Life in London

by Edwin Hodder

  CHAPTER IV.

  MEETING A SCHOOL-FELLOW.

  Six months passed rapidly away. George continued to give satisfaction toMr. Compton, soon learnt the office routine, and earned the warmestexpressions of approbation from Mr. Sanders, who said he was the bestjunior clerk he ever remembered to have entered that office.

  George had carefully guarded against forming any kind of intimacy withthe other clerks; he had declined to have more to say to them duringoffice hours than possible, and when business was over he purposelyshunned them. But a strong friendship had sprung up between him andCharles Hardy; every morning they came to the city together, andreturned in company in the evening. Sometimes George would spend anevening at the house of Hardy's parents, and Hardy, in like manner,would occasionally spend an evening with George.

  Williams and Lawson had, as Hardy predicted, been a source of greatannoyance to George. He was constantly obliged to bear their ridiculebecause he would not conform to their habits, and sometimes the insultshe received were almost beyond his power of endurance. He and Hardyreceived the name of the "Siamese youths," and were generally greetedwith such salutations as "How d'ye do? Is mamma pretty well?"--orsomething equally galling. But George bore it all with exemplarypatience, and he did not doubt that after a while they would grow tiredof annoying him. At all events, he felt certain some new policy would beadopted by them; for he had so risen in the estimation of his employer,who began to repose confidence in him, and entrust him with moreimportant matters than he allowed the others to interfere with, thatGeorge anticipated the time when the clerks would either be glad tocurry favour with him, or at least have to acknowledge that he wasregarded more highly than they were.

  So matters went on. Mrs. Weston was full of joy as she saw how wellGeorge had kept his resolutions, and full of hope that he would continueas he had begun.

  Mr. Brunton had given him many kind encouragements during this time, andhad felt himself well rewarded for all his trouble on George's behalfby hearing from Mr. Compton of the satisfaction his services had given.

  And now an event occurred, simple and unimportant in itself, and yet itwas one that affected the whole of George's after-life.

  One evening, as he was leaving the office, and had just turned intoFleet-street, a nice-looking, fashionably-dressed young man came runningup, and, clapping him on the shoulder, exclaimed,

  "What! George Weston, my old pippin, who ever thought of turning you upin London!"

  "Harry Ashton! my old school-chum, how are you?" and the two friendsshook hands with a heartiness that surprised the passers-by.

  "Where ever have you been to, all these long years, George?" said Aston;"only fancy, we have never seen each other since that day we wereplaying hockey at dear old Dr. Seaward's, and you were hastily calledaway to London. The Doctor told us the sad news, and we all felt for youdeeply, old fellow; in fact I never recollect the place having been sogloomy before or since."

  "It was a sad time for me," said George; "and after that I lived at homefor a twelvemonth. Then I got an appointment in an office inFalcon-court, and have held it just six months. Now, tell me where youhave sprung from, and where you have been since I last saw you?"

  "I stayed only six months longer at Dr. Seaward's and was then articledto a surveyor in the Strand, with whom I have been nearly a year, andnow I am bound for my lodgings, and you must come with me."

  "You had better come with me," said George; "my mother will be sopleased to welcome an old school-fellow of mine, and she is notaltogether a stranger to you."

  "Thank you, old fellow," replied Ashton; "I shall be very glad to acceptyour invitation some other night; but, after our long separation, wewant to have a quiet, confidential chat over old times together, and Imust introduce you to my crib. I am a bachelor--all alone in my glory.The old folks still live in the country, and I boarded at first in afamily; but that that was terribly slow work, and since that time I havehung out on my own hook. So come along, George; I really can't hear anyexcuse."

  George hesitated only a moment; he had never spent an evening from homewithout first acquainting his mother; but this was an unusual event,and he was so anxious to hear about Dr. Seaward, and talk over oldschool days, the temptation was irresistible.

  Harry Ashton called a cab, much to George's surprise, into which theyjumped; and were not very long in getting into the Clapham road, wherethey alighted before a large, nice looking house.

  "This is the crib," said Ashton, as he ushered George into a largeparlour, handsomely furnished with everything contributing to comfortand amusement. "Now, make yourself at home. Here are some cigars(producing a box of Havannahs), and here (opening a cellaret) is bottledbeer and wine; which shall it be?"

  "As to smoking, that is a bad habit, or an art (which you like) I havenever yet practised," said George; "but I will join you in a glass ofwine just to toast 'Dr. Seaward and our absent friends in the school.'"

  Then the two school friends fell into conversation. Many and many ahappy recollection came into their minds, and one long yarn was but thepreface to another.

  "Come, George, fill up your glass," said Ashton repeatedly; but Georgedeclined.

  Two or three hours slipped rapidly away, and then George rose to leave."Not a bit of it, George," said Ashton; "we must have some supper anddiscuss present times yet. I have not heard particulars of what you aredoing, or how you are getting on, and you only know I'm here, withoutany of the history about it."

  So George yielded: how could he help it? Harry Ashton had become hisbosom-chum during the five years he had been at school, and all the oldhappy memories of those days were again fresh upon him.

  "Now, George, tell your story first, and then mine shall follow." ThenGeorge narrated all the leading circumstances which had attended hislife, from the time he left school up to that very evening, and a longstory it was.

  "Now," said Ashton, "for mine. When you left Folkestone I got up to yourplace at the head of the school, and there I held on till I left. Sixmonths after you left, the holidays came, and I came up to town. I spenta few days with Mr. Ralston, an old friend of the family, and one of thefirst engineers and surveyors in London. He took a liking to me, offeredto take me into his office, wrote to the governor (I know you don't likethat term, though--I mean my father), proposed a sum as premium,arrangements were made; and, instead of returning to school, I came toLondon and commenced learning the arts and mysteries of a profession. Ihad only been with Mr. Ralston two or three months, when one morning myfather came into the office, out of wind with excitement, and said,'Harry, I have got sad and joyful, and wonderful news for you! Poor oldMr. Cornish is dead; the will has been opened, and--make up your mindfor a surprise--the bulk of his property is left to you.' I wasthunderstruck. I knew the old gentleman would leave me something, but Idid not know that he had quarrelled with his relatives, and thereforeappropriated to me the share originally intended for them. So, you see,I have stepped into luck's way. I am allowed an income now which amountsto something like two hundred a year, as I shall not come into my rightstill I am twenty-one, and how I am not nineteen; so I have a long timeto wait, you see, which is rather annoying. I took this crib, and havemanaged to enjoy my existence pretty well, I can assure you. Sometimes Irun down into the country to spend a week or two with the old folks, andsometimes they come up and see me."

  "Don't you find it rather dull, living here alone, though?" said George.

  "Dull? far from it. I have a good large circle of friends, who like tocome round here and spend a quiet evening; and there are no end ofamusements in this great city, so that no one need never be dull.Besides, if I am alone, I am not without friends, you see,"--pointing toa well-stocked book case.

  "I have been running my eye over them, Harry. There are some very nicebooks; but your tastes are changed since I knew you last, or you wouldnever waste your time over all this lot here which seem to have beenbest used. I mean the 'Wandering Jew,' 'Ernest Maltravers,' and thelike."

&
nbsp; "I won't attempt to defend myself, George; but when I was at school, Idid as school-boys did: now I have come to London, I do as the Londonersdo. I know there is an absence of anything like reason in this, but I amnot much thrown amongst reasoners. But, to change the subject; now youhave found me out, George, I do hope you will very often chum with me. Ishall enjoy going about with you better than with anybody else; and aswe know one another so well, we shall soon have tastes and habits incommon again, as we used to have."

  Presently the clock struck. George started up in surprise. "What!twelve o'clock! impossible. It never can be so late as that?"

  "It is, though," said Ashton, "but what of that? you don't surely calltwelve o'clock bad hours for once in a way?"

  "No, not for once in a way," replied George; "but I have never kept mymother up so late before. Good-bye, old fellow. Promise to come and seeme some night this week. There is my address." And so saying, George ranout into the street and made his way towards Islington.

  That was an anxious night for Mrs. Weston. "What can have happened?" sheasked herself a hundred times. Fortunately, Mr. Brunton called, and heassisted to while away the time.

  "George does not often stay out of an evening, does he?" he asked.

  "No, never," replied Mrs. Weston; "unless it is with his friend, CharlesHardy, and then I always know where they are, and what they are doing.But something extraordinary must have happened to-night, and I feel veryanxious to know what it is. Not that I think he is anywhere he ought notto be. I feel sure he is not," continued Mrs. Weston confidently; "butwhat it is that has detained him, I am altogether at a loss to guess."

  "Well, I will not leave you till he comes home," said Mr. Brunton.

  It was one o'clock before George arrived; it was too late to get anomnibus, and a cab, he thought, was altogether out of the question;therefore he had to walk the whole distance--or rather run, for he wasas anxious now to get home as they were to see him.

  He was very much surprised, and, if it must be confessed, rather vexedon some accounts, to find Mr. Brunton waiting up for him with hismother.

  His explanation of what had happened, told in his merry, ingenuous way,at once dissipated any anxiety they had felt.

  "I recollect Harry Ashton well," said Mrs. Weston. "Dr. Seaward pointedhim out to me, the first time I went to see you at Folkestone, as beingone of his best scholars; and he came home once with you in the holidaysto spend a day or two with us, did he not?"

  "That is the same, mother, and a better-hearted fellow it would be hardto find."

  "There is only one disadvantage that I see in your having him as anintimate friend," said Uncle Brunton, "and that is, he is now verydifferently situated in position to you as regards wealth, and youmight find him a companion more liable to lead you into expense than anyof your other friends, because I know what a proud fellow you are,George," he said, laughingly, "you like to do as your friends do, andwould not let them incur expense on your account unless you could returntheir compliment. But I will not commence a moral discourse to-night--itis time all good folks should be in bed."

  All the next day George was thinking over the events of the previousevening; he was pleased to have found out Harry Ashton, and thought hewould be just the young man he wanted for a companion. Then he comparedtheir different modes of life--Ashton living in luxuriant circumstances,without anybody or anything to interfere with his enjoyment, and he,obliged to live very humbly and carefully in order to make both endsmeet; and then came a new feeling, that of restraint.

  "There is Ashton," he thought, "can go out when he likes and where helikes, without its being necessary to say where he is going or what heis going to do, and he can come in at night without being obliged toaccount for all his actions like a child. If I happen to stay out, thereis Uncle Brunton and my mother in a great state of excitement about me,which I don't think is right. I really do not wonder that the clerkshave made me a laughing-stock. All this while I have lived in London Ihave seen nothing; have not been to any of the places of amusement; andhave not been a bit like the young men with whom I get thrown intocontact. I think Ashton is right, after all, in saying that when he wasat school he did as school-boys did, and when he came to London he didas the Londoners do. Far be it from me to be undutiful to those who carefor me; but I think, as a young man, I do owe a duty to myself,different altogether from that which belonged to me as a schoolboy."

  These were all new thoughts to George: he had never felt or even thoughtof restraint before; he had never even expressed a wish to do as otheryoung men did, in wasting precious time on useless amusements; he hadalways looked forward to an evening at home with pleasure, and had neverfelt the least inclination to wander forth in search of recreationelsewhere. Nay, he had always condemned it; and when Lawson or Williams,or any of the other clerks, had proposed such a thing to him, he neverminded bearing their ridicule in declining.

  And here was George's danger. He was upon his guard with hisfellow-clerks, and was able to keep his resolution not to adopt theirideas, nor fall into their ways and habits; but when those very evils hecondemned in them were presented to him in a different form by HarryAshton, his old friend and school-fellow--leaving the principle thesame, and only the practice a little altered--he was off his guard; andthe habits he regarded with dislike in Williams and Lawson, he wasbeginning secretly to admire in Ashton.

  As he walked home that evening with Hardy he gave him a long descriptionof his meeting with Ashton, and all that happened during his interviewand upon his return home.

  "Now, Hardy," said George, "which do you think is reallypreferable--Harry Ashton's life or ours? We never go out anywhere; and,for the matter of that, might as well be living in monasteries, as faras knowing what is going on in the world is concerned."

  "For my own part, Weston," said Hardy, "I would rather be as I am. Yourfriend is surrounded with infinitely greater temptations than we are,from the fact of his living as he does without any control. He isevidently free from his parents, and although he is old enough to takecare of himself, still there is a certain restraint felt under aparent's roof which is very desirable."

  "Quite true," said George; "but that involves a point which has beenperplexing me all day. Should we, after we have arrived at a certainage, acknowledge a parent's control as we did when we were mereschool-boys? I do not mean are we to cease to honour them, because thatwe cannot do while God's commandment lasts; but are we, as Williamssays, always to go in leading-strings, or are we at liberty to think andact for ourselves?"

  "That depends a good deal on the way in which we wish to think and act.For instance, my parents object to Sunday travelling and Sundayvisiting. Now, while I am living with them, I feel it would not be rightfor me to do either of these things--even though as a matter ofprinciple I might not see any positive wrong in them--because it wouldbring me into opposition with my parents. So, in spending evenings awayfrom home, I know it would be contrary to their wish, and it is right totry and prevent our opinions clashing."

  "I agree with you, partly, Hardy; but only partly. We must study ourparents' opinions in the main, but not in points of detail. Suppose Iwant to attend a course of lectures, for example, which would take mefrom home sometimes in the evening; and my mother objects to my spendingevenings from home, although the study might be advantageous to me--thenI think I should be at liberty to adhere to my own opinion; if not, Ishould be under the same restraint I was as a child. It is right andnatural that parents should feel desirous to know what associationstheir sons are forming, and what are their habits, and all that sort ofthing; but I am inclined to think it is not right for a parent toexercise so strong a control as to say, 'So-and-so shall be yourcompanion;' and, 'You may go to this place, but you may not go tothat.'"

  "Well, Weston, your digestion must be out of order, or you are a littlebilious, or something; for I never heard you talk like this before. Ihave told you, confidentially sometimes, that I have wanted to rebelagainst the wishes of my parents on some
points, and you have alwayscounselled me, like a sage, grey-headed father, to give up my desire.But now you turn right round, and place me in the position of theparent, and you the rebellious son. I recommend, therefore, that youtake two pills, for I am sure bile is at the bottom of this; and then Iwill feel your pulse upon this point again."

  Mrs. Weston noticed a difference in George that evening. He seemed asif he had got something upon his mind which was perplexing him. He wasnot so cheerful and merry as usual, but his mother attributed it partlyto his late hours, followed by a hard day's work, and therefore she saidnothing to him about it.

  A day or two elapsed, and George was still brooding upon the samesubject. He did not know that the great tempter was weaving a subtle netaround him, to lure him into the broad road which leadeth todestruction. He tried a hundred times to fight against the strangeinfluence he felt upon him; but he did not fight with the right weapons,and therefore he failed. Had the tempter suggested to him that, as hewas a young man, he should do as his fellow-clerks, or even Ashton did,and have his way in all things, he would have seen the temptation; butit came altogether in a different way. The evil voice said, "You areunder restraint. Ask any young man of your own age, and he will tell youso. It is high time you should unloose yourself from apron-strings." Andthis idea of restraint was preying upon him, and he could not throw itoff. George was anxious to do the right, but did not know how to fightagainst the wrong. Conscience whispered to him, "Do you remember thatmotto your dying father gave you, 'For me to live is Christ?'" Georgereplied, "Yes, I remember it; and it is still my desire to follow it."Conscience said again, "Do you recollect that sermon you heard, and theresolutions you made, 'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thounot?'" And he answered, "I remember it well; but I am not aware that anyare endeavouring to entice me."

  This was the effect of the unconscious influence of Harry Ashton. He hadunknowingly fanned a latent spark into a flame, which, unless checked,would consume all those high and praiseworthy resolutions which Georgehad formed, and carefully kept for years. He had cast a shadow over thelandscape of his friend's well-being, which made the sign-posts pointing"upward and onward" almost indistinct. He had breathed into theatmosphere a subtle malaria, and George had caught the disease. Thelittle leaven was now mixed with his life, which would leaven the whole.The genus of that moral consumption, which, unless cured by the GreatPhysician, ends in death, had been sown, and were now taking root.

  George was unconscious of any foreign influence working upon him--hecould not see that Ashton had in any way exerted a power over him; norin the new and undefined feelings which had taken possession of himcould he recognise the presence of evil. He had consulted conscience,and, he fancied, had satisfactorily met the warnings of its voice.

  But he had _not_ gone to that high and sure source of strength which canalone make a way of escape from all temptations; he had _not_ obtainedthat armour of righteousness which is the only defence against the fierydarts of the wicked one; he had _not_ that faith, in the power of whichalone Satan can be resisted; and therefore his eyes were holden so thathe could not see the snares which the subtle foe was laying around him,nor could he, in his own strength, bear up against the strong tide whichwas threatening to overwhelm him.