Rogues and Vagabonds. George R. Sims

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СКАЧАТЬ days had elapsed since a letter was despatched to Mr. A. B., informing him that Mr. George Smith was willing to accept his proffered situation, and no reply had been received.

      George declared that Bess’s nose was beginning to get quite flat at the tip from being constantly pressed against the window-glass while she watched for the postman.

      He was a most disagreeable postman. He went next door and opposite, and this side and that; he rattat-tatted at every door but Mr. Duck’s.

      George got to know the time for the deliveries after the first day, and he would go down and wait at the front-door and watch the postman as he came down the street. When he got close up George felt quite hot; but as time after time he passed by without the faintest indication of having anything for the Ducks’ letter-box, a feeling of terrible disappointment crept over the young man’s heart.

      He had made so sure he should have an answer, and so had Bess.

      On the morning of the third day, when they were sitting at breakfast, lo and behold the long-expected rat-tat came, and there was a click in the letter-box, and the postman’s boots were heard descending the steps—not by themselves, of course, the postman was in them. Bess and George jumped up, nearly knocking the table over, and Bess tore downstairs.

      Yes, there was a letter in the box. Nervously Bess put her hand in and drew it out, and then, half-hopefully, half-fearfully, glanced at the direction.

      She could have sat down in the hall and cried with disappointment.

      It was only a deep black-bordered letter for ‘The Occupier.’ Of course, that was for the Ducks. While she was looking at it Miss Duck came out, and Bess handed it to her.

      ‘Lor’, a black border!’ exclaimed Georgina. ‘I wonder who’s dead.’

      Miss Duck opened the letter with a nervous hand, and then flung it down in disgust. It was an undertaker’s circular, offering to bury the occupier and family on strictly moderate terms.

      Bess went slowly upstairs, and found George pacing the room.

      He knew by his wife’s face there was nothing for him, so he sighed and sat down to finish his breakfast.

      ‘Bess,’ he said presently, looking into the bottom of his cup as if he thought there might be a letter there, ‘I shall go and look A, B. up.’

      Bess was standing by him, with her hand on his shoulder.

      ‘Oh, George, look, there is a letter!’ she cried suddenly.

      ‘Where?’ said George, looking inquiringly about him.

      ‘In the cup, dear; look, four black dots at the bottom of the cup—that means a letter. It always comes true.’

      George laughed.

      ‘You didn’t see a coffin in the fire, or a thief in the candle last night, did you, dear?’ he said. ‘What a silly goose you are to believe in omens!’

      But, as it happened, the teacup was a prophet, and Bess was quite triumphant over it, for by the twelve o’clock post there came a letter from A. B., requesting Mr. George Smith to call on him that afternoon at an address in the City.

      When George had read the letter twice over, and Bess had read it three times, they had a wild polka round the room, much to the astonishment of Miss Duck below, who had fears for the ceiling.

      At the appointed time George, letter in hand, presented himself at the address given, and was a little taken aback to find it was a public-house. While he was hesitating and wondering whether A. B. was the man in his shirtsleeves behind the bar, and, if so, what he could want with a gentlemanly person at £150 a year, an elderly gentleman, with beautiful long white hair and a flowing beard, touched him on the arm.

      ‘Are you Mr. George Smith?’ said the nice old gentleman, in a kind, soft voice.

      ‘Yes, I am,’ said George. ‘Are you Mr. A. B.?’

      ‘Yes.’

      George wanted to seize the old gentleman’s hand and shake it there and then. He was delighted to find A. B. such a venerable and very pleasant person.

      ‘You’ll excuse my meeting you here,’ said A. B., ‘but the fact is I wasn’t sure my offices would be ready, and as I had business in this neighbourhood I thought this would do. I shall be very glad to accept you. The terms I think you know—£150 a year, paid weekly. The hours are light—ten till four; the duties also are light. I think we shall get on very nicely. You will come to-morrow at ten to the address on this piece of paper, and commence work at once.’

      ‘Oh, thank you!’ exclaimed George, ready to hug the dear fatherly old fellow. ‘I will be there.’

      George took the piece of paper, and put it carefully in his pocket. The old gentleman invited him to have a glass of sherry, shook hands, with him and went out, and George rushed back to Bess, bursting with the good news.

      They had such a tea that evening on the strength of it. George ate muffins and sallylunns, and talked and made jokes, and ate all at the same time, and nearly choked himself through the tea going the wrong way; and Bess was so excited that George declared he must take her to the play to keep her quiet.

      It was one of the happiest evenings of their short married life. The play was beautiful, and they sat in the pit, squeezed up close together, and George fell in love with the leading lady, and Bess punched him for it, and declared that the villain of the piece had made a great impression on her.

      And then they went and had some supper—real chops, at a real supper-room—and it was twelve o’clock before they got home. George whistled ‘Cheer, boys, cheer’ all the way through the street, and would have whistled all the way upstairs, had not a loud snore proclaimed the fact that sleep was upon the tired eyelids of the inmates. So George took off his boots and pretended to be a burglar, and Bess was obliged to giggle out loud when he tumbled over the coal-scuttle on the landing and said half a naughty word.

      The next morning, punctually at ten o’clock, George arrived at the address given him, and ascended to the third floor, as he had been directed. There on a door he found a paper pasted with ‘Smith & Co.’ upon it, in a bold round hand.

      He knocked, and the familiar voice of A. B. bade him enter.

      ‘Good-morning, Mr. Smith,’ said that gentleman. ‘Glad to see you so punctual.’

      George took off his overcoat and put it on a chair in the corner. Then he looked round. It wasn’t much of an office, certainly, and had evidently been taken ready furnished. There was a table and two old chairs, a desk that had been a good deal used, and a couple of office stools.

      ‘This is only a branch office of our firm,’ said Mr. Brooks, for such was his name, he informed George. ‘We have offices all over London.’

      Mr. Brooks waved his hands to the four points of the compass.

      ‘I see,’ said George.

      ‘Now, your duty will be to meet me here at ten, and execute the various commissions that lie within this radius.’

      George СКАЧАТЬ