The Story of Antony Grace Part 32

I went up to him.

"He's no good," said Mr Grimstone sharply. "He has only just come."

"Don't talk to me, sir," cried Mr Rowle angrily. "You can't pick out a decent boy, so I must do it myself. Here, boy, read that out aloud."

I took the piece of paper with trembling hands, doubting my own power to read the lines of crabbed writing, and feeling that even if I could read it I should give dire offence to the overseer by so doing; but I could not help myself, and raising the piece of ma.n.u.script written closely on a sheet of ruled foolscap, I saw that it was just such a legal doc.u.ment as I had often copied at Mr Blakeford's. In fact, something of the old feeling of dread that I used to experience when receiving such a paper from him made a huskiness come in my throat, but clearing my voice, I began:

"'And the aforesaid deponent also saith that in such a case it would be necessary for the said lessor, his heirs, executors, administrators, and a.s.signs, to make over and deliver, whenever and wheresoever the aforesaid lessee, his heirs, executors, administrators or a.s.signs should desire him so to do--"

"Stop!" said the little man tightening his lips and taking a pinch of snuff. "You did not read that exactly as it's written there."

"No, sir," I said, "'executors, administrators, and a.s.signs,' were all contracted."

"There!" he exclaimed, turning to the overseer triumphantly, "What did I say? Here's the first boy I meet, fresh from the lye-tub, and he reads it straight off without a blunder, and better than you could have read it yourself. Here, boy, read that."

He took a letter from his pocket, written in a terribly puzzling hand, and placed it before me.

I took it, hesitated for a moment, and then began:

"'My dear sir,--I have given the most careful consideration to your proposal, and I am quite willing to--to--to--to--' If you please, sir, I'm very sorry," I stammered, "but I can't make out that word."

"No, boy, nor I neither. I don't believe the writer can. There, go and wash those dirty hands," he continued, s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter from me.

"No: stop!" cried Mr Grimstone wrathfully; "I want that boy here."

"Then you may take your great clever noodle, Jem Smith," said the little man.

"Mr Rowle, I will not have my rules and regulations broken in this way, sir."

"Hang you and your rules," said the little man. "Have a pinch? No?

Then let it alone."

"I cannot and will not spare that boy," cried Mr Grimstone, motioning away the snuff-box.

For answer the little man tightened his lips, snapped-to the lid of his snuff-box, hastily took a pinch, snapped his fingers in the overseer's face, and taking me by the shoulder, marched me before him towards the door, and past Mr Hallett's frame.

"Here, get your jacket, my lad," said the little man. "You can wash your hands upstairs."

Mr Hallett nodded to me and looked, as I thought, pleased as I pa.s.sed him, and preceding my new taskmaster, I went up to the next floor, where he led me to a gla.s.s case, exactly like that occupied by Mr Grimstone and the reader in his room, the sides being similarly decorated with slips of paper hanging from nails.

He showed me where to wash, and, this done, I was soon by his side, reading steadily on to him various pieces of ma.n.u.script, while, spectacles on nose, he pored over and made corrections on the margins of the printed slips of paper that were constantly being brought to him by a youth who printed them from the column galleys at a small hand-press.

I got on pretty well, for my home training had made ma.n.u.script easy to me. In fact, I had often copied pieces for my father, containing letters from various naturalist friends, while my sojourn at Mr Blakeford's had made anything of a legal character perfectly clear.

That night, when it was time to go, and I had had no greater unpleasantness to contend with than several severe fits of sneezing brought on when the little man used his snuff-box, I timidly asked him if I was wanted the next day, for as yet no opportunity had served for making known my knowledge of his brother.

"Wanted!" he cried; "why, I had serious thoughts of locking you up, boy, so as to make sure of you to-morrow. Wanted! Yes: I've got you, and I mean to keep you; and if Grimstone says another word--but only let him.

Look here: you are very stupid yet, but you'll soon improve; and mind this, come with clean hands and face to-morrow, and clean ap.r.o.n."

"Yes, sir," I said, and then I hesitated.

"Well, what is it?"

"Please, sir, you are Mr Jabez Rowle, are you not?"

"Yes, and what then?" he said shortly.

"Only, sir, that Mr Peter Rowle, who is a friend of mine, said I might mention his name to you."

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, he need not have taken the trouble. There, be off, and mind you are here in good time."

This was damping, especially as Mr Jabez Rowle took snuff viciously, and stood staring before him, tapping his box, and muttering angrily, in which state I left him, and made the best of my way home.

I was in good time next morning, but, all the same, there sat Mr Jabez Rowle in his gla.s.s case waiting for me, and as I entered and said "Good-morning, sir," he just nodded shortly and pointed with the penholder in his hand to a piece of paper.

"Go on?" he said; and, taking it up, I began to read.

"Not quite so fast, and say _par_ when you come to a fresh paragraph."

I read on, making a good many blunders in my anxiety to be right, but, I presume, getting on very well, for Mr Rowle found but little fault, as he seemed to dart his pen down at every error in the slip proofs before him--turned letters, _p's_ where _q's_ should be, and _b's_ for _d's_; _c's_ were often in the place of _e's_; and then there were omissions, repet.i.tions, absence of s.p.a.ces or points, a score of different little omissions on the compositor's part; and, besides all these, the busy pen made marks and signs that were cabalistic to me.

This had gone on about a couple of days, and I was reading away to him what I believed was a prayer in a chancery-bill, when Mr Jabez suddenly laid down his pen, took out his snuff-box, and said, looking me full in the face, "How's Peter?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I say, how's Peter?"

"How's Peter, sir?"

"Don't pretend to be stupid, boy, when you're as sharp as a needle," he cried, tapping the desk angrily with his snuff-box. "Didn't you say you knew my brother Peter?"

"Oh yes, sir! he was very kind to me, but I haven't seen him for some weeks. He was quite well then."

"Humph! look old?"

"He looks very much like you, sir."

"Then he does look old. We're very fond of one another, boy, but we; always quarrel; so we never meet. 'And your pet.i.tioner furthermore sayeth--'"

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"'And your pet.i.tioner furthermore sayeth'--get on, boy: go on."

I dashed at the ma.n.u.script again, for he had resumed his work, and read on to the end, for he made no further inquiries about his brother.

I soon grew quite accustomed to reading, and found that Mr Jabez Rowle meant what he said about keeping to me, for I was regularly installed as reading-boy, and, as I have said, I was delighted with the change. I often met Jem Smith, and, from his looks, it was evident that he bore me no good will, and, to be frank, I felt rather revengeful for his treatment. One day, during the dinner hour, I went down into the lower part before the men came back, and, after getting some slips which Mr Rowle had told me to have ready for him, my enemy pounced upon me, coming in at the door just as I was about to leave.

"Now I've got yer, then," he cried, with a malicious grin, and, rus.h.i.+ng at me, I had only time to evade the first onslaught by running round the frames, when a hot chase ensued, ending in my being brought to bay, and receiving blow after blow from my stronger antagonist.