Читать книгу Held Fast For England: A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar (1779-83) - G. A. Henty - Страница 6

"But I feel almost sure that Uncle John is not really so angry as he seems; and I believe that, if Gerald and I had taken the other side, and had said that your conduct had been very wicked, he would have defended you. It was stupid of us not to think of it, for you know uncle always likes to disagree with other people--there is nothing he hates more than their agreeing with him. His bark is much worse than his bite, and you must not forget how good and kind he has been to us all.

"You know how angry he was with my marriage, and he said I had better have drowned myself, than have married a soldier; and I had better have hung myself, than have married an Irishman--specially when he had intended, all along, that I should marry the son of an old friend of his, a most excellent and well-conducted young man, with admirable prospects. But he came round in a month or two, and the first notice of it was a letter from his lawyer, saying that, in accordance with the instruction of his client, Mr. John Bale, he had drawn up and now enclosed a post-nuptial settlement, settling on me the sum of 5000 pounds consols; and that his client wished him to say that, had I married the person he had intended for me, that sum would have been doubled.

"The idea, when I never even saw the man! And when I wrote, thanking him, he made no allusion to what he had said before; but wrote that he should be glad, at all times, to see my husband and myself, whenever we came to town; but that, as I knew, his hours were regular, and the door always locked at ten o'clock--just as if Gerald was in the habit of coming in, drunk, in the middle of the night! Fortunately nothing puts Gerald out, and he screamed over it; and we went and stopped a week with uncle, a month afterwards, and he and Gerald got on capitally together, considering. Gerald said it was like a bear and a monkey in one cage, but it was really very funny.

"So I have no doubt he will come round, with you. Do try and not vex him more than you can help, Bob. You know how much we all owe him."

This was true. Bob's father had died when he was only three years old--he being a lawyer, with a good business, at Plymouth--but he had made no provision for his early death, and had left his wife and two children almost penniless. Mr. Bale had at once taken charge of them, and had made his sister an allowance that enabled her to live very comfortably. She had remained in Plymouth, as she had many friends there.

Her daughter Carrie--who was six years older than Bob--had, four years before, married Gerald O'Halloran, who was then a lieutenant in the 58th Regiment, which was in garrison there. He had a small income, derived from an estate in Ireland, besides his pay; but the young couple would have been obliged to live very economically, had it not been for the addition of the money settled on her by her uncle.

Her mother had died, a few months after the marriage; and Mr. Bale had at once placed Bob at the school, at Putney; and had announced his intention of taking him, in due time, into his business. The boy always spent one half of his holidays with his uncle, the other with his sister. The former had been a trial, both to him and to Mr. Bale. They saw but little of each other; for Mr. Bale, who, like most business men of the time, lived over his offices, went downstairs directly he had finished his breakfast, and did not come up again until his work was over when, at five o'clock, he dined. The meal over, he sometimes went out to the houses of friends, or to the halls of one or other of the city companies to which he belonged.

While Bob was with him, he told off one of the foremen in his business to go about with the boy. The days, therefore, passed pleasantly, as they generally went on excursions by water up or down the river or, sometimes, when it was not otherwise required, in a light cart used in the business, to Epping or Hainault Forest. Bob was expected to be back to dinner and, thanks to the foreman--who knew that his employer would not tolerate the smallest unpunctuality--he always succeeded in getting back in time to wash and change his clothes for dinner.

The meal was a very solemn one, Mr. Bale asking occasional questions, to which Bob returned brief answers. Once or twice the boy ventured upon some lively remark, but the surprise and displeasure expressed in his uncle's face, at this breach of the respectful silence then generally enforced upon the young, in the presence of their elders, deterred him from often trying the experiment.

Mr. Bale was as much bored as was Bob by these meals, and the evenings that sometimes followed them. He would have been glad to have chatted more freely with his nephew, but he was as ill at ease with him, as he would have been with a young monkey. There was nothing in common between them, and the few questions he asked were the result of severe cogitation. He used to glance at the boy from under his eyebrows, wonder what he was smiling to himself about, and wish that he understood him better. It did not occur to him that if he had drawn him out, and encouraged him to chatter as he liked, he should get underneath the surface, and might learn something of the nature hidden there. It was in sheer desperation, at finding nothing to say, that he would often seize his hat and go out, when he had quite made up his mind to stay indoors for the evening.

Bob put up, as well as he could, with his meals and the dull evenings, for the sake of the pleasant time he had during the day; but he eagerly counted the hours until the time when he was to take his place on the coach for Canterbury, where the 58th were now quartered. He looked forward with absolute dread to the time when he would have to enter his uncle's office.

"What is the use of being rich, Carrie," he would say to his sister, "if one lives as uncle does? I would rather work in the fields."

"Yes, Bob; but you see, when you get to be rich you needn't live in the same way, at all. You could live as some traders do, in the country at Hampstead, Dulwich, or Chelsea, and ride in to business; and you can, of course, marry and enjoy life. One needn't live like a hermit, all alone, because one is a trader in the city."

The one consolation Bob had was that his uncle had once said that he considered it was a great advantage, to any young man going into the wine trade, to go over to Spain or Portugal for two or three years; to learn the whole routine of business there, to study the different growths and know their values, and to form a connection among the growers and shippers. Bob had replied gravely that he thought this would certainly be a great advantage, and that he hoped his uncle would send him over there.

"I shall see, when the time comes, Robert. It will, of course, depend much upon the relations between this country and Spain and Portugal; and also upon yourself. I could not, of course, let you go out there until I was quite assured of your steadiness of conduct. So far, although I have nothing to complain of, myself, your schoolmaster's reports are by no means hopeful, on that head. Still, we must hope that you will improve."

It was terrible to Bob to learn that he was to go, fifteen months sooner than he had expected, to his uncle's; but he was somewhat relieved when, upon his arrival at the house at Philpot Lane, his uncle, after a very grave lecture on the enormity of his conduct at school, said:

"I have been thinking, Robert, that it will be more pleasant, both for you and for me, that you should not, at present, take up your abode here. I am not accustomed to young people. It would worry me having you here and, after your companionship with boys of your own age, you might find it somewhat dull.

"I have therefore arranged with Mr. Medlin, my principal clerk, for you to board with him. He has, I believe, some boys and girls of about your own age. You will, I hope, be able to make yourself comfortable there."

"Thank you, uncle," Bob said, suppressing his impulse to give a shout of satisfaction, and looking as grave as possible. "I think that would be a very nice arrangement."

"Mr. Medlin is a very trustworthy person," Mr. Bale went on. "He has been with me for upwards of twenty years, and I have the greatest confidence in him.

"You had better sit down here, and take a book. At five o'clock come down into the counting house. Mr. Medlin will leave at that hour."

Bob had hitherto avoided the counting house. He had occasionally, on previous visits, slipped down to his friend the foreman; and had wandered through the great cellars, and watched the men at work bottling, and gazed in surprise at the long tiers of casks stacked up to the roof of the cellar, and the countless bottles stowed away in the bins. Once or twice he had gone down into the counting house, with his uncle; and waited there a few minutes, until the foreman was disengaged. He had noticed Mr. Medlin at work at his high desk, in one corner--keeping, as it seemed to him, his eye upon two young clerks, who sat on high stools at opposite sides of the desk, on the other side of the office.

Mr. Medlin had a little rail round the top of his desk, and curtains on rods that could be drawn round it. He was a man of six or seven and thirty; with a long face, smooth shaven. He always seemed absorbed in his work and, when spoken to by Mr. Bale, answered in the fewest possible words, in an even, mechanical voice. It had seemed to Bob that he had been entirely oblivious to his presence; and it did not appear to him now, as he sat with a book before him, waiting for the clock on the mantel to strike five, that existence at Mr. Medlin's promised to be a lively one. Still, as there were boys and girls, it must be more amusing than it would be at his uncle's and, at any rate, the clerk would not be so formidable a personage to deal with as Mr. Bale.

At one minute to five he went down, so as to open the counting house door as the clock struck. As he went in through the outer door, his uncle came out from the inner office.

"Ah! There you are, Robert.

"Mr. Medlin, this is my nephew who, as we have arranged, will take up his residence with you. I am afraid you will find him somewhat headstrong and troublesome. I have already informed you why it has been necessary to remove him from school. However, I trust that there will be no repetition of such follies; and that he will see the necessity of abandoning schoolboy pranks, and settling down to business."

"Yes, sir," Mr. Medlin replied, seeing that his employer expected an answer.

Bob had noticed that, although the clerk's eyes were directed upon him, there appeared to be no expression of interest or curiosity in them; but that they might as well have been fixed upon a blank wall.

"Your boxes have already been sent round in the cart to Mr. Medlin's, Robert. I don't know that there is anything else to say. Mr. Medlin will, of course, put you in the way of your duties here; but if you have anything to say to me--any questions to ask, or any remarks, connected with the business, or otherwise, you wish to make--I shall always be ready to listen to you, if you will come into the counting house at half past four."

So saying, Mr. Bale retired into his private room again. Mr. Medlin placed his papers inside his desk, locked it, took off his coat and hung it on a peg, put on another coat and his hat, and then turned to Bob.

"Ready?"

"Quite ready."

Mr. Medlin led the way out of the counting house, and Bob followed. Mr. Medlin walked fast, and Bob had to step out to keep up with him. The clerk appeared scarcely conscious of his presence, until they were beyond the more crowded thoroughfare, then he said:

"Two miles, out Hackney way. Not too far!"

"Not at all," Bob replied. "The farther the better."

"No burglars there. Wouldn't pay."

And Bob thought that the shadow of a smile passed across his face.

"We can do without them," Bob said.

"Hate coming here, I suppose?"

"That I do," Bob said, cordially.

Mr. Medlin nodded.

"Not so bad as it looks," he said, and then walked on again, in silence.

Presently there was a break in the houses. They were getting beyond the confines of business London.

"Do you see this little garden?" Mr. Medlin asked, suddenly, in a tone so unlike that in which he had before spoken that Bob quite started.

The lad looked at the little patch of ground, with some stunted shrubs, but could see nothing remarkable in it.

"Yes, I see it, sir," he said.

"That, Bob," Mr. Medlin went on, "--for I suppose you are called Bob--marks the end of all things."

Bob opened his eyes in astonishment, and again examined the little garden.

"It marks, Bob, the delimitation between London and country, between slavery and freedom. Here, every morning, I leave myself behind; here, every evening, I recover myself--or, at least, a considerable portion of myself--at a further mark, half a mile on, I am completely restored.

"I suppose you used to find just the same thing, at the door of the schoolroom?"

"A good deal, sir," Bob said, in a much brighter tone than he had used, since he said goodbye to the fellows at Tulloch's.

"I am glad you feel like that. I expect you will get like that, as to the city, in time; but mind, lad, you must always find yourself again. You stick to that. You make a mark somewhere, leave yourself behind in the morning, and pick yourself up again when you come back. It is a bad thing for those who forget to do that. They might as well hang themselves--better.

"In there," and he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, "we are all machines, you know. It isn't us, not a bit of it. There is just the flesh, the muscle, the bones, and a frozen bit of our brains. The rest of us is left behind. If, as we come out, we forget to pick it up, we lose ourselves altogether, before long; and then there we are, machines to the end of our lives. You remember that, Bob. Keep it always in mind."

"It is a pity that my uncle didn't get the same advice, forty years ago, Mr. Medlin."

"It is a pity my employer did not marry. It is a pity my employer lives in that dull house, in that dull lane, all by himself," Mr. Medlin said, angrily.

"But he has not got rid of himself, altogether. He is a good deal frozen up; but he thaws out, sometimes. What a man he would be, if he would but live out somewhere, and pick himself up regularly, as I do, every day!

"This is my second mark, Bob, this tree growing out in the road. Now, you see, we are pretty well in the country.

"Can you run?"

"Yes, I can run pretty well, Mr. Medlin."

"Very well, Bob. You see that tree growing out beyond that garden wall, about four hundred yards on. It is four hundred and twenty, for I have measured it. Now then, you walk on fifty yards, and then run for your life. See if I don't catch you, before you are there."

Bob, wondering as he went along at the astounding change that had come over his companion, took fifty long steps; then he heard a shout of "Now!" and went off at the top of his speed. He was still a hundred yards from the mark, when he heard steps coming rapidly up behind him; and then the clerk dashed past him, and came in fully twenty yards ahead.

"You don't run badly," he said, as Bob stopped, panting. "My Jack generally comes to meet me, and I always give him seventy yards, and only beat him by about as much as I do you. He couldn't come, this afternoon. He is busy helping his mother to get things straight. I expect we shall meet him, presently.

"Well, what are you laughing at?"

"I was just thinking how astonished my uncle would be, if he were to see us."

Mr. Medlin gave a hearty laugh.

"Not so much as you would think, Bob. Five years ago, my employer suddenly asked me, just as we were shutting up one afternoon, if I was fond of fishing. I said that I used to be.

"He said, 'I am going down, for a fortnight, into Hampshire. I have no one to go with--suppose you come with me.'

"I said, 'I will.'

"He said, 'Coach tomorrow morning, eight o'clock, Black Horse Yard.'

"I was there. As we went over London Bridge I found myself, as usual; and he found himself. I explained to him that I could not help it. He said he didn't want me to help it. We had a glorious fortnight together, and we have been out every year, since. He never alludes to it, between times. No more do I. He is stiffer than usual for a bit. So am I. But we both know each other.

"You do not suppose that he would have sent you to me, if he hadn't known that I have got another side to me?"

"Well, I should not have thought," Bob said, "from the way he talked, when he introduced me to you, that he ever had such an idea in his mind."

"He was obliged to talk so," Mr. Medlin said, laughing. "We were just machines at the time, both of us. But he talked in quite a different way when we were down fishing together, three weeks ago. He said then you were rather a pickle, and that he didn't think you would do yourself any good where you were, so that he was going to bring you up to business.

"'I don't want him to turn out a dull blockhead,' he said, 'and so I propose that you should take charge of him, and teach him to keep himself young. I wish I had done it, myself.'

"And so it was settled.

"There is no better employer in the city than your uncle. There is not a man or boy about the place who isn't well paid, and contented. I used to think myself a lucky man, before we went out fishing together for the first time but, six months after that, he gave me a rise that pretty well took my breath away.

"Ah! Here come the young uns."

A couple of minutes later, four young people ran up. There was a boy about Bob's age, a girl a year younger, a boy, and another girl, in regular steps. They greeted their father with a joyous shout of welcome.

"So you have got everything done," he said. "I thought you would meet me somewhere here.

"This is Bob Repton, my employer's nephew, and future member of the firm. Treat him with all respect, and handle him gently. He is a desperate fellow, though he doesn't look it. This is the young gentleman I told you of, who made a night expedition and captured four burglars."

After this introduction, Bob was heartily shaken by the hand, all round; and the party proceeded on their way, the two girls holding their father's hand, the boys walking behind, with Bob, who was so surprised at the unexpected turn affairs had taken that, for a time, he almost lost his usual readiness of speech.