Tom, Dick and Harry Part 8

I was to work at my guardian's office every morning, and in the afternoon I was to go up and learn Latin and arithmetic at--oh, how shall I say it?--a girls' school!

For an hour after this discovery I candidly admit that I was sorry, unfeignedly sorry, I had not turned sneak and informed against Harry Tempest. I think even he would have wished me to do it rather than suffer this awful humiliation.

I had serious thoughts of running away, of going to sea, or sweeping a London crossing. But there were difficulties in the way; the chief of them being my mother.

"You mustn't worry about it, Tommy," said she. "Mr Girdler says it will be the best thing for you. It will be good for you to learn some business, you know, and then in the afternoon you will find Miss Bousfield very nice and clever."

"It's not the work I mind, mother," said I; "it's--it's going to a girls' school."

"There's nothing very dreadful about it, I'm sure," said my mother, with a smile. "I was at one myself once."

"But," argued I, "you are only a--"

No--that wouldn't quite do to one's own mother. So I stopped short.

"Besides," said she, "Mr Girdler thinks it the best thing, and he is your guardian."

This was unanswerable, and I gave it up.

But I was not at all consoled. The bare idea of Tempest, or Brown, or any of the other fellows getting to know that I, Thomas Jones, aged thirteen, who had held my own at Plummer's, and played in my day in the third Eleven, was going to attend a girls' school, and be taught Latin and sums by a--a female, was enough to make my hair stand on end. How they would laugh and wax merry at my expense! How they would draw pictures of me in the book covers with long curls and petticoats! How they would address me as "Jemima," and talk to one another about me in a high falsetto voice! How they would fall into hysterics when they met me, and weep copiously, and ask me to lend them hairpins and parasols!

I knew what it would be like only too well, and I quaked as I imagined it.

My one hope was that at Fallowfield n.o.body knew me; at least, n.o.body who mattered.

"At least," said I to myself, "if I am to go and herd with a parcel of girls, I'll let them see I'm something better than a girl myself."

When I presented myself at my guardian's office on the appointed morning in order to start on my commercial career, I met with a reception even less flattering than I had pictured to myself.

Mr Girdler was out, and had left no instructions about me. So for two hours I sat in the waiting-room, balancing my cap on my knee, and trying to work up the spots on the dingy wall-paper into geometrical figures.

When at last he came, so far from commending my patience, he had the face to reproach me for sitting there idle instead of getting some one to set me to work.

"You are not at school here, remember," said he, by way of being sarcastic; "you come here to work."

"I worked at school," said I meekly.

"So I hear," said he. "Now go to Mr Evans, and tell him you want a job."

Whereupon my genial guardian quitted me. But he came back a moment after.

"Remember you are to be at the girls' school at 2:30. Tell Miss Bousfield you are the little boy I spoke to her about, and mind you behave yourself up there."

Was ever a young man in such a shameful disgrace?

Three days ago I had imagined myself everybody; two days ago I had at least imagined myself somebody; yesterday I had discovered with pain that I was n.o.body; and to-day I was destined to wonder if I was even that.

Mr Evans raised his eyebrows when I delivered my message to him.

"Are you the governor's little ward," he inquired, "who's just finished his education? All right, my little man, we'll find a job for you. Run up High Street and bring me the time by the market clock, and here's a halfpenny to buy yourself sweets on the way."

It occurred to me as odd that Mr Evans should want to know the time by a clock which was quite ten minutes' walk from the office. Still, perhaps he had to set the office clocks by it, so I set off, wondering whether I ought to take the halfpenny, but taking it all the same.

I decided that the dignified course would be to buy the sweets, but to take them all back to him, so as to impress him with the fact that I was not as devoted to juvenile creature comforts as he evidently thought me.

"Is that all you have left?" said he, when, after accomplis.h.i.+ng my errand, I presented them to him. "My eye! you've made good use of your time, and no mistake."

"I've not eaten a single one," said I.

"It would have been better for your digestion if you had only eaten a single one, instead of swallowing half the lot. I know the ways of you boys. Well, what's the time?"

"It was twenty-five past ten."

"I didn't ask you what it was--I want to know what it is."

It then occurred to me for the first time that Mr Evans was a humourist. It seemed to me a feeble joke, but he evidently thought it a good one, as did also the other clerks to whom he communicated it.

The worst of it was that the more I tried to explain that, not having a watch of my own, I could not answer for the time by the market clock at any moment but that at which I saw it, the more they seemed to be amused. Some suggested I should go back with a bag and bring the time in it. Others, that I should put it on ten minutes, and then come back, so as to arrive at the exact moment it was when I left it. Others were of opinion that the best way would be for me to go and fetch the market clock with me.

Mr Evans, however, decided that my talents were not equal to the task of bringing the time in any shape or form, and that the best thing I could do was to sit down and lick up envelopes. Which I accordingly did, feeling rather small. I cut my tongue and spoiled my appet.i.te over the operation, and was heartily glad when, after a couple of hours, Mr Evans said--

"Master Tommy, we're going to lunch. You've had yours, so you can stop here, and keep shop till we return."

"I have to go to Miss Bousfield's at 2:30," said I.

"To go where?" they all inquired. And as I blushed very red, and tried to explain myself away, they made a great deal out of my unlucky admission.

"You're young for that sort of thing," said one. "I didn't go courting myself before I was fifteen."

"I'd made up my mind Sarah Bousfield was going to be an old maid," said another. "Heigho! it's never too late to mend."

"I hear she keeps sugar-plums for good little girls," said another.

"And the bad little ones get whipped and put in the corner."

"He mustn't go like that, anyhow," said Mr Evans, who, for a responsible head clerk of a big business, was the most flippant person I had ever met; "look at his hair--all out of curl! Come here, little girl, and be made tidy."

Once at Plummer's I had come in second for the half-mile under fourteen, and been captain of my side in the junior tug of war! Now I was to have my hair curled publicly!

It was no use resisting. I was held fast while Evans with a long penholder made ringlets of my back hair, and Scroop, with his five fingers, made a fringe of my front. My hat, moreover, was decorated with quills by way of feathers, and a fan made of blotting-paper was thrust into my hands. Then I was p.r.o.nounced to be nice and tidy, and fit to go and join the other little girls.

I fear that the energy with which, as soon as I was released, I deranged my locks and flung the feathers from my hat, amused my persecutors as much as it solaced me. I was conscious of their hilarious greetings as I strolled up the street, trying to walk in a straight masculine way, but hideously conscious of blus.h.i.+ng cheeks and nervous gait. I so far forgot myself that, in my eagerness to display my male superiority, I jostled against a lady, and disgraced myself by swaggering on without even apologising for my rudeness--when, to my consternation, the lady uttered my name, "Tommy."

It was my mother! I was still within sight of the office. How Evans and his lot would make merry over this _contretemps_! They wouldn't know who it was who was putting her hand on my shoulder. And yet I am glad to say that I was spared that day the disgrace of being ashamed of my own dear mother. Let the fellows think what they liked. If they had mothers like mine they wouldn't be the cads they were!

So, with almost unnecessary pomp, I raised my hat to my parent, and put my hand in her arm.

"You're going up to Miss Bousfield's," said she; "I thought I should meet you. What a hurry you were in!"

"Yes; I'm sorry I knocked against you, mother."