Sturdy and Strong; Or, How George Andrews Made His Way Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  TWO FRIENDS.

  "I did wake before, Bill," George said after he had eaten a fewmouthfuls; "but you were out."

  "Yes, I turned out as soon as the carts began to come in," Bill said,"and a wery good morning I have had. One old chap gave me twopence forlooking arter his hoss and cart while he went into the market with hisflowers. But the best move was just now. A chap as was driving offwith flowers, one of them swell West-end shops, I expect, by the lookof the trap, let his rug fall. He didn't see it till I ran after himwith it, then he gave me a tanner; that was something like. Have yerfinished yer bread and cheese?"

  "Yes," George said, "and I could manage a drink of water if I couldget one."

  "There's a fountain handy," Bill said; "but you come along with me, Iam agoing to stand two cups of coffee if yer aint too proud to takeit;" and he looked doubtfully at his companion.

  "I am not at all too proud," George said, for he saw that theslightest hesitation would hurt his companion's feelings.

  "It aint fust-rate coffee," Bill said, as with a brightened look onhis face he turned and led the way to a little coffee-stall; "but it'shot and sweet, and yer can't expect more nor that for a penny."

  George found the coffee really better than he had expected, and Billwas evidently very much gratified at his expression of approval.

  "Now," he said, when they had both finished, "for a draw of 'baccy,"and he produced a short clay pipe. "Don't yer smoke?"

  "No, I haven't begun yet."

  "Ah! ye don't know what a comfort a pipe is," Bill said. "Why, whenyer are cold and hungry and down on your luck a pipe is a wonderfulthing, and so cheap; why, a ounce of 'baccy will fill yer thirty pipesif yer don't squeeze it in too hard. Well, an ounce of 'baccy coststhreepence halfpenny, so, as I makes out, yer gets eight pipes for apenny; and now," he went on when he had filled and lit his pipe,"let's know what's yer game."

  "You mean what am I going to do?" George asked.

  Bill nodded.

  "I want to get employment in some sort of works. I have been anerrand-boy in a grocer's for more than a year, and I have got awritten character from my master in my pocket; but I don't like thesort of thing; I would rather work with my own hands. There are plentyof works where they employ boys, and you know one might get on as onegets older. The first thing is to find out whereabouts works of thatsort are."

  "There are lots of works at the East End, I have heard tell," Billsaid; "and then there's Clerkenwell and King's Cross, they aint so faroff, and there are works there, all sorts of works, I should say; butI don't know nuffin' about that sort of work. The only work as I havedone is holding hosses and carrying plants into the market, andsometimes when I have done pretty well I goes down and lays out what Igot in _Echoes_, or _Globes_, or _Evening Standards_; that pays yer,that does, for if yer can sell them all yer will get a bob for eightpenn'orth of papers, that gives yer fourpence for an hour's work, andI calls that blooming good, and can't yer get a tuck-out for a bob!Oh, no, I should think not! Well, what shall it be? I knows the wayout to Whitechapel and to Clerkenwell, so whichever yer likes I canshow yer."

  "If Clerkenwell's the nearest we may as well try that first," Georgesaid, "and I shall be much obliged to you for showing the way."

  The two boys spent the whole day in going from workshop to workshopfor employment; but the answers to his application were unvarying:either he was too young or there was no place vacant. George took thedisappointment quietly, for he had made up his mind that he would havedifficulty in getting a place; but Bill became quite angry on behalfof his companion.

  "This is worse nor the market," he said. "A chap can pick up a fewcoppers there, and here we have been a-tramping about all day and aintdone nothing."

  Day after day George set out on his quest, but all was withoutsuccess. He and Bill still slept in the loft, and after the first dayhe took to getting up at the same time as his companion, and going outwith him to try and pick up a few pence from the men with themarket-carts. Every other morning they were able to lie later, asthere were only regular marketdays three mornings a week.

  On market mornings he found that he earned more than Bill, his betterclothes giving him an advantage, as the men were more willing to trusttheir carts and rugs to the care of a quiet, respectable-looking boythan to that of the arabs who frequented the Garden. But all that wasearned was laid out in common between the two boys, and George foundhimself seldom obliged to draw above a few pence on his private stock.He had by this time told the Shadow exactly how much money he had, andthe boy, seeing the difficulty that George found in getting work, wasmost averse to the store being trenched upon, and always gave his voteagainst the smallest addition to their ordinary fare of bread andcheese being purchased, except from their earnings of the day. ThisGeorge felt was the more creditable on Bill's part, inasmuch as thelatter had, in deference to his prejudices, abstained from the pettythefts of fruit with which before he had seasoned his dry crusts.

  George had learned now what Bill knew of his history, which was littleenough. He supposed he had had a father, but he knew nothing of him;whether he had died, or whether he had cut away and left mother, Billhad no idea. His mother he remembered well, though she had died whenhe was, as he said, a little chap. He spoke of her always in a hushedvoice, and in a tone of reverence, as a superior being.

  "We was poor, you know," he said to George, "and I know mother wasoften short of grub, but she was just kind. I don't never remember herwhacking me; always spoke soft and low like; she was good, she was.She used to pray, you know, and what I remember most is as the nightafore she was took away to a hospital she says, 'Try and live honest,Bill; it will be hard, but try, my boy. Don't you take to stealing,however poor you may be;' and I aint," Bill said earnestly over andover again. "When I has seed any chap going along with a ticker handy,which I could have boned and got away among the carts as safe asninepence, or when I has seed a woman with her purse a-sticking out ofthem outside pockets, and I aint had a penny to bless myself with, andperhaps nothing to eat all day, I have felt it hard not to make agrab; but I just thought of what she said, and I aint done it. As Itold yer, I have often nabbed things off the stalls or out of thebaskets or carts. It didn't seem to me as that was stealing, but asyou says it is, I aint going to do so no more. Now look yer here,George; they tells me as the parsons says as when people die and theyare good they goes up there, yer know."

  George nodded, for there was a question in his companion's tone.

  "Then, of course," Bill went on, "she is up there. Now it aint likelyas ever I should see her again, 'cause, you know, there aint nothinggood about me; but if she was to come my way, wherever I might be, andwas to say to me, 'Bill, have you been a-stealing?' do yer think shewould feel very bad about them 'ere apples and things?"

  "No, Bill, I am sure she would not. You see you didn't quite know thatwas stealing, and you kept from stealing the things that you thoughtshe spoke of, and now that you see it is wrong taking even littlethings you are not going to take them any more."

  "That I won't, so help me bob!" the boy said; "not if I never getsanother apple between my teeth."

  "That's right, Bill. You see you ought to do it, not only to pleaseyour mother, but to please God. That's what my mother has told me overand over again."

  "Has she now?" Bill said with great interest, "and did you use to prigapples and sichlike sometimes?"

  "No," George said, "not that sort of thing; but she was talking ofthings in general. Of doing things that were wrong, such as tellinglies and deceiving, and that sort of thing."

  "And your mother thinks as God knows all about it?"

  George nodded.

  "And that he don't like it, eh, when things is done bad?"

  George nodded again.

  "Lor', what a time he must have of it!" Bill said in solemn wonder."Why, I heard a woman say last week as six children was enough toworrit anyone into the grave; and just to think of all of us!" andBill waved his arm
in a comprehensive way and repeated, "What a timehe must have of it!"

  For a time the boys sat silent in their loft, Bill wondering over theproblem that had presented itself to him, and George trying to findsome appropriate explanation in reply to the difficulty Bill hadstarted. At last he said:

  "I am afraid, Bill, that I can't explain all this to you, for I am notaccustomed to talk about such things. My mother talks to me sometimes,and of course I went to church regularly; but that's different from mytalking about it; but you know what we have got to do is to try andplease God, and love him because he loves us."

  "That's whear it is," Bill said; "that's what I've heard fellows saybeats 'em. If he loves a chap like me how is it he don't do somethingfor him? why don't he get you a place, for instance? You aint beena-prigging apples or a-putting him out. That's what I wants to know."

  "Yes, Bill, but as I have heard my mother say, it would be very hardto understand if this world were the only one; but you see we are onlyhere a little time, and after that there's on and on and on, right upwithout any end, and what does it matter if we are poor or unhappy inthis little time if we are going to be ever so happy afterwards? Thisis only a sort of little trial to see how we behave, as it were, andif we do the best we can, even though that best is very little, thenyou see we get a tremendous reward. For instance, you would not thinka man was unkind who kept you five minutes holding his horse on a coldday, if he were going to give you enough to get you clothes and goodlodging for the rest of your life."

  "No, I should think not," Bill said fervently; "so it's like that, isit?"

  George nodded. "Like that, only more."

  "My eye!" Bill murmured to himself, lost in astonishment at this newview of things.

  After that there were few evenings when, before they nestledthemselves down in the hay, the boys did not talk on this subject. Atfirst George felt awkward and nervous in speaking of it, for like thegenerality of English boys, however earnest their convictions may be,he was shy of speaking what he felt; but his companion's eagerness toknow more of this, to him, new story encouraged him to speak, andhaving in his bundle a small Bible which his mother had given him, hetook to reading to Bill a chapter or two in the mornings when they hadnot to go out to the early market.

  It is true that Bill's questions frequently puzzled him. The boy sawthings in a light so wholly different from that in which he himselfhad been accustomed to regard them that he found a great difficulty inreplying to them.

  George wrote a letter to his mother, telling her exactly what he wasdoing, for he knew that if he only said that he had not yet succeededin getting work she would be very anxious about him, and although hehad nothing satisfactory to tell her, at least he could tell her thathe had sufficient to eat and as much comfort as he cared for. Twice hereceived replies from her, directed to him at a little coffee-house,which, when they had had luck, the boys occasionally patronized. Astime went on without his succeeding in obtaining employment George'shopes fell, and at last he said to his mate; "I will try for anotherfortnight, Bill, and if at the end of that time I don't get anythingto do I shall go back to Croydon again."

  "But yer can earn yer living here!" Bill remonstrated.

  "I can earn enough to prevent me from starving, but that is all,Bill. I came up to London in hopes of getting something to do by whichI might some day make my way up; if I were to stop here like this Ishould be going down, and a nice sight I should be to mother if, whenshe gets well enough to come out of the infirmary, I were to go backall in rags."

  "What sort of a place is Croydon?" Bill asked. "Is there any chance ofpicking up a living there? 'cause I tells yer fair, if yer goes off Igoes with yer. I aint a-thinking of living with yer, George; but wemight see each other sometime, mightn't we? Yer wouldn't mind that?"

  "Mind it! certainly not, Bill! You have been a good friend to me, andI should be sorry to think of you all alone here."

  "Oh, blow being a good friend to yer!" Bill replied. "I aint donenothing except put yer in the way of getting a sleeping-place, and asit's given me one too I have had the best of that job. It's been goodof yer to take up with a chap like me as don't know how to read orwrite or nothing, and as aint no good anyway. But you will let me gowith yer to Croydon, won't yer?"

  "Certainly I will, Bill; but you won't be able to see much of me. Ishall have to get a place like the last. The man I was with said hewould take me back again if I wanted to come, and you know I am allday in the shop or going out with parcels, and of course you wouldhave to be busy too at something."

  "What sort of thing do yer think, George? I can hold a hoss, but thataint much for a living. One may go for days without getting a chance."

  "I should say, Bill, that your best chance would be to try and getwork either in a brickfield or with a market-gardener. At any rate weshould be able to get a talk for half an hour in the evening. I wasalways done at nine o'clock, and if we were both in work we could takea room together."

  Bill shook his head.

  "That would be wery nice, but I couldn't have it, George. I knows as Iaint fit company for yer, and if yer was with a shop-keeping bloke hewould think yer was going to run off with the money if he knew yerkept company with a chap like me. No, the 'greement must be as yergoes yer ways and I goes mine; but I hopes as yer will find suffin todo up here, not 'cause as I wouldn't like to go down to this place ofyourn, but because yer have set yer heart on getting work here."

  A week later the two boys were out late in Covent Garden trying toearn a few pence by fetching up cabs and carriages for people comingout from a concert in the floral hall. George had just succeeded inearning threepence, and had returned to the entrance to the hall, andwas watching the people come out, and trying to get another job.Presently a gentleman, with a girl of some nine or ten years old, cameout and took their place on the footpath.

  "Can I call you a carriage, sir?" George asked.

  "No, thank you, lad, a man has gone for it."

  George fell back and stood watching the girl, who was in a whitedress, with a little hood trimmed with swansdown over her head.

  Presently his eye fell on something on which the light glittered as ithung from her neck. Just as he was looking a hand reached over hershoulder, there was a jerk, and a sudden cry from the child, then aboy dived into the crowd, and at the same moment George dashed afterhim. There was a cry of "Stop, thief!" and several hands made a grabat George as he dived through the crowd; but he slipped through themand was soon in the roadway.

  Some twenty yards ahead of him he saw the boy running. He turned upBow Street and then dashed down an alley. He did not know that he wasfollowed until suddenly George sprang upon his back, and the two fellwith a crash, the young thief undermost. George seized his right hand,and kneeling upon him, twisted it behind his back and forced him toopen his fingers, the boy, taken by surprise, and not knowing who washis assailant, making but slight resistance.

  George seized the gold locket and dashed back at full speed into themarket, and was soon in the thick of the crowd round the entrance. Thegentleman was standing talking to a policeman, who was taking a noteof the description of the lost trinket. The girl was standing bycrying.

  "Here is your locket," George said, putting it into her hand. "I sawthe boy take it, and have got it from him."

  "Oh, papa! papa!" the girl cried. "Here is my locket again."

  "Why, where did you get it from?" her father asked in astonishment.

  "This boy has just given it to me," she replied. "He says he took itfrom the boy who stole it."

  "Which boy, Nellie? Which is the boy who brought it back?"

  The girl looked round, but George was gone.

  "Why didn't you stop him, my dear?" her father said. "Of course Ishould wish to thank and reward him, for the locket was a veryvaluable one, and the more so to us from its having belonged to yourmother. Did you notice the boy, policeman?"

  "No, sir, I did not see him at all."

  "Was he a poor boy, Nellie?
"

  "Not a very, very poor boy, father," the girl replied. "At least Idon't think so; but I only looked at his face. He didn't speak like apoor boy at all."

  "Would you know him again?"

  "Oh, yes, I am sure I should. He was a good-looking boy with a niceface."

  "Well, I am very sorry he has gone away, my dear. Evidently he doesnot want a reward, but at any rate I should have liked to thank him.Are you always on this beat, policeman?"

  "I am on night duty, sir, while the concerts are on."

  "At any rate, I dare say you know the constables who are about here inthe daytime. I wish you would mention the fact to them, and ask themif they get any clew to the boy who has rendered me this service, tolet me know. Here is a card with my name and address."

  After restoring the locket George made his way to the entrance to thestables, where he generally met Bill after the theater had closed andthere was no farther chance of earning money. It was not till half anhour later that the boy came running up.

  "I have got eightpence," he said. "That is something like luck. I gotthree jobs. One stood me fourpence, the other two gave me tuppenceeach. What do yer say? Shall we have a cup of coffee afore we turnsin?"

  "I think we had better not, Bill. I have got sixpence. We will putthat by, with the sixpence we saved the other day, for the hostler. Wehaven't given him anything for some time. Your eightpence will get usa good breakfast in the morning."

  When they had comfortably nestled themselves in the hay George toldhis companion how he had rescued and restored the locket.

  "And he didn't give yer nuffin! I never heerd tell of such a scalytrick as that. I should ha' said it ought to have been good for a bobanyway."

  "I did not wait to see, Bill. Directly I had given the little girl herlocket I bolted."

  "Well, that were soft. Why couldn't yer have waited to have seen whatthe bloke meant to give yer?"

  "I did not want to be paid for such a thing as that," George replied."I don't mind being paid when I have done a job for anyone; but thiswas different altogether."

  Bill meditated for a minute or two.

  "I can't see no difference, nohow," he said at last. "Yer did him agood turn, and got the thing back. I dare say it were worth five bob."

  "A good deal more than that, Bill."

  "More nor that! Well, then, he ought to have come down handsome.Didn't yer run like winking, and didn't yer jump on the chap's backand knock him down, and didn't yer run back again? And warn't there achance, ef one of the bobbies had got hold of yer collar and found itin yer hand, of yer being had up for stealing it? And then yer walksoff and don't give him a chance of giving yer nuffin. My eye, but yerare a flat!"

  "I don't suppose you will quite understand, Bill. But when people do athing to oblige somebody, and not as a piece of regular work, theydon't expect to be paid. I shouldn't have liked it if they had offeredme money for such a thing."

  "Well, ef yer says so, no doubt it's right," Bill rejoined; "but itseems a rum sort of notion to me. When people loses things theyexpects to pay to get 'em back. Why, don't yer see outside the p'licestation, and in the shop winders, papers offering so much for givingback things as is lost. I can't read 'em myself, yer know; but chapshave read 'em to me. Why, I've heerd of as much as five quid beingoffered for watches and sichlike as was lost by ladies coming out oftheayters, and I have often thought what a turn of luck it would be tolight on one of 'em. And now yer says as I oughtn't to take the moneyef I found it."

  "No, I don't say that, Bill. If you found a thing and saw a rewardoffered, and you wanted the money, you would have good right to takeit. But, you see, in this case I saw how sorry the girl was at losingher locket, and I went after it to please her, and I was quite contentthat I got it back for her."

  Bill tried again to think the matter over in his mind, but he wasgetting warm and sleepy, and in a few minutes was sound off.

  Two or three days later the lads had, to their great satisfaction,obtained a job. Walnuts were just coming in, and the boys were engagedto take off the green shucks. Bill was particularly pleased, for hehad never before been taken on for such a job, and he considered it asort of promotion. Five or six women were also employed, and as thegroup were standing round some great baskets Bill suddenly nudged hisfriend:

  "I say, my eye, aint that little gal pretty?"

  George looked up from his work and at once recognized the girl to whomhe had restored the locket. Her eye fell on him at the same moment.

  "There, papa!" she exclaimed. "I told you if you brought me down tothe market I felt sure I should know the boy again if I saw him.That's him, the one looking down into the basket. But he knew meagain, for I saw him look surprised when he noticed me."

  The gentleman made his way through the women to George.

  "My lad, are you the boy who restored the locket to my daughter threeevenings ago?"

  "Yes, sir," George said, coloring as he looked up. "I was standingclose by when the boy took it, so I gave chase and brought it back,and that's all."

  "You were off again in such a hurry that we hadn't time to thank you.Just come across to my daughter. I suppose you can leave your work fora minute?"

  "Yes, sir. We are working by the job," George said, and looking rathershamefaced he followed the gentleman to the sidewalk.

  "This is your boy, as you call him, Nellie."

  "I was sure I should know him again," the child said, "though I onlysaw him for a moment. We are very much obliged to you, boy, papa andme, because it had been mamma's locket, and we should have been verysorry to have lost it."

  "I am glad I was able to get it back for you," George said; "but Idon't want to be thanked for doing it; and I don't want to be paideither, thank you, sir," he said, flushing as the gentleman put hishand into his pocket.

  "No! and why not?" the gentleman said in surprise. "You have done me agreat service, and there is no reason why I should not pay you for it.If I had lost it I would gladly have paid a reward to get it back."

  "Thank you, sir," George said quietly; "but all the same I wouldrather not be paid for a little thing like that."

  "You are a strange fellow," the gentleman said again. "One does notexpect to find a boy in the market here refusing money when he hasearned it."

  "I should not refuse it if I had earned it," George said; "but I don'tcall getting back a locket for a young lady who has lost it earningmoney."

  "How do you live, lad? You don't speak like a boy who has been broughtup in the market here."

  "I have only been here three months," George said. "I came up toLondon to look for work, but could not get any. Most days I go aboutlooking for it, and do what odd jobs I can get when there's a chance."

  "What sort of work do you want? Have you been accustomed to any work?Perhaps I could help you."

  "I have been a year as an errand-boy," George answered; "but I didn'tlike it, and I thought I would rather get some sort of work that Icould work at when I got to be a man instead of sticking in a shop."

  "Did you run away from home, then?" the gentleman asked.

  "No, sir. My mother was ill and went into an infirmary, and so as Iwas alone I thought I would come to London and try to get the sort ofwork I liked; but I have tried almost all over London."

  "And are you all alone here?"

  "No, sir, not quite alone. I found a friend in that boy there, and wehave worked together since I came up."

  "Well, lad, if you really want work I can give it you."

  "Oh, thank you, sir!" George exclaimed fervently.

  "And your friend too, if he likes. I have some works down at Limehouseand employ a good many boys. Here is the address;" and he took a cardfrom his pocket, wrote a few words on the back of it, and handed it toGeorge.

  "Ask for the foreman, and give him that, and he will arrange for youto begin work on Monday. Come along, Nellie; we have got to buy thefruit for to-morrow, you know."

  So saying he took his daughter's hand, and George, wild wi
th delight,ran off to tell Bill that he had obtained work for them both.

  "Well, Nellie, are you satisfied?"

  "Yes, I am glad you could give him work, papa; didn't he look pleased?Wasn't it funny his saying he wouldn't have any money?"

  "Yes; I hardly expected to have met with a refusal in Covent Garden;but you were right, child, and you are a better judge of characterthan I gave you credit for. You said he was a nice-looking lad, andspoke like a gentleman, and he does. He is really a very good style ofboy. Of course he is shabby and dirty now, and you see he has been anerrand-boy at a grocer's; but he must have been better brought up thanthe generality of such lads. The one he called his friend looked awild sort of specimen, altogether a different sort of boy. I shouldsay he was one of the regular arabs hanging about this place. If so, Iexpect a very few days' work will sicken him; but I shouldn't besurprised if your boy, as you call him, sticks to it."

  The next morning the two boys presented themselves at Mr. Penrose'sworks at Limehouse. These were sawing and planing works, and the soundof many wheels, and the hoarse rasping sound of saws innumerable, cameout through the open windows of the building as they entered the yard.

  "Now what do you boys want?" a workman said as he appeared at one ofthe doors.

  "We want to see the foreman," George said. "I have a card for him fromMr. Penrose."

  "I will let him know," the man replied.

  Two minutes later the foreman came out, and George handed him thecard. He read what Mr. Penrose had written upon it and said:

  "Very well, you can come in on Monday; pay, eight shillings a week;seven o'clock; there, that will do. Oh, what are your names?" takingout a pocket-book. "George Andrews and William Smith;" and then, witha nod, he went back into his room, while the boys, almost bewilderedat the rapidity with which the business had been arranged, went outinto the street again.

  "There we are, Bill, employed," George said in delight.

  "Yes, there we is," Bill agreed, but in a more doubtful tone; "it's arum start, aint it? I don't expect I shall make much hand of it, but Iam wery glad for you, George."

  "Why shouldn't you make much hand of it? You are as strong as I am."

  "Yes; but then, you see, I aint been accustomed to work regular, and Iexpect I shan't like it--not at first; but I am going to try. George,don't yer think as I aint agoing to try. I aint that sort; still Iexpects I shall get the sack afore long."

  "Nonsense, Bill! you will like it when you once get accustomed to it,and it's a thousand times better having to draw your pay regularly atthe end of the week than to get up in the morning not knowing whetheryou are going to have breakfast or not. Won't mother be pleased when Iwrite and tell her I have got a place! Last time she wrote she saidthat she was a great deal better, and the doctor thought she would beout in the spring, and then I hope she will be coming up here, andthat will be jolly."

  "Yes, that's just it," Bill said; "that's whear it is; you and I willget on fust-rate, but it aint likely as your mother would put up witha chap like me."

  "My mother knows that you have been a good friend to me, Bill, andthat will be quite enough for her. You wait till you see her."

  "My eye, what a lot of little houses there is about here!" Bill said,"just all the same pattern; and how wide the streets is to what theyis up Drury Lane!"

  "Yes, we ought to have no difficulty in getting a room here, Bill, nowthat we shall have money to pay for it; only think, we shall havesixteen shillings a week between us!"

  "It's a lot of money," Bill said vaguely. "Sixteen bob! My eye, thereaint no saying what it will buy! I wish I looked a little bit morerespectable," he said, with a new feeling as to the deficiencies ofhis attire. "It didn't matter in the Garden; but to go to work with alot of other chaps, these togs aint what you may call spicy."

  "They certainly are not, Bill," George said with a laugh. "We must seewhat we can manage."

  George's own clothes were worn and old, but they looked respectableindeed by the side of those of his companion. Bill's elbows were bothout, the jacket was torn and ragged, he had no waistcoat, and histrousers were far too large for him, and were kept up by a singlebrace, and were patched in a dozen places.

  When George first met him he was shoeless, but soon after they had setup housekeeping together George had bought from a cobbler's stall apair of boots for two shillings, and these, although now almostfalling to pieces, were still the best part of Bill's outfit.