My Friend Smith Part 21

"I'm awfully sorry," said he. "I didn't know--"

"Oh, it's not that," I interrupted, "at all. I wish they had two places, though."

"So do I. Perhaps they have. But I say, you'd better look sharp."

"Aren't you coming too?" I said.

"I haven't to be there till 10:30. They'll see you first."

At that moment a clock chimed the quarter, and startled me nearly out of my wits.

"That's the time," cried I. "Where _ever_ is Hawk Street, Jack?"

"This is it we're in, and that's the place over the way. Merrett's is on the first-floor."

"Be sure you wait outside for me," said I, preparing to dart over.

"Yes," said he. "But, Fred, promise me one thing."

"What?" said I, hurriedly.

"Not to show off badly because I'm after the place too."

Old Jack! He gave me credit, I fear, for a good deal more n.o.bleness than I had a right to claim.

"All serene," said I, "if you'll promise the same."

"Yes," said he. "Mind, honour bright, Fred."

And so we parted, he to pace up and down the street for a long quarter of an hour, and I to present myself before the awful presence of Messrs.

Merrett, Barnacle, and Company.

If all the youths who had flocked with me from the station in the direction of Hawk Street had been bound (as my fears had suggested), for this place, they would have found themselves rather cramped for room by the time they were all a.s.sembled; for the first-floor offices which I entered were decidedly limited in their capacity. I, who had been expecting at least a place capable of holding several scores of clerks, was somewhat taken aback to find myself in a counting-house which accommodated only half a score, and even that at rather close quarters.

In fact, I was so much taken aback that, although I had seen the name plainly inscribed on the door, I was constrained to inquire on entering, "Is this Messrs. Merrett, Barnacle, and Company's office, please?"

"Yes," said one of the clerks, shortly, "what about it?"

"Oh, if you please," I began, "I've come to--that is I've--"

"Come, out with it, can't you?" said the clerk.

"It's the situation," said I, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Well, what about it?" said the clerk, who, evidently cheered by the smiles of his fellow-clerks, thought it a good joke to browbeat a poor green country boy.

"Only I've come after it," faltered I.

"Have you, though? And who told you to do that, I'd like to know?"

"My uncle--that is I had a letter--" but here a general laugh interrupted my confession, and I felt very foolish indeed.

"So you've got an uncle, have you? Do you ever lend him your gold watch?"

This witticism was lost on me. I didn't see the connection between my uncle borrowing my gold watch (if I had had one), and the situation at Messrs. Merrett, Barnacle, and Company's. But it would never do to make myself disagreeable.

"I've not got a gold watch, or a silver one either," I said.

This seemed to occasion fresh merriment among my catechist and his fellows.

"Why don't you say who told you to come?" demanded the clerk.

"I did say," mildly replied I. "I got a letter."

"What's that to do with it? I got a letter to-day, didn't I, Wallop, to tell me my washerwoman had changed her address. But that's no reason for my coming here."

This was perfectly sound reasoning. So I amended my explanation.

"I got a letter from Merrett, Barnacle, and Company.--"

"_Messrs_. Merrett, Barnacle, and Company, if you please," put in the clerk.

"I beg your pardon," said I, "from Messrs. Merrett, Barnacle, and Company, telling me to be here at 10:15."

"Oh. Why didn't you say that before? What's the use of prevaricating when it's just as easy to tell the truth straight out, eh? What's the time now?"

"Twenty past," said I, looking at the clock.

"And you call that punctual? That's a nice beginning, anyhow. What's your name?"

"Batchelor," said I.

This again appeared to afford amus.e.m.e.nt to the company in general; and one or two jokes at the expense of my name were forthcoming, which I bore with as good a grace as I could.

At length it pleased the clerk who had cross-examined me to get off his stool, and after poking the fire and consulting the directory, and skirmis.h.i.+ng pleasantly with a fellow-clerk for a minute or two, to go to the door of the inner-room and knock there.

"Come in," I heard a voice answer, and the clerk entered.

He emerged again in a moment and beckoned to me. Now was the time! I braced myself up to the ordeal, and not heeding the facetious dig in the ribs which the clerk gave me in pa.s.sing, I put on my best face, and entered the awful presence.

Two gentlemen sat facing one another at the table, one of them old, the other middle-aged. These I instantly guessed to be Messrs. Merrett and Barnacle. Mr Barnacle, the junior partner, who had a sharp voice and a stern face, undertook my examination, Mr Merrett only coming in occasionally with some mild observation.

"You are Batchelor," said Mr Barnacle, when I had entered and carefully closed the door behind me. I noticed he held in his hand my original letter of application. "You are Frederick Batchelor. How is it you are late?"

"I'm sorry, sir," faltered I, at this rather discouraging beginning, "but--"

And here I stuck. What was the use of trying to explain what still remained the fact?

Mr Barnacle eyed me keenly, and continued, "You are fourteen, you say, have just left school, and are good at arithmetic. What school were you at?"