Held Fast For England: A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar (1779-83). G. A. Henty
a man of six or seven and thirty; with a long face, smooth shaven. He always seemed absorbed in his work and, when spoken to by Mr. Bale, answered in the fewest possible words, in an even, mechanical voice. It had seemed to Bob that he had been entirely oblivious to his presence; and it did not appear to him now, as he sat with a book before him, waiting for the clock on the mantel to strike five, that existence at Mr. Medlin's promised to be a lively one. Still, as there were boys and girls, it must be more amusing than it would be at his uncle's and, at any rate, the clerk would not be so formidable a personage to deal with as Mr. Bale.
At one minute to five he went down, so as to open the counting house door as the clock struck. As he went in through the outer door, his uncle came out from the inner office.
"Ah! There you are, Robert.
"Mr. Medlin, this is my nephew who, as we have arranged, will take up his residence with you. I am afraid you will find him somewhat headstrong and troublesome. I have already informed you why it has been necessary to remove him from school. However, I trust that there will be no repetition of such follies; and that he will see the necessity of abandoning schoolboy pranks, and settling down to business."
"Yes, sir," Mr. Medlin replied, seeing that his employer expected an answer.
Bob had noticed that, although the clerk's eyes were directed upon him, there appeared to be no expression of interest or curiosity in them; but that they might as well have been fixed upon a blank wall.
"Your boxes have already been sent round in the cart to Mr. Medlin's, Robert. I don't know that there is anything else to say. Mr. Medlin will, of course, put you in the way of your duties here; but if you have anything to say to me--any questions to ask, or any remarks, connected with the business, or otherwise, you wish to make--I shall always be ready to listen to you, if you will come into the counting house at half past four."
So saying, Mr. Bale retired into his private room again. Mr. Medlin placed his papers inside his desk, locked it, took off his coat and hung it on a peg, put on another coat and his hat, and then turned to Bob.
"Ready?"
"Quite ready."
Mr. Medlin led the way out of the counting house, and Bob followed. Mr. Medlin walked fast, and Bob had to step out to keep up with him. The clerk appeared scarcely conscious of his presence, until they were beyond the more crowded thoroughfare, then he said:
"Two miles, out Hackney way. Not too far!"
"Not at all," Bob replied. "The farther the better."
"No burglars there. Wouldn't pay."
And Bob thought that the shadow of a smile passed across his face.
"We can do without them," Bob said.
"Hate coming here, I suppose?"
"That I do," Bob said, cordially.
Mr. Medlin nodded.
"Not so bad as it looks," he said, and then walked on again, in silence.
Presently there was a break in the houses. They were getting beyond the confines of business London.
"Do you see this little garden?" Mr. Medlin asked, suddenly, in a tone so unlike that in which he had before spoken that Bob quite started.
The lad looked at the little patch of ground, with some stunted shrubs, but could see nothing remarkable in it.
"Yes, I see it, sir," he said.
"That, Bob," Mr. Medlin went on, "--for I suppose you are called Bob--marks the end of all things."
Bob opened his eyes in astonishment, and again examined the little garden.
"It marks, Bob, the delimitation between London and country, between slavery and freedom. Here, every morning, I leave myself behind; here, every evening, I recover myself--or, at least, a considerable portion of myself--at a further mark, half a mile on, I am completely restored.
"I suppose you used to find just the same thing, at the door of the schoolroom?"
"A good deal, sir," Bob said, in a much brighter tone than he had used, since he said goodbye to the fellows at Tulloch's.
"I am glad you feel like that. I expect you will get like that, as to the city, in time; but mind, lad, you must always find yourself again. You stick to that. You make a mark somewhere, leave yourself behind in the morning, and pick yourself up again when you come back. It is a bad thing for those who forget to do that. They might as well hang themselves--better.
"In there," and he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, "we are all machines, you know. It isn't us, not a bit of it. There is just the flesh, the muscle, the bones, and a frozen bit of our brains. The rest of us is left behind. If, as we come out, we forget to pick it up, we lose ourselves altogether, before long; and then there we are, machines to the end of our lives. You remember that, Bob. Keep it always in mind."
"It is a pity that my uncle didn't get the same advice, forty years ago, Mr. Medlin."
"It is a pity my employer did not marry. It is a pity my employer lives in that dull house, in that dull lane, all by himself," Mr. Medlin said, angrily.
"But he has not got rid of himself, altogether. He is a good deal frozen up; but he thaws out, sometimes. What a man he would be, if he would but live out somewhere, and pick himself up regularly, as I do, every day!
"This is my second mark, Bob, this tree growing out in the road. Now, you see, we are pretty well in the country.
"Can you run?"
"Yes, I can run pretty well, Mr. Medlin."
"Very well, Bob. You see that tree growing out beyond that garden wall, about four hundred yards on. It is four hundred and twenty, for I have measured it. Now then, you walk on fifty yards, and then run for your life. See if I don't catch you, before you are there."
Bob, wondering as he went along at the astounding change that had come over his companion, took fifty long steps; then he heard a shout of "Now!" and went off at the top of his speed. He was still a hundred yards from the mark, when he heard steps coming rapidly up behind him; and then the clerk dashed past him, and came in fully twenty yards ahead.
"You don't run badly," he said, as Bob stopped, panting. "My Jack generally comes to meet me, and I always give him seventy yards, and only beat him by about as much as I do you. He couldn't come, this afternoon. He is busy helping his mother to get things straight. I expect we shall meet him, presently.
"Well, what are you laughing at?"
"I was just thinking how astonished my uncle would be, if he were to see us."
Mr. Medlin gave a hearty laugh.
"Not so much as you would think, Bob. Five years ago, my employer suddenly asked me, just as we were shutting up one afternoon, if I was fond of fishing. I said that I used to be.
"He said, 'I am going down, for a fortnight, into Hampshire. I have no one to go with--suppose you come with me.'
"I said, 'I will.'
"He said, 'Coach tomorrow morning, eight o'clock, Black Horse Yard.'
"I was there. As we went over London Bridge I found myself, as usual; and he found himself. I explained to him that I could not help it. He said he didn't want me to help it. We had a glorious fortnight together, and we have been out every year, since. He never alludes to it, between times. No more do I. He is stiffer than usual for a bit. So am I. But we both know each other.
"You do not suppose that he would have sent you to me, if he hadn't known that I have got another side to me?"
"Well, I should not have thought," Bob said, "from the way he talked, when he introduced me to you, that he ever had such an idea in his mind."
"He was obliged to talk so," Mr. Medlin said, laughing. "We were just machines at the time, both of us. But he talked in quite a different