"Well, now, that _is_ a go! Why, _I'm_ goin' to help lay the great Atlantic Cable too. I'm one the stooard's boys. What may _you_ be, young feller?"

"Me? Oh! I'm--I--why, I'm on the electrical staff--I'm--" he thought of the word _secretary_, but a feeling of modesty induced him to say--"assistant to one of the electricians."

"Which 'un?" demanded the lad curtly.

"Mr Smith."

"Mr Smith, eh? Well--it ain't an unusual name--Smith ain't. P'r'aps you'll condescend on his first name, for there's no less than three Smiths among the electricians."

"Ebenezer Smith, I believe," said Robin.

"Ebbysneezer Smith--eh? well, upon my word that's a Smith-mixtur that I've never heerd on before. I don't know 'im, but he's all right, I dessay. They're a rum lot altogether."

Whether this compliment was meant for the great Smith family in general, or the electrical branch in particular, Robin could not guess, and did not like to ask. Having thus far opened his heart, however, he began to pour out its contents, and found that the ugly sailor lad was a much more sympathetic soul than he had been led to expect from his looks. Having told his own name, he asked that of his companion in return.

"My name--oh! it's Slagg--Jim Slagg; James when you wants to be respeckful--Slagg when familiar. I'm the son o' Jim Slagg, senior. Who _he_ was the son of is best known to them as understands the science of jinnylology. But it don't much matter, for we all runs back to Adam an' Eve somehow. They called me after father, of course; but to make a distinction they calls him Jimmy--bein' more respeckful-like,--and me Jim. It ain't a name much to boast of, but I wouldn't change it with you, young feller, though Robert ain't a bad name neither. It's pretty well-known, you see, an' _that's_ somethin'. Then, it's bin bore by great men. Let me think--wasn't there a Robert the Great once?"

"I fear not," said Robin; "he is yet in the womb of Time."

"Ah, well, no matter; but there should have bin a Robert the Great before now. Anyhow, there was Robert the Bruce--he was a king, warn't he, an' a skull-cracker? Then there was Robert Stephenson, the great engineer--he's livin' yet; an' there was Robert the--the Devil, but I raither fear he must have bin a bad 'un, _he_ must, so we won't count him. Of course, they gave you another name, for short; ah, Robin! I thought so. Well, that ain't a bad name neither. There was Robin Hood, you know, what draw'd the long-bow a deal better than the worst penny-a-liner as ever mended a quill. An' there was a Robin Goodfellow, though I don't rightly remember who he was exactly."

"One of Shakespeare's characters," interposed Robin.

"Jus' so--well, he couldn't have bin a bad fellow, you know. Then, as to your other name, Wright--that's all right, you know, and might have bin writer if you'd taken to the quill or the law. Anyhow, as long as you're Wright, of course you can't be wrong--eh, young feller?"

Jim Slagg was so tickled with this sudden sally that he laughed, and in so doing shut his little eyes, and opened an enormous mouth, fully furnished with an unbroken set of splendid teeth.

Thus pleasantly did Robin while away the time with his future shipmate until he arrived at the end of his journey, when he