Sketches by Seymour Part 31

He stood just within the threshold of the door, holding his napless hat in his hand.

"Well, Wally, my buck," cried my master, extending his hand.

Mr. Wallis advanced close to his elbow, and spoke in a whisper; but I observed, by the direction of his eyes, that the subject of his communication was the stranger.

"Ha!" said Mr. Timmis, "it's all very well, Walley--but I hate all forriners;--why don't he go back to Frogland, and not come here, palming himself upon us. It's no go--not a scudd.i.c.k. They're all a parcel o'

humbugs--and no mistake!"

As he uttered this gracious opinion sufficiently loud to strike upon the tympanum of the poor fellow at the door, I could perceive his dark eyes glisten, and the blood tinge his woe-begone cheeks; his lips trembled with emotion: there was an evident struggle between offended gentility, and urgent necessity.

Pride, however, gained the mastery; and advancing the right foot, he raised his hat, and with peculiar grace bowing to the two friends--"Pardon, Monsieur Vallis," said he, in tremulous accents, "I am 'de trop;' permit, me to visdraw"--and instantly left the office.

Mr. Timmis, startled by his sudden exit, looked at Mr. Wallis for an explanation.

"By ___!" exclaimed Mr. Wallis seriously--"you've hurt that poor fellow's feelings. I would sooner have given a guinea than he should have heard you. Dubois is a gentleman; and altho' he's completely 'stumped,' and has'nt a place to put his head in, he's tenacious of that respect which is due to every man, whether he happens to be at a premium, or a discount."

"Go it!" cried Mr. Timmis, colouring deeply at this merited reproof--"If this ain't a reg'lar sermon! I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, d___ me; I'm a reg'lar John Bull, and he should know better than to be popped at my bluntness. D___ me, I wouldn't hurt a worm--you know I wouldn't, Wallis."

There was a tone of contrition in this rambling apology that satisfied Mr. Wallis of its truth; and he immediately entered into an explanation on the Frenchman's situation. He had known him, he said, for several years as a tutor in the family of one of his clients, by whom he was much respected: a heavy loss had compelled them suddenly to reduce their establishment; Dubois had entreated to remain with his pupil--refused to receive any salary--and had even served his old patron in the capacity of a menial, adhering to him in all his misfortunes, and only parted with him, reluctantly, at the door of the debtor's prison!

"Did he do that?" said my master; and I saw his eyes moisten at the relation. "A French mounseer do that! Game--d___ me!"--and lifting the lid of his desk, he drew out a five pound note! "Here, Wallis, tip him this flimsey! Tell him--you know what to say--I'm no speechifier--but you know what I mean." I almost jumped up and hugged my master, I was so excited.

The next day Monsieur Dubois again made his appearance; and Mr. Wallis had the pleasure of beholding Mr. Timmis and his gallic friend on the best terms imaginable.

As for me, I had good cause to rejoice; for it was agreed that I should take lessons in the "foreign lingo," by way of giving him "a lift," as Mr. Timmis expressed it. I remember him with feelings of grat.i.tude; for I owe much more than the knowledge of the language to his kindness and instruction.

As for Mr. Timmis, he could never sufficiently appreciate his worth, although he uniformly treated him with kindness.

"Talk of refinement," said he, one day, when discussing Dubois' merits with Mr. Wallis; "I saw a bit to-day as bangs everything. A cadger sweeping a crossing fell out with a dustman. Wasn't there some spicy jaw betwixt 'em. Well, nothing would suit, but the dustman must have a go, and pitch into the cadger.

"D___ me, what does the cove do, but he outs with a bit of dirty pasteboard, and he says, says he, 'I sha'nt fight with fistesses, it's wulgar!--but if he's a mind to anything like a gemman, here's my card!'

Wasn't there a roar! I lugg'd out a bob, and flung it at the vagabond for his wit."

CHAPTER XIII.--My Talent Called into Active Service.

"Ar'n't you glad you ain't a black-a-moor?"

"I should think so," replied his sooty brother, "they're sich ugly warmints."

Having to deliver a letter, containing an account and a stock receipt, to one of Mr. Timmis's clients, residing at the west end of the town; in crossing through one of the fashionable squares, I observed a flat-faced negro servant in livery, standing at the door of one of the houses.

Two chimney sweepers who happened to be pa.s.sing, showed their white teeth in a contemptuous grin at the African.

"Bob," I overheard one remark, "ar'n't you glad you ain't a black-a-moor?"

"I should think so," replied his sooty brother, "they're sich ugly warmints. Master's daughter, wots come from boarding school! says the sight of 'ems' enough to frighten one into conwulsions!"

Alas! for the prejudice of the world! How much this ignorant remark reminded me of my patron's unfounded hatred of all "forriners." It was precisely the same sentiment, differently expressed, that actuated the thoughts and opinions of both.

I must, however, do Mr. Timmis the justice to say, that he made ample amends to Monsieur Dubois for the affront he had so thoughtlessly put upon the worthy Frenchman; and did all in his power to obtain him pupils.

The consequent change in his dress and manner, his amiable conduct, and gentlemanly deportment, at last completely won upon the esteem of the boisterous broker, who swore, (for that was generally his elegant manner of expressing his sincerity) that Dubois was a 'downright good'un;' and were it not for his foreign accent, he should have taken him for an Englishman born--really believing, that there was no virtue in the world but of English growth.

I had now been above twelve-months in his office, and although I had received but a moderate compensation for my services, yet the vast improvement I had made (thanks to the instruction of Monsieur Dubois,) was more valuable than gold. My father also, though but scantily furnished with book-knowledge, had, nevertheless, the good sense to appreciate and encourage my progress; he was well aware, from observation, that 'knowledge is power,' and would frequently quote the old saw,

"When house, and land, and money's spent; Then larning is most excellent"--

and spared all the money he could sc.r.a.pe together to purchase books for me.

One day Mr. Crobble came into the office with an open letter in his hand.

"Here,"--cried he, "I've received a remittance at last from that, German fellow--two good bills on the first house in the city--but I can't make top nor tail of his rigmarole. Do you know any chap among your acquaintance who can read German?"

"Not I," replied Mr. Timmis.

"Will you allow me, Mr. Crobble?" said I, stepping forward. "This letter is written in French, not German, Sir," I observed.

"What's the difference to me, Master Andrew; it might as well be in wild Irish, for the matter o' that."

"Andrew can read the lingo," said my master.

"The devil he can!" exclaimed Mr. Crobble; "I dare say I shall be able to make it out," said I; "and if not, Monsieur Dubois will be here; to-morrow morning, and you can have it by twelve o'clock, sir."

"Ain't that the ticket?" exclaimed Mr. Timmis, delighted at the surprise of his friend; "you don't know how vastly clever we are, old fellow."

Mr. Crobble, much gratified at this information, placed the letter in my hands; and, leaving me to take a lunch at Garraway's with Mr. Timmis, I eagerly sat about my task--and luckily it was not only plainly written, but the subject-matter by no means difficult, being rather complimentary than technical. By the time they returned, I had not only translated, but made a fair copy of it, in my best hand.

"Come, that is clever," said Mr. Crobble; "let me see, now, what shall I give you?"

"Nothing, Sir," I promptly replied; "I am Mr. Timmis's clerk--and all that I know I owe to his kindness."

I saw, with pleasure, that this compliment was not lost upon my master.

Mr. Crobble was really a gentleman in feeling, and therefore did not persist in offering me any remuneration; but as he left the office, he said, "I thank you, Mr. Andrew--I shall not forget your services;" and departed evidently much pleased with my performance.

CHAPTER XIV.--A Dilemma.

"EE cawnt gow back, 'cause they locks the gates,"

"Well, can we go forward, then?"--"Noa, ee cawnt, 'cause the roads are under water;"

"EE cawnt gow back, 'cause they locks the gates," said a b.u.mpkin on the road-side to a c.o.c.kney-party in a one-horse chaise.