“You come along with me,” the man said rising. “You’ve done me a heap of good. It’s no use sitting here. I shall go back to the station, and turn in on some sacks. If you’ve nothing better to do, and nowhere to go to, you come along with me. We will talk it all over.”
Pleased to have some one to talk to, and glad that he should not have to look for a place to sleep, Frank accompanied the porter to the station. With a word or two to the nightmen on duty, the porter led the way to a shed near the station, where a number of sacks were heaped in a corner.
“Now,” the man said, “I will light a pipe. It’s against the regulations, but that’s neither here nor there now. Now, if you’re not sleepy, would you mind talking to me? Tell me something about yourself, and how you come to be alone here in London. It does me good to talk. It prevents me from thinking.”
“There is very little to tell,” Frank said; and he related to him the circumstances of the deaths of his father and mother, and how it came that he was alone in London in search of a place.
“You’re in a fix,” the porter said.
“Yes, I can see that.”
“You see you’re young for most work, and you never had no practice with horses, or you might have got a place to drive a light cart. Then, again, your knowing nothing of London is against you as an errand boy; and what’s worse than all this, anyone can see with half an eye that you’re a gentleman, and not accustomed to hard work. However, we will think it over. The daylight’s breaking now, and I has to be at work at six. But look ye here, young fellow, tomorrow I’ve got to look for a room, and when I gets it there’s half of it for you, if you’re not too proud to accept it. It will be doing me a real kindness, I can tell you, for what I am to do alone of an evening without Jane and the kids, God knows. I can’t believe they’re gone yet.”
Then the man threw himself down upon the sacks, and broke into sobs. Frank listened for half an hour till these gradually died away, and he knew by the regular breathing that his companion was asleep. It was long after this before he himself closed his eyes. The position did, indeed, appear a dark one. Thanks to the offer of his companion, which he at once resolved to accept for a time, he would have a roof to sleep under. But this could not last; and what was he to do? Perhaps he had been wrong in not writing at once to Ruthven and his schoolfellows. He even felt sure he had been wrong; but it would be ten times as hard to write now. He would rather starve than do this. How was he to earn his living? He would, he determined, at any rate try for a few days to procure a place as an errand boy. If that failed, he would sell his clothes, and get a rough working suit. He was sure that he should have more chance of obtaining work in such a dress than in his present attire.
Musing thus, Frank at last dropped off to sleep. When he woke he found himself alone, his companion having left without disturbing him. From the noises around him of trains coming in and out, Frank judged that the hour was late.
“I have done one wise thing,” he said, “anyhow, and as far as I can see it’s the only one, in leaving my watch with the doctor to keep. He pointed out that I might have it stolen if I carried it, and that there was no use in keeping it shut up in a box. Very possibly it might be stolen by the dishonesty of a servant. That’s safe anyhow, and it is my only worldly possession, except the books, and I would rather go into the workhouse than part with either of them.”
Rising, he made his way into the station, where he found the porter at his usual work.
“I would not wake you,” the man said; “you were sleeping so quiet, and I knew ‘twas no use your getting up early. I shall go out and settle for a room at dinner time. If you will come here at six o’clock we’ll go off together. The mates have all been very kind, and have been making a collection to bury my poor girl and the kids. They’ve found ‘em, and the inquest is tomorrow, so I shall be off work. The governor has offered me a week; but there, I’d rather be here where there’s no time for thinking, than hanging about with nothing to do but to drink.”
CHAPTER VI: THE FIRST STEP
All that day Frank tramped the streets. He went into many shops where he saw notices that an errand boy was required, but everywhere without success. He perceived at once that his appearance was against him, and he either received the abrupt answer of, “You’re not the sort of chap for my place,” or an equally decided refusal upon the grounds that he did not know the neighborhood, or that they preferred one who had parents who lived close by and could speak for him.
At six o’clock he rejoined the porter. He brought with him some bread and butter and a piece of bacon. When, on arriving at the lodging of his new friend, a neat room with two small beds in it, he produced and opened his parcel, the porter said angrily, “Don’t you do that again, young fellow, or we shall have words. You’re just coming to stop with me for a bit till you see your way, and I’m not going to have you bring things in here. My money is good for two months, and your living here with me won’t cost three shillings a week. So don’t you hurt my feelings by bringing things home again. There, don’t say no more about it.”
Frank, seeing that his companion was really in earnest, said no more, and was the less reluctant to accept the other’s kindness as he saw that his society was really a great relief to him in his trouble. After the meal they sallied out to a second hand clothes shop. Here Frank disposed of his things, and received in return a good suit of clothes fit for a working lad.
“I don’t know how it is,” the porter said as they sat together afterwards, “but a gentleman looks like a gentleman put him in what clothes you will. I could have sworn to your being that if I’d never seen you before. I can’t make it out, I don’t know what it is, but there’s certainly something in gentle blood, whatever you may say about it. Some of my mates are forever saying that one man’s as good as another. Now I don’t mean to say they ain’t as good; but what I say is, as they ain’t the same. One man ain’t the same as another any more than a race horse is the same as a cart horse. They both sprang from the same stock, at least so they says; but breeding and feeding and care has made one into a slim boned creature as can run like the wind, while the other has got big bones and weight and can drag his two ton after him without turning a hair. Now, I take it, it’s the same thing with gentlefolks and working men. It isn’t that one’s bigger than the other, for I don’t see much difference that way; but a gentleman’s lighter in the bone, and his hands and his feet are smaller, and he carries himself altogether different. His voice gets a different tone. Why, Lord bless you, when I hears two men coming along the platform at night, even when I can’t see ‘em, and can’t hear what they says, only the tone of their voices, I knows just as well whether it’s a first class or a third door as I’ve got to open as if I saw ‘em in the daylight. Rum, ain’t it?”
Frank had never thought the matter out, and could only give his general assent to his companion’s proposition.
“Now,” the porter went on, “if you go into a factory or workshop, I’ll bet a crown to a penny that before you’ve been there a week you’ll get called Gentleman Jack, or some such name. You see if you ain’t.”
“I don’t care what they call me,” Frank laughed, “so that they’ll take me into the factory.”
“All in good time,” the porter said; “don’t you hurry yourself. As long as you can stay here you’ll be heartily welcome. Just look what a comfort it is to have you sitting here sociable and comfortable. You don’t suppose I could have sat here alone in this room if you hadn’t been here? I should have been in a public house making a beast of myself, and spending as much money as would keep the pair of us.”
Day after day Frank went out in search of work. In his tramps he visited scores of workshops and factories, but without success. Either they did not want boys, or they declined altogether to take one who had no experience in work, and had no references in the neighborhood. Frank took his breakfast and tea with the porter, and was glad that the latter had his dinner at the station, as a penny loaf served his purposes. One day in his walks Frank entered Covent Garden and stood looking on at the bustle and flow