A Dog with a Bad Name Part 9

He directed his steps to the poor part of the town, not so much because it was poor, as because it was farthest away from his guardian's. He resolved that to-night at any rate he would indulge in the luxury of a bed, and accordingly, selecting the least repulsive-looking of a number of tenements offering "Cheap beds for Single Men," he turned in and demanded lodging. To the end of his days he looked back on the "cheap bed" he that night occupied with a shudder. And he was by no means a Sybarite, either. Happily, he had still some sleep to make up; and despite his foul bed, his unattractive fellow-lodgers, and his own dismal thoughts, he fell asleep, in his clothes and with his bag under his pillow, and slept till morning.

He partook of a cheap breakfast at a coffee-stall on one of the bridges, and occupied the remainder of the time before the opening of business houses in wandering about on the city walls, endeavouring to make up his mind what calling in life he should seek to adopt. He had not decided this knotty point when the minster chimes struck ten, and reminded him that he was letting the precious moments slip. So he descended into the streets, determined to apply for the first vacancy which presented itself.

Wandering aimlessly on, he came presently upon a bookseller's shop, outside which were displayed several trays of second-hand volumes which attracted his attention. Jeffreys loved books and was a voracious reader, and in the midst of his wearisome search for work it was like a little harbour of refuge to come upon a nest of them here. Just, however, as he was about to indulge in the delicious luxury of turning over the contents of the tempting trays, his eye was attracted by a half-sheet of note-paper gummed on to the shop window and bearing the inscription, "a.s.sistant wanted. Apply within."

Next instant Jeffreys stood within.

"I see you want an a.s.sistant," said he to the old spectacled bookseller who inquired his business.

"That's right."

"Will you take me?"

The man glanced up and down at his visitor and said doubtfully,--

"Don't know you--are you in the trade?"

"No, I've just left school."

"What do you know about books?"

"I love them," replied the candidate simply.

The bookseller's face lit up and shot a glow of hope into the boy's heart.

"You love them. I like that. But take my advice, young fellow, and if you love books, don't turn bookseller."

Jeffreys' face fell.

"I'm not afraid of getting to hate them," said he.

The man beamed again.

"What's your name, my lad?"

"John Jeffreys."

"And you've just left school? What school?"

Alas! poor Jeffreys! It cost him a struggle to utter the name.

"Bolsover."

"Bolsover, eh? Do you know Latin?"

"Yes--and Greek," replied the candidate.

The bookseller took up a book that lay on the table. It was an old and valuable edition of Pliny's _Epistles_.

"Read us some of that."

Jeffreys was able fairly well to accomplish the task, greatly to the delight of the old bookseller.

"Capital! You're the first chap I ever had who could read Pliny off."

Jeffreys' face lit up. The man spoke as if the thing was settled.

"How will fifteen s.h.i.+llings a week and your meals suit you?" said he.

"Perfectly!" replied the candidate.

"Hum! you've got a character, of course?"

Poor Jeffreys' face fell.

"Do you mean testimonials?"

"No. You can refer to some one who knows you--your old schoolmaster, for instance."

"I'm afraid not," faltered the boy.

The man looked perplexed.

"Couldn't get a character from him--why not?"

"Because I ran away from school."

"Oh, oh! Did they ill-treat you, then, or starve you? Come; better tell the truth."

"No--it wasn't that. It was because--" Jeffreys gave one longing look at the shelves of beloved books, and an appealing glance at his questioner--"It was because I--nearly killed a boy."

The man whistled and looked askance at his visitor.

"By accident?"

"Partly. Partly not. But I a.s.sure you--"

"That will do," said the man; "that's quite enough. Be off!"

Jeffreys departed without another word. Like Tantalus, the tempting fruit had been within reach, and his evil destiny had come in to dash it from his lips. Was it wonderful if he felt disposed to give it up and in sheer desperation go back to Bolsover?

The whole of the remainder of that day was spent in spiritless wandering about the streets. Once he made another attempt to obtain work, this time at a merchant's office. But again the inconvenient question of character was raised, and he was compelled to denounce himself. This time his confession was even more unfeelingly received than at the bookseller's.

"How dare you come here, you scoundrel?" exclaimed the merchant in a rage.

"Don't call me a scoundrel!" retorted Jeffreys, his temper suddenly breaking out.

"I'll call a policeman if you are not out of here in half a minute.

Here, you boys," added he, calling his six or eight clerks, "turn this wretch out of the place. Do you hear?"