Our Frank Part 2

"That's fine, that is," said the boy when the last notes of Frank's clear voice died away. "Do yer know any more?"

"I know a side more," said Frank, "and hymns too."

"Can yer sing 'Home Sweet Home?'" asked the boy.

"Ah."

But this song was not so successful, for after the chorus had been sung with great animation, and the second verse eagerly expected, something choked and gurgled in Frank's throat so that he could not sing any more.

All that night, as he lay on the bed of shavings, which he shared with his new companion, he waked at intervals to hear those words echoing through the woods: "Home Sweet Home--There's no place like Home." But with the morning sun these sounds vanished, and he began his onward journey cheerily, refreshed by his rest and food. As he went down the cart-track the boy had pointed out to him he sang sc.r.a.ps of songs to himself, the birds twittered busily above his head, and the distant sound of the deaf man's lathe came more and more faintly to his ears.

He felt sure now that he was on his way to make his fortune, and the wood seemed full of voices which said, "Lunnon Town, Lunnon Town," over and over again. The thought of his mother's sad face was, it is true, a little depressing. "But," he said to himself, "how pleased she'll be when I come back rich!" Then he considered what sort of shawl he would buy for her with the first money he earned--whether it should be a scarlet one, or mixed colours with an apple-green border, like one he had seen once in a shop at Daylesbury.

These fancies beguiled the way, and he was surprised when, after what seemed a short time, he found himself at the edge of the wood, and in a broad high-road; that must be the Wickham Road, and he had still three miles to walk before reaching the town and the chair factories, where he meant to ask for work as a first step on his way to London.

It was not a busy-looking road, and the carts and people who pa.s.sed now and then seemed to have plenty of time and no wish to hurry; still, to Frank, who was used to the solitude of Green Highlands and the deeper quiet of the woods, it felt like getting into the world, and he looked down at his clothes, and wondered how they would suit a large town. He wore a smock, high brown leather gaiters reaching almost to his thighs, and very thick hobnailed boots. He wished he had his Sunday coat on instead of the smock, but the rest of the things would do very well, and they were so strong and good that they would last a long time. So this point settled he trudged on again, till, by twelve o'clock, he saw Wickham in the distance with its gabled red houses and tall factory buildings. And now that he was so near, his courage forsook him a little, and he felt that he was a very small weak boy, and that the factories were full of bustling work-people who would take no notice of him. He stood irresolute in the street, wondering to whom he ought to apply, and presently his eye was attracted to the window of a small baker's shop near. Through this he saw a kind-looking round-faced woman, who stood behind the counter knitting. Just in front of her there was, curled round, a sleek black cat, and she stopped in her work now and then to scratch its head gently with her knitting-pin. Somehow this encouraged Frank, and entering he put his question timidly, in his broad Buckinghams.h.i.+re accent.

The woman smiled at him good-naturedly.

"From the country, I reckon?" she said, not answering his question.

"Ah," replied Frank, "I be."

"You're a dillicate little feller to be trampin' about alone seekin'

work," she said, considering him thoughtfully. "Is yer mother livin'?"

"Ah," said Frank again, casting longing eyes at a crisp roll on the counter.

"Then why don't yer bide at home," asked the woman, "and work there?"

"I want to get more wage," said Frank, who was feeling hungrier every minute with the smell of the bread. "I'll be obliged to yer if ye'll tell me how I could git taken on at the factory."

"You must go and ask at the overseer's office up next street, where you see a bra.s.s plate on the door--name of Green. But bless yer 'art, we've lads enough and to spare in Wickham; I doubt they won't want a country boy who knows nought of the trade."

"I can try," said Frank; "and I learn things quick. Schoolmaster said so."

The woman shook her head.

"You'd be better at home, my little lad," she said, "till you're a bit older. There's no place like home."

Those same words had been sounding in Frank's ears all night. They seemed to meet him everywhere, he thought, like a sort of warning.

Nevertheless he was not going to give up his plan, and having learned the direction of the overseer's office he turned to leave the shop.

"And here's summat to set yer teeth in as you go along," said the woman, holding out a long roll of bread. "Growing lads should allus be eatin'."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Frank, and he took off his cap politely, as he had been taught at school, and went his way.

"As pretty behaved as possible," murmured the woman as she looked after him, "and off with his hat like a prince. What sort o' folks does he belong to, I wonder!"

The overseer's office was a small dark room with a high desk in it, at which sat a sandy-haired red-faced man, with his hat very much on the back of his head. He was talking in a loud bl.u.s.tering voice to several workmen, and as Frank entered he heard the last part of the speech.

"So you can tell Smorthwaite and the rest of 'em that they can come on again on the old terms, but they'll not get a farthing more. Well, boy," as he noticed Frank standing humbly in the background, "what do _you_ want?"

Mr Green's manner was that of an incensed and much-tried man, and Frank felt quite afraid to speak.

"Please, sir," he said, "do you want a boy in the factory?"

"Do I want a boy!" repeated the overseer, addressing the ceiling in a voice of despair. "No, of course I don't want a boy. If I had my will I'd have no boys in the place--I'm sick of the sight of boys."

He bent his eyes on a newspaper before him, and seemed to consider the matter disposed of; but Frank made one more timid venture.

"Please, sir," he said, going close up to the desk, "I'd work very stiddy."

Mr Green peered over his high desk at the sound of the small persistent voice, and frowned darkly.

"Clear out!" he said with a nod of his head towards the door; "don't stop here talking nonsense. Out you go!"

Frank dared not stay; he slunk out into the street crushed and disappointed, for he felt he had not even had a chance. "He might a listened to a chap," he said to himself.

Just then the church clock struck one, dinner time, and a convenient doorstep near, so he took the roll out of the breast of his smock-frock and sat down to eat it. As he had never been used to very luxurious meals it satisfied him pretty well; and then he watched the people pa.s.sing to and fro, and wondered what he could do to earn some money.

The chair-factory was hopeless certainly, but there must surely be some one in Wickham who wanted a boy to run errands, or dig gardens, or help in stables. What should he do? Without money he must starve; he could neither go on to London or back to Green Highlands.

The street was almost deserted now, for all the people who had dinners waiting for them had hurried home to eat them, and no one had noticed the rustic little figure in the grey gaberdine crouched on the doorstep.

Suddenly a dreadful feeling of loneliness seized on Frank, such as he had not felt since leaving home. Even the great solitary wood had not seemed so cold and unfriendly as this town, full of human faces, where the very houses seemed to stare blankly upon him. He thought of the kind baker woman, and immediately her words sounded in his ear: "There's no place like home." If he went to her she would try to persuade him to go back, and that he was still determined not to do; but his golden pictures of the future had faded a good deal since that morning, and as he sat and looked wistfully at the hard red houses opposite he could not help his eyes filling with tears. Fortunately, he thought, there was no one to see them; but still he felt ashamed of crying, and bent his head on his folded arms. Sitting thus for some minutes, he was presently startled by a voice close by.

"What's up, little un?" it said.

Frank looked up quickly, and saw that the question came from a boy standing in front of him. He was a very tall, thin boy, about fifteen years old, with a dark face and narrow twinkling black eyes. All his clothes were ragged, and none of them seemed to fit him properly, for his coat-sleeves were inconveniently long, and his trousers so short that they showed several inches of brown bony ankles. On his head he wore a rusty black felt hat with half a brim, which was turned down over his eyes; his feet were bare; and he carried under his arm a cage full of nimble crawling white mice.

After a minute's observation Frank decided in his mind that this must be a "tramp." Now and then these wandering folks pa.s.sed through Danecross and the neighbourhood on their way to large towns; and, as a rule, people looked askance at them. It was awkward to have them about when ducklings and chickens were being reared, and Frank had always heard them spoken of with contempt and suspicion. Just now, however, any sympathy appeared valuable, and he smiled back at the twinkling black eyes, and answered:

"There's nowt the matter with me. I'm wantin' work."

The boy seemed to think this an amusing idea, for he grinned widely, showing an even row of very white teeth. Then he sat down on the doorstep, put his cage of mice on the ground, and began to whistle; his bright eyes keenly observing Frank from top to toe meanwhile, and finally resting on his thick hobnailed boots. Then he asked briefly:

"Farm-work?"

"I'd ratherly get any other," answered Frank. And feeling it his turn to make some inquiries, he said:

"What do yer carry them mice fur?"

The boy looked at him for a minute in silence; then he chuckled, and gave a long low whistle.

"I say, little chap," he said confidentially, "_ain't_ you a flat! Just rather."

Seeing on Frank's face no sign of comprehension he continued:

"Without them little mice I should be what they calls a wagrant. Many a time they've saved me from the beak, and from being run in. Them's my business; and a nice easy trade it is. Lots of change and wariety. No one to wallop yer. Live like a jintleman."

He waved his hand at his last words with a gesture expressive of large and easy circ.u.mstances. Frank glanced at his bare feet and generally dishevelled appearance.