The G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “Frank, amused at the thought of cooking and catering for himself, said boldly that he should soon learn.

  “You are a very young gentleman,” the landlady said, eyeing him doubtfully, “to be setting up on your own hook. I mean,” she said, seeing Frank look puzzled, “setting up housekeeping on your own account. You will have to be particular careful with the frying pan, because if you were to upset the fat in the fire you might have the house in a blaze in a jiffey.”

  Frank said that he would certainly be careful with the frying pan.

  “Well,” she went on, “as you’re a stranger to the place I don’t know as you could do better than get your tea, and sugar, and things at the grocer’s at the next corner. I deals there myself, and he gives every satisfaction. My baker will be round in a few minutes, and, if you likes, I can take in your bread for you. The same with milk.”

  These matters being arranged, and Frank agreeing at once to the proposition that as he was a stranger it would make things more comfortable were he to pay his rent in advance, found himself alone in his new apartment. It was a room about ten feet square. The bed occupied one corner, with the washstand at its foot. There was a small table in front of the fireplace, and two chairs; a piece of carpet half covered the floor, and these with the addition of the articles in the cupboard constituted the furniture of the room. Feeling hungry after his journey Frank resolved to go out at once and get something to eat, and then to lay in a stock of provisions. After some hesitation regarding the character of the meal he decided upon two Bath buns, determining to make a substantial tea. He laid in a supply of tea, sugar, butter, and salt, bought a little kettle, a frying pan, and a gridiron. Then he hesitated as to whether he should venture upon a mutton chop or some bacon, deciding finally in favor of the latter, upon the reflection that any fellow could see whether bacon were properly frizzled up, while as to a chop there was no seeing anything about it till one cut it. He, therefore, invested in a pound of prime streaky Wiltshire bacon, the very best, as the shopman informed him, that could be bought. He returned carrying all his purchases, with the exception of the hardware. Then he inquired of his landlady where he could get coal.

  “The green grocer’s round the corner,” the landlady said. “Tell him to send in a hundredweight of the best, that’s a shilling, and you’ll want some firewood too.”

  The coal arrived in the course of the afternoon, and at half past six the porter came in with Frank’s trunk. He had by this time lit a fire, and while the water was boiling got some of his things out of the box, and by hanging some clothes on the pegs on the back of the door, and by putting the two or three favorite books he had brought with him on to the mantelpiece, he gave the room a more homelike appearance. He enjoyed his tea all the more from the novelty of having to prepare it himself, and succeeded very fairly for a first attempt with his bacon.

  When tea was over he first washed up the things and then started for a ramble. He followed the broad straight road to Waterloo Bridge, stood for a long time looking at the river, and then crossed into the Strand. The lamps were now alight and the brightness and bustle of the scene greatly interested him. At nine o’clock he returned to his lodgings, but was again obliged to sally out, as he found he had forgotten candles.

  After breakfast next morning he went out and bought a newspaper, and set himself to work to study the advertisements. He was dismayed to find how many more applicants there were for places than places requiring to be filled. All the persons advertising were older than himself, and seemed to possess various accomplishments in the way of languages; many too could be strongly recommended from their last situation. The prospect did not look hopeful. In the first place he had looked to see if any required boy clerks, but this species of assistant appeared little in demand; and then, although he hoped that it would not come to that, he ran his eye down the columns to see if any required errand boys or lads in manufacturing businesses. He found, however, no such advertisements. However, as he said to himself, it could not be expected that he should find a place waiting for him on the very day after his arrival, and that he ought to be able to live for a year on his five and twenty pounds; at this reflection his spirits rose and he went out again for a walk.

  For the first week, indeed, of his arrival in London Frank did not set himself very earnestly to work to look for a situation. In his walks about the streets he several times observed cards in the window indicating that an errand boy was wanted. He resolved, however, that this should be the last resource which he would adopt, as he would much prefer to go to work as a common lad in a factory to serving in a shop. After the first week he answered many advertisements, but in no case received a reply. In one case, in which it was stated that a lad who could write a good fast hand was required in an office, wages to begin with eight shillings a week, he called two days after writing. It was a small office with a solitary clerk sitting in it. The latter, upon learning Frank’s business, replied with some exasperation that his mind was being worried out by boys.

  “We have had four hundred and thirty letters,” he said; “and I should think that a hundred boys must have called. We took the first who applied, and all the other letters were chucked into the fire as soon as we saw what they were about.”

  Frank returned to the street greatly disheartened.

  “Four hundred and thirty letters!” he said. “Four hundred and thirty other fellows on the lookout, just as I am, for a place as a boy clerk, and lots of them, no doubt, with friends and relations to recommend them! The lookout seems to be a bad one.”

  Two days later, when Frank was walking along the strand he noticed the placards in front of a theater.

  “Gallery one shilling!” he said to himself; “I will go. I have never seen a theater yet.”

  The play was The Merchant of Venice, and Frank sat in rapt attention and interest through it. When the performance was over he walked briskly homewards. When he had proceeded some distance he saw a glare in the sky ahead, and presently a steam engine dashed past him at full speed.

  “That must be a house on fire,” he said. “I have never seen a fire;” and he broke into a run.

  Others were running in the same direction, and as he passed the “Elephant and Castle” the crowd became thicker, and when within fifty yards of the house he could no longer advance. He could see the flames now rising high in the air. A horrible fear seized him.

  “It must be,” he exclaimed to himself, “either our house or the one next door.”

  It was in vain that he pressed forward to see more nearly. A line of policemen was drawn up across the road to keep a large space clear for the firemen. Behind the policemen the crowd were thickly packed. Frank inquired of many who stood near him if they could tell him the number of the house which was on fire; but none could inform him.

  Presently the flames began to die away, and the crowd to disperse. At length Frank reached the first line of spectators.

  “Can you tell me the number of the houses which are burned?” Frank said to a policeman.

  “There are two of them,” the policeman said “a hundred and four and a hundred and five. A hundred and four caught first, and they say that a woman and two children have been burned to death.”

  “That is where I live!” Frank cried. “Oh, please let me pass!”

  “I’ll pass you in,” the policeman said good naturedly, and he led him forward to the spot where the engines were playing upon the burning houses. “Is it true, mate,” he asked a fireman, “that a woman and two children have been burned?”

  “It’s true enough,” the fireman said. “The landlady and her children. Her husband was a porter at the railway station, and had been detained on overtime. He only came back a quarter of an hour ago, and he’s been going on like a madman;” and he pointed to the porter, who was sitting down on the doorsteps of a house facing his own, with his face hidden in his hands.

  Frank went and sat down beside him.

  “My poor fellow,” he said
, “I am sorry for you.”

  Frank had had many chats with his landlord of an evening, and had become quite friendly with him and his wife.

  “I can’t believe it,” the man said huskily. “Just to think! When I went out this morning there was Jane and the kids, as well and as happy as ever, and there, where are they now?”

  “Happier still,” Frank said gently. “I lost my mother just as suddenly only five weeks ago. I went out for a walk, leaving her as well as usual, and when I came back she was dead; so I can feel for you with all my heart.”

  “I would have given my life for them,” the man said, wiping his eyes, “willing.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Frank answered.

  “There’s the home gone,” the man said, “with all the things that it took ten years’ savings of Jane and me to buy; not that that matters one way or the other now. And your traps are gone, too, I suppose, sir.”

  “Yes,” Frank replied quietly, “I have lost my clothes and twenty-three pounds in money; every penny I’ve got in the world except half a crown in my pocket.”

  “And you don’t say nothing about it!” the man said, roused into animation. “But, there, perhaps you’ve friends as will make it up to you.”

  “I have no one in the world,” Frank answered, “whom I could ask to give me a helping hand.”

  “Well, you are a plucky chap,” the man said. “That would be a knock down blow to a man, let alone a boy like you. What are you going to do now?” he asked, forgetting for the moment his own loss, in his interest in his companion.

  “I don’t know,” Frank replied. “Perhaps,” he added, seeing that the interest in his condition roused the poor fellow from the thought of his own deep sorrow, “you might give me some advice. I was thinking of getting a place in an office, but of course I must give that up now, and should be thankful to get anything by which I can earn my bread.”

  “You come along with me,” the man said rising. “You’ve done me a heap of good. It’s no use sitting here. I shall go back to the station, and turn in on some sacks. If you’ve nothing better to do, and nowhere to go to, you come along with me. We will talk it all over.”

  Pleased to have some one to talk to, and glad that he should not have to look for a place to sleep, Frank accompanied the porter to the station. With a word or two to the nightmen on duty, the porter led the way to a shed near the station, where a number of sacks were heaped in a corner.

  “Now,” the man said, “I will light a pipe. It’s against the regulations, but that’s neither here nor there now. Now, if you’re not sleepy, would you mind talking to me? Tell me something about yourself, and how you come to be alone here in London. It does me good to talk. It prevents me from thinking.”

  “There is very little to tell,” Frank said; and he related to him the circumstances of the deaths of his father and mother, and how it came that he was alone in London in search of a place.

  “You’re in a fix,” the porter said.

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  “You see you’re young for most work, and you never had no practice with horses, or you might have got a place to drive a light cart. Then, again, your knowing nothing of London is against you as an errand boy; and what’s worse than all this, anyone can see with half an eye that you’re a gentleman, and not accustomed to hard work. However, we will think it over. The daylight’s breaking now, and I has to be at work at six. But look ye here, young fellow, tomorrow I’ve got to look for a room, and when I gets it there’s half of it for you, if you’re not too proud to accept it. It will be doing me a real kindness, I can tell you, for what I am to do alone of an evening without Jane and the kids, God knows. I can’t believe they’re gone yet.”

  Then the man threw himself down upon the sacks, and broke into sobs. Frank listened for half an hour till these gradually died away, and he knew by the regular breathing that his companion was asleep. It was long after this before he himself closed his eyes. The position did, indeed, appear a dark one. Thanks to the offer of his companion, which he at once resolved to accept for a time, he would have a roof to sleep under. But this could not last; and what was he to do? Perhaps he had been wrong in not writing at once to Ruthven and his schoolfellows. He even felt sure he had been wrong; but it would be ten times as hard to write now. He would rather starve than do this. How was he to earn his living? He would, he determined, at any rate try for a few days to procure a place as an errand boy. If that failed, he would sell his clothes, and get a rough working suit. He was sure that he should have more chance of obtaining work in such a dress than in his present attire.

  Musing thus, Frank at last dropped off to sleep. When he woke he found himself alone, his companion having left without disturbing him. From the noises around him of trains coming in and out, Frank judged that the hour was late.

  “I have done one wise thing,” he said, “anyhow, and as far as I can see it’s the only one, in leaving my watch with the doctor to keep. He pointed out that I might have it stolen if I carried it, and that there was no use in keeping it shut up in a box. Very possibly it might be stolen by the dishonesty of a servant. That’s safe anyhow, and it is my only worldly possession, except the books, and I would rather go into the workhouse than part with either of them.”

  Rising, he made his way into the station, where he found the porter at his usual work.

  “I would not wake you,” the man said; “you were sleeping so quiet, and I knew ’twas no use your getting up early. I shall go out and settle for a room at dinner time. If you will come here at six o’clock we’ll go off together. The mates have all been very kind, and have been making a collection to bury my poor girl and the kids. They’ve found ’em, and the inquest is tomorrow, so I shall be off work. The governor has offered me a week; but there, I’d rather be here where there’s no time for thinking, than hanging about with nothing to do but to drink.”

  CHAPTER VI

  THE FIRST STEP

  All that day Frank tramped the streets. He went into many shops where he saw notices that an errand boy was required, but everywhere without success. He perceived at once that his appearance was against him, and he either received the abrupt answer of, “You’re not the sort of chap for my place,” or an equally decided refusal upon the grounds that he did not know the neighborhood, or that they preferred one who had parents who lived close by and could speak for him.

  At six o’clock he rejoined the porter. He brought with him some bread and butter and a piece of bacon. When, on arriving at the lodging of his new friend, a neat room with two small beds in it, he produced and opened his parcel, the porter said angrily, “Don’t you do that again, young fellow, or we shall have words. You’re just coming to stop with me for a bit till you see your way, and I’m not going to have you bring things in here. My money is good for two months, and your living here with me won’t cost three shillings a week. So don’t you hurt my feelings by bringing things home again. There, don’t say no more about it.”

  Frank, seeing that his companion was really in earnest, said no more, and was the less reluctant to accept the other’s kindness as he saw that his society was really a great relief to him in his trouble. After the meal they sallied out to a second hand clothes shop. Here Frank disposed of his things, and received in return a good suit of clothes fit for a working lad.

  “I don’t know how it is,” the porter said as they sat together afterwards, “but a gentleman looks like a gentleman put him in what clothes you will. I could have sworn to your being that if I’d never seen you before. I can’t make it out, I don’t know what it is, but there’s certainly something in gentle blood, whatever you may say about it. Some of my mates are forever saying that one man’s as good as another. Now I don’t mean to say they ain’t as good; but what I say is, as they ain’t the same. One man ain’t the same as another any more than a race horse is the same as a cart horse. They both sprang from the same stock, at least so they says; but breeding and feeding and care ha
s made one into a slim boned creature as can run like the wind, while the other has got big bones and weight and can drag his two ton after him without turning a hair. Now, I take it, it’s the same thing with gentlefolks and working men. It isn’t that one’s bigger than the other, for I don’t see much difference that way; but a gentleman’s lighter in the bone, and his hands and his feet are smaller, and he carries himself altogether different. His voice gets a different tone. Why, Lord bless you, when I hears two men coming along the platform at night, even when I can’t see ’em, and can’t hear what they says, only the tone of their voices, I knows just as well whether it’s a first class or a third door as I’ve got to open as if I saw ’em in the daylight. Rum, ain’t it?”

  Frank had never thought the matter out, and could only give his general assent to his companion’s proposition.

  “Now,” the porter went on, “if you go into a factory or workshop, I’ll bet a crown to a penny that before you’ve been there a week you’ll get called Gentleman Jack, or some such name. You see if you ain’t.”

  “I don’t care what they call me,” Frank laughed, “so that they’ll take me into the factory.”

  “All in good time,” the porter said; “don’t you hurry yourself. As long as you can stay here you’ll be heartily welcome. Just look what a comfort it is to have you sitting here sociable and comfortable. You don’t suppose I could have sat here alone in this room if you hadn’t been here? I should have been in a public house making a beast of myself, and spending as much money as would keep the pair of us.”

  Day after day Frank went out in search of work. In his tramps he visited scores of workshops and factories, but without success. Either they did not want boys, or they declined altogether to take one who had no experience in work, and had no references in the neighborhood. Frank took his breakfast and tea with the porter, and was glad that the latter had his dinner at the station, as a penny loaf served his purposes. One day in his walks Frank entered Covent Garden and stood looking on at the bustle and flow of business, for it happened to be market day. He leaned against one of the columns of the piazza, eating the bread he had just bought. Presently a sharp faced lad, a year or two younger than himself, came up to him.