By Sheer Pluck
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G. A. Henty >> By Sheer Pluck
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Two days later, when Frank was walking along the strand he noticed
the placards in front of a theater.
"Gallery one shilling!" he said to himself; "I will go. I have
never seen a theater yet."
The play was The Merchant of Venice, and Frank sat in rapt attention
and interest through it. When the performance was over he walked
briskly homewards. When he had proceeded some distance he saw a
glare in the sky ahead, and presently a steam engine dashed past
him at full speed.
"That must be a house on fire," he said. "I have never seen a fire;"
and he broke into a run.
Others were running in the same direction, and as he passed the
"Elephant and Castle" the crowd became thicker, and when within
fifty yards of the house he could no longer advance. He could see
the flames now rising high in the air. A horrible fear seized him.
"It must be," he exclaimed to himself, "either our house or the
one next door."
It was in vain that he pressed forward to see more nearly. A line
of policemen was drawn up across the road to keep a large space
clear for the firemen. Behind the policemen the crowd were thickly
packed. Frank inquired of many who stood near him if they could
tell him the number of the house which was on fire; but none could
inform him.
Presently the flames began to die away, and the crowd to disperse.
At length Frank reached the first line of spectators.
"Can you tell me the number of the houses which are burned?" Frank
said to a policeman.
"There are two of them," the policeman said "a hundred and four
and a hundred and five. A hundred and four caught first, and they
say that a woman and two children have been burned to death."
"That is where I live!" Frank cried. "Oh, please let me pass!"
"I'll pass you in," the policeman said good naturedly, and he led
him forward to the spot where the engines were playing upon the
burning houses. "Is it true, mate," he asked a fireman, "that a
woman and two children have been burned?"
"It's true enough," the fireman said. "The landlady and her
children. Her husband was a porter at the railway station, and had
been detained on overtime. He only came back a quarter of an hour
ago, and he's been going on like a madman;" and he pointed to the
porter, who was sitting down on the doorsteps of a house facing
his own, with his face hidden in his hands.
Frank went and sat down beside him.
"My poor fellow," he said, "I am sorry for you."
Frank had had many chats with his landlord of an evening, and had
become quite friendly with him and his wife.
"I can't believe it," the man said huskily. "Just to think! When I
went out this morning there was Jane and the kids, as well and as
happy as ever, and there, where are they now?"
"Happier still," Frank said gently. "I lost my mother just as
suddenly only five weeks ago. I went out for a walk, leaving her
as well as usual, and when I came back she was dead; so I can feel
for you with all my heart."
"I would have given my life for them," the man said, wiping his
eyes, "willing."
"I'm sure you would," Frank answered.
"There's the home gone," the man said, "with all the things that
it took ten years' savings of Jane and me to buy; not that that
matters one way or the other now. And your traps are gone, too, I
suppose, sir."
"Yes," Frank replied quietly, "I have lost my clothes and twenty-three
pounds in money; every penny I've got in the world except half a
crown in my pocket."
"And you don't say nothing about it!" the man said, roused into
animation. "But, there, perhaps you've friends as will make it up
to you."
"I have no one in the world," Frank answered, "whom I could ask to
give me a helping hand."
"Well, you are a plucky chap," the man said. "That would be a knock
down blow to a man, let alone a boy like you. What are you going
to do now?" he asked, forgetting for the moment his own loss, in
his interest in his companion.
"I don't know," Frank replied. "Perhaps," he added, seeing that the
interest in his condition roused the poor fellow from the thought
of his own deep sorrow, "you might give me some advice. I was thinking
of getting a place in an office, but of course I must give that up
now, and should be thankful to get anything by which I can earn my
bread."
"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 be 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 of
business, for it happened to be market day. He leaned against one
of the columns of the piazza, eating the bread he had just bought.
Presently a sharp faced lad, a year or two younger than himself,
came up to him.
"Give us a hit," he said, "I ain't tasted nothing today."
Frank broke the bread in half and gave a portion to him.
"What a lot there is going on here!" Frank said.
"Law!" the boy answered, "that ain't nothing to what it is of a
morning. That's the time, 'special on the mornings of the flower
market. It's hard lines if a chap can't pick up a tanner or even
a bob then."
"How?" Frank asked eagerly.
"Why, by holding horses, helping to carry out plants, and such like.
You seems a green 'un, you do. Up from the country, eh? Don't seem
like one of our sort."
"Yes," Frank said, "I'm just up from the country. I thought it
would be easy to get a place in London, but I don't find it so."
"A place!" the boy repeated scornfully. "I should like any one
to see me in a place. It's better a hundred times to be your own
master."
"Even if you do want a piece of bread sometimes?" Frank put in.
"Yes," the boy said. "When it ain't market day and ye haven't saved
enough to buy a few papers or boxes of matches it does come hard.
In winter the times is bad, but in summer we gets on fairish, and
there ain't nothing to grumble about. Are you out of work yourself?"
"Yes," Frank answered, "I'm on the lookout for a job."
"You'd have a chance here in the morning," said the boy, looking
at him. "You look decent, and might get a job unloading. They won't
have us at no price, if they can help it."
"I will come and try anyhow," Frank said.
That evening Frank told his friend, the porter, that he thought of
going out early next morning to try and pick up odd jobs at Covent
Garden.
"Don't you think of it," the porter said. "There's nothing worse
for a lad than taking to odd jobs. It gets him into bad ways and
bad company. Don't you hurry. I have spoken to lots of my mates,
and they're all on the lookout for you. We on the platform can't do
much. It ain't in our line, you see; but in the goods department,
where they are constant with vans and wagons and such like, they
are likely enough to hear of something before long."
That night, thinking matters over in bed, Frank determined to go
down to the docks and see if he could get a place as cabin boy.
He had had this idea in his mind ever since he lost his money, and
had only put it aside in order that he might, if possible, get some
berth on shore which might seem likely in the end to afford him a
means of making his way up again. It was not that he was afraid of
the roughness of a cabin boy's life; it was only because he knew
that it would be so very long before, working his way up from boy
to able bodied seaman, he could obtain a mate's certificate, and
so make a first step up the ladder. However, he thought that even
this would be better than going as a wagoner's boy, and he accordingly
crossed London Bridge, turned down Eastcheap, and presently found
himself in Ratcliff Highway. He was amused here at the nautical
character of the shops, and presently found himself staring into
a window full of foreign birds, for the most part alive in cages,
among which, however, were a few cases of stuffed birds.
"How stupid I have been!" he thought to himself. "I wonder I never
thought of it before! I can stuff birds and beasts at any rate a
deal better than those wooden looking things. I might have a chance
of getting work at some naturalist's shop. I will get a directory
and take down all the addresses in London, and then go around."
He now became conscious of a conversation going on between a little
old man with a pair of thick horn rimmed spectacles and a sailor
who had a dead parrot and a cat in his hand.
"I really cannot undertake them," the old man said. "Since the
death of my daughter I have had but little time to attend to that
branch. What with buying and selling, and feeding and attending to
the live ones, I have no time for stuffing. Besides, if the things
were poisoned, they would not be worth stuffing."
"It isn't the question of worth, skipper," the sailor said; "and
I don't say, mind ye, that these here critturs was pisoned, only
if you looks at it that this was the noisiest bird and the worst
tempered thievingest cat in the neighborhood--though, Lord bless
you, my missus wouldn't allow it for worlds--why, you know, when
they were both found stiff and cold this morning people does have
a sort of a suspicion as how they've been pisoned;" and he winked
one eye in a portentous manner, and grinned hugely. "The missus
she's in a nice taking, screeching, and yelling as you might hear
her two cables' length away, and she turns round on me and will have
it as I'd a hand in the matter. Well, just to show my innocence,
I offers to get a glass case for 'em and have 'em stuffed, if it
cost me a couple of pounds. I wouldn't care if they fell all to
pieces a week afterwards, so that it pacified the old woman just
at present. If I can't get 'em done I shall ship at once, for the
place will be too hot to hold me. So you can't do it nohow?"
The old man shook his head, and the sailor was just turning off
when Frank went up to him:
"Will you please wait a moment? Can I speak to you, sir, a minute?"
he asked the old man.
The naturalist went into his shop, and Frank followed him.
"I can stuff birds and animals, sir," he said. "I think I really
stuff them well, for some which I did for amusement were sold at
ten shillings a case, and the man who bought them of me told me
they would be worth four times as much in London. I am out of work,
sir, and very very anxious to get my living. You will find me hard
working and honest. Do give me a chance. Let me stuff that cat and
parrot for the sailor. If you are not satisfied then, I will go
away and charge nothing for it."
The man looked at him keenly.
"I will at any rate give you a trial," he said. Then he went to
the door and called in the sailor. "This lad tells me he can stuff
birds. I know nothing about him, but I believe he is speaking
truthfully. If you like to intrust them to him he will do his best.
If you're not satisfied he will make no charge."
Much pleased at seeing a way out of his dilemma, the sailor placed
the dead animals on the counter.
"Now," the old man said to Frank, "you can take these out into the
back yard and skin them. Then you can go to work in that back room.
You will find arsenical soap, cotton wool, wires, and everything
else you require there. This has been a fine cat," he said, looking
at the animal.
"Yes, it has been a splendid creature," Frank answered. "It is a
magnificent macaw also."
"Ah! you know it is a macaw!" the old man said.
"Of course," Frank said simply; "it has a tail."
The old man then furnished Frank with two or three sharp knives
and scissors. Taking the bird and cat, he went out into the yard
and in the course of an hour had skinned them both. Then he returned
to the shop and set to work in the room behind.
"May I make a group of them?" he asked.
"Do them just as you like," the old man said.
After settling upon his subject, Frank set to work, and, except
that he went out for five minutes to buy and eat a penny loaf,
continued his work till nightfall. The old man came in several
times to look at him, but each time went out again without making
a remark. At six o'clock Frank laid down his tools.
"I will come again tomorrow, sir," he said.
The old man nodded, and Frank went home in high spirits. There was
a prospect at last of getting something to do, and that in a line
most congenial to his own tastes.
The old man looked up when he entered next morning.
"I shall not come in today," he remarked. "I will wait to see them
finished."
Working without interruption till the evening, Frank finished
them to his satisfaction, and enveloped them with many wrappings
of thread to keep them in precisely the attitudes in which he had
placed them.
"They are ready for drying now, sir," he said. "If I might place
them in an oven they would be dried by morning."
The old man led the way to the kitchen, where a small fire was
burning.
"I shall put no more coals on the fire," he said, "and it will be
out in a quarter of an hour. Put them in there and leave the door
open. I will close it in an hour when the oven cools."
The next day Frank was again at work. It took him all day to get
fur and feather to lie exactly as he wished them. In the afternoon
he asked the naturalist for a piece of flat board, three feet long,
and a perch, but said that instead of the piece of board he should
prefer mounting them in a case at once. The old man had not one
in the shop large enough, and therefore Frank arranged his group
temporarily on the table. On the board lay the cat. At first sight
she seemed asleep, but it was clearly only seeming. Her eyes were
half open, the upper lip was curled up, and the sharp teeth showed.
The hind feet were drawn somewhat under her as in readiness for
an instant spring. Her front paws were before her, the talons were
somewhat stretched, and one paw was curved. Her ears lay slightly
back. She was evidently on the point of springing. The macaw perch,
which had been cut down to a height of two feet, stood behind her.
The bird hung by its feet, and, head downwards, stretched with
open beak towards the tip of the cat's tail, which was slightly
uplifted. On a piece of paper Frank wrote, "Dangerous Play."
It was evening before he had finished perfectly to his satisfaction.
Then he called the naturalist in. The old man stopped at the door,
surveying the group. Then he entered and examined it carefully.
"Wonderful!" he said. "Wonderful! I should have thought them alive.
There is not a shop in the West End where it could have been turned
out better, if so well.
"Lad, you are a wonder! Tell me now who and what are you? I saw
when you first addressed me that you were not what you seemed to
be, a working lad."
"I have been well educated," Frank said, "and was taught to preserve
and stuff by my father, who was a great naturalist. My parents
died suddenly, and I was left on my own resources, which," he
said, smiling faintly, "have hitherto proved of very small avail.
I am glad you are pleased. If you will take me into your service I
will work hard and make myself useful in every way. If you require
references I can refer you to the doctor who attended us in the
country; but I have not a single friend in London except a railway
porter, who has most kindly and generously taken me in and sheltered
me for the last two months."
"I need no references," the old man said; "your work speaks for
itself as to your skill, and your face for your character. But I
can offer you nothing fit for you. With such a genius as you have
for setting up animals, you ought to be able to earn a good income.
Not one man in a thousand can make a dead animal look like a live
one. You have the knack or the art."
"I shall be very content with anything you can give me," Frank said;
"for the present I only ask to earn my living. If later on I can,
as you say, do more, all the better."
The old man stood for some time thinking, and presently said, "I
do but little except in live stock. When I had my daughter with me
I did a good deal of stuffing, for there is a considerable trade
hereabout. The sailors bring home skins of foreign birds, and want
them stuffed and put in cases, as presents for their wives and
sweethearts. You work fast as well as skillfully. I have known men
who would take a fortnight to do such a group as that, and then it
would be a failure. It will be quite a new branch for my trade. I
do not know how it will act yet, but to begin with I will give you
twelve shillings a week, and a room upstairs. If it succeeds we
will make other arrangements. I am an old man, and a very lonely
one. I shall be glad to have such a companion."
Frank joyfully embraced the offer, and ran all the way home to tell
his friend, the porter, of the engagement.
"I am very glad," the man said; "heartily glad. I shall miss you
sorely. I do not know what I should have done without you when I
first lost poor Jane and the kids. But now I can go back to my old
ways again."
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