Arthur’s progress at the night school was very rapid, and his teacher, a poor book-binder’s assistant, who, for the most moderate of compensations took upon his shoulders the duty of the State, and devoted his evenings to the instruction of half-a-dozen ragged lads and as many grown-up men, soon regarded him as his favourite pupil. Being an observant man he was not long before he discovered the boy’s turn for drawing, having now and then perceived sketches on the backs of his copy-books or on his slate, which, rude as they were, appeared to him to display something of unusual talent in so young a hand. He encouraged Arthur to bring and show him some of the drawings which, as he soon learned, he was in the habit of making at home. On seeing these his teacher was still more surprised and pleased. From that day he added his influence to those many hankerings after a change of occupation which Arthur had himself begun to feel, and promised that, if he came to hear of any place that he thought would suit his pupil, he would do his best to secure it. In the meantime he urged the boy to work hard at his reading and writing, and to such effect that, when Arthur had been attending the classes for a little more than a year, he was already able to read with very fair facility and to write a hand which, if not a striking example of calligraphy, was at all events tolerably legible. He was now approaching the termination of his eleventh year.
One day he had been on an errand for Mrs. Clinkscales into Tottenham Court Road, and had, moreover, as had become rather his habit of late, wandered somewhat out of his direct road, walking dreamily along with his eyes fixed on the pavement, feeding his mind with the dim outlines of a thousand strange or beautiful fancies. He had turned out of Tottenham Court Road into Goodge Street, and thence again into a narrow passage, known as Charlotte Place, and here he stopped, as he always did instinctively, before a shop where newspapers and books were exposed for sale in the windows. It was a very small shop, over the door of which was painted the inscription: “Samuel Tollady, Printer.” As Arthur looked over the illustrated papers which lay open in the window, his eye fell on a card suspended at the back, upon which were the words: “A Boy Wanted.” His heart leaped in his breast as he carefully read these words. Why should he not go in and offer his services? But a sensitive timidity for a time withheld him. Suppose he were to apply, and suppose he were to be so successful as to obtain the place, what would Mrs. Clinkscales say, what would Mike Rumball and Ned Quirk say? His mind drawn hither and thither by questionings and doubts he passed slowly on; he paused; he turned back; again he read the notice. At length, with much apprehension, he resolved upon tempting his fortune, and walked into the shop.
Behind the counter, with a book open on his lap, was sitting an oldish gentleman — gentleman was written upon every line of his face, notwithstanding his circumstances — in spectacles, with head all but bald, and a bold, massive forehead which might have been the envy of a Greek sage. His lips, though firmly knit, had yet a sweetness of expression irresistibly attractive, and his eyes spoke a gentle kindliness which, as they met those of Arthur, at once emboldened him. His dress was marked by a fastidious neatness, though much worn; his waistcoat buttoned close up to his neck, around which he wore an old-fashioned neckerchief, which gave him, at first sight, something of a clerical appearance. As he spoke to Arthur he kept tapping with his fingers on the open pages of his book, evidently a habit with him.
“If you please, sir, do you want a boy?” asked Arthur.
“I do,” replied Mr. Tollady, for he it was, speaking in a grave but musical voice. “Have you come to apply for the place?”
“Yes, if you please, sir.”
The printer surveyed the applicant for a few moments with care, and the results of his examination did not, to judge from the expression of his face, appear unfavourable. Nor indeed was there anything in Arthur’s appearance which should have made it otherwise. During the last two years he had grown considerably, and was now rather tall for his age, but slender and of a strikingly graceful form. His hair had somewhat moderated in its luxuriance of growth, but was still extremely fair, and still fell on each side of his forehead in pleasing ripples. In his features there was nothing vulgar; he was, in reality, a striking resemblance of what his ill-fated father had been at the same age. His eyes were of light blue, his nose of a Grecian type, his lips and chin moulded in form expressive of extreme sensibility and gentleness of disposition, showing traces, moreover, though as yet in but a slight degree, of an instability in moral character which was hereditary. The latter feature was not, however, so predominant that it might not very possibly give way beneath a judicious training. But where was that training to come from?
“What is your age, my boy?” asked Mr. Tollady.
“Nearly eleven, sir.”
“Indeed! I took you for more than twelve. You can read and write?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Arthur, though with more hesitation, dropping his eyes as he spoke.
The old gentleman observed this, and, in a quiet manner which had nothing alarming in it, he proceeded to examine Arthur in these particulars. He appeared satisfied with the result. Then he questioned him about his present position, and at length, after a conversation lasting nearly a quarter of an hour, he dismissed him with the promise that he would himself walk down into Little St. Andrew Street in the course of the day, and see Mr. Rumball.
He kept his word — in his life he had never failed to do so — and had that afternoon a rather lengthy colloquy with Michael, from whom he ultimately learnt as much about Arthur Golding’s antecedents as the latter himself knew.
“You will, I am sure, sir,” said Mr. Tollady, “pardon me the trouble I am giving you. I like this boy’s appearance very much, and should like, if possible, to employ him. But as I do not want a mere errand boy, but one who would live in the house with me and be entrusted with many little things of some importance to me, I should wish to be well assured of the character of the one I engaged.”
Mike listened with bent brows, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets. The fact of the matter was, he was not altogether pleased with this “new departure” of his young lodger. To begin with it appeared to him that, before Arthur had taken any such step as applying for a new situation, he, Michael Rumball, ought certainly to have been consulted; his sense of importance was a trifle hurt. Secondly, there was to be considered the fact that, in the event of Arthur taking the new place, the weekly wages which the boy had hitherto always given into Mrs. Rumball’s hands with scrupulous fidelity each Saturday night would henceforth cease to form an item in the household income. This was serious, and required consideration.
“The boy having come to you under rather peculiar circumstances,” pursued Mr. Tollady, interpreting, with a generosity characteristic of him, Mike’s hesitation in a very much more favourable sense than was its due, “gives you naturally an interest in him, and you must be assured that he will really be making a change for the better in coming to me. Now I think there can be no doubt of it. As I shall provide him with everything, I shall not be able to pay him high wages, but I shall undertake to teach him by degrees my own business, that of a printer, and so put into his hands the means of earning a very good living whenever he leaves me. Does that meet with your approval?”
Mike still hesitated. The voice of selfishness was loud within him at this moment, and all but stifled the still, small voice of conscience which Mike, as years went on, became, it is to be feared, less and less in the habit of heeding.
“I tell you how it is, Mister,” he said at length. “I’ve got a partner like in this ’ere business, an’ that’s Ned Quirk, the man as brought the lad ‘ome that night I was tellin’ yer of. Now I think, yer see, as I ought to talk it over with Ned afore I come to a decision. Suppose we say I talk it over to-night, an you comes an’ sees me agin tomorrow; will that suit?”
Mr. Tollady perforce adopted this decision, and took his leave. The same night Michael Rumball communicated the visit to Ned Quirk. In all probability he would not have done so at all, and would have contented himself with returning an unfavourable answer to his visitor on the morrow, but for the reflection that Arthur would doubtless himself acquaint Ned with what he had done, and thus render the artifice useless. Ned, to do him justice, was made of firmer clay than Mike, and, when he heard the opportunity which lay before his protégé, even though it was made to appear as untempting as possible by Mike’s perverse description, he had not two opinions on the matter, but immediately affirmed that the place must be secured. A long and somewhat heated discussion followed, during which Mike inveighed, with something of that eloquence which had formerly been at the service of the Ranter persuasion, against that deplorable pride of intellect which Ned had always, he said, done his best to instil into the lad and which would one day, mark that! be his ruin. He hadn’t much opinion, for his own part, of reading and writing for boys, for they were clearly a direct temptation to forgery; but for a boy to become a printer was still worse, inasmuch as it inevitably led to the fabrication of spurious bank-notes, whereupon would follow exportation and all its concomitant evils. Ned Quirk laughed these remarks to scorn and was strong in his support of the gospel of “getting on,” which is no bad gospel after all, if read in its true sense, but which, like some other gospels that could be mentioned, is not unfrequently sadly misinterpreted. Ned had a respect for learning, while Mike certainly had not, and in a matter such as this, where he was truly interested, would yield to no man. For the first time since their acquaintance a serious breach seemed likely to take place between these two worthies; but, just at the critical stage, Mrs. Rumball came in with a woman’s tact and was successful in allaying the storm. She had always entertained a great respect for Ned Quirk’s opinions, and now she placed herself on his side in the argument. The result could not be doubtful; Mike yielded, though, after all, with but an ill grace, and it was decided that Arthur should go to Mr. Tollady’s.
Of course a week’s notice had to be given to Mrs. Clinkscales, which that lady received with a slight toss of the head, and a wish that the boy might find better treatment elsewhere than he had received from her, expressed in a tone which clearly indicated that she had no expectation of the wish being realised. Arthur had only one real sorrow in leaving the scene of his earliest servitude, and that was that he should no more be able to watch each day the coming and going of the blue frock and hat with the partridge feather, around which had woven themselves the brightest of his boyish dreams and fancies. Yes, even his hopes had, in a measure, connected themselves with Lizzie. Speculating, as children do, on the course of his future life, he had often determined in his own mind that he would work hard till he became “rich,” not rich only as Mrs. Clinkscales would have understood the word, but superlatively wealthy. And when that time came, when he had made his money, had bought a large house in one of those magnificent quarters of the town which he seldom visited, had servants without end and all manner of luxury, then he would one day order his finest horses to be harnessed in his finest carriage, in which he would forthwith drive down to Little St. Andrew Street and carry off Lizzie with him as his bride. 0, sweet visions, gilding with their refulgence even the squalid everyday life of a London slum; and thrice sweet hope, which, blossoming most luxuriantly in the hearts of the young, feeds with its rich fragrance every ardent thought. When the day came on which he was to leave, he saw Lizzie go to school and return as usual, watched her with unwonted sadness in his eyes, was glad at length when he received a smile and a nod, and little thought that he had looked on the queen of his imagination for the last time.
Mr. Tollady received him with his former kind smile, and lost no time in making him acquainted with the circle of his new duties. The sphere in which he would henceforth live was a very wide one. Behind the little shop, where, besides newspapers, prints, cheap books, and general stationery were sold, was the single room in which Mr. Tollady himself lived, a darkish little place; and passing out of that by a side door, which led to the foot of the stairs, one ascended to the printing office, likewise a very small room, smelling strongly of printer’s ink, where one man was generally employed as compositor. It was easy to judge from these premises that Mr. Tollady’s business was not extensive. Within this printing office a door led into what had previously been an old lumber-room, some six feet square, lighted by a small casement. This had just been cleaned out and converted into a very neat little bed-room, henceforth Arthur’s.
Arthur took his meals with Mr. Tollady in the little parlour at the back of the shop, breakfast, tea, and supper being prepared by the latter himself; the more important meal at midday, however, being brought in on a tray from a coffee-house in Goodge Street. For an hour each day one of the girls, in a poor family next door, came into the house and did what household work was required. It was distinctive of Mr. Tollady, that, though his opportunities of giving employment were not large, yet he was most judicious in the choice of those he did employ, invariably finding those who were really in want of work, and holding that, c?teris paribus, those who come most closely within the circle of your every-day relationships, have the most claims upon you for assistance. Arthur did not fail to examine closely the details of his new abode, and more particularly the parlour, which was to him the most interesting room. The window certainly had no tempting prospect. It looked into a paved back yard, with a cistern in one corner of it, the principal variety in the scene being afforded on those days when the yard was thickly hung with newly-washed linen. Immediately opposite was a window, apparently that of a darkish parlour, much like Mr. Tollady’s, and attached to the sill of the window was a long box containing various flowering plants. The circumstance of this box being carved and painted in front so as to represent the broadside of a man-of-war, gave a certain originality to its appearance, and afforded Arthur Golding frequent subject for observation during the first few days.
One side of the parlour was occupied by a large book-case, which contained the whole of Mr. Tollady’s library. It was not extensive, but select in the choice of works. Here were the principal English classics, most of them evidently having been purchased second-hand, and also a few French and German books. The library was evidently that of a man who had known how to cultivate judiciously the emotional side of his nature; the only books really bound with any degree of richness were the poets. Theological works there were none, and natural science was alone represented by a few works on botany; but the collection of histories was complete and good. The lowest shelf was occupied by the Penny Cyclop?dia, an old folio edition of Johnson’s Dictionary, and a number of large volumes laid flat, one on the other, the contents of which could not be guessed at. Around the walls hung a few good prints of works by the old masters, and a bust of Shakespeare and Milton stood at either end of the mantel-piece. Opposite was a large chest of drawers, which at night time was converted into a bed for Mr. Tollady’s own use. On the window-sill outside bloomed one or two geraniums, fuchsias, and lobelias.
One of Arthur’s first duties in the morning was to be standing at the corner of Charlotte Place and Goodge Street at half-past six in order to catch the bundle of daily papers thrown to him from the news-agent’s cart, which passed by at that time, after which he was first of all engaged in separating out and folding the papers, and in............