Life in London | Page 9

same time, on the same errand.

"Well, Mr. Weston, you find it precious dull, don't you, cooped up in
your den?"
"Do you mean the office?" said George.
"Yes; what else should I mean?"
"It seems a comfortable office enough," said George, "and not
particularly dull; but I have not had sufficient experience in it to judge."
"You see, that old ogre (I beg his pardon, I mean old Sanders) takes
jolly good care there shall be no flinching from work while he's there,
and it makes a fellow deuced tired, pegging away all day long."
"If this is a specimen of the clerks," thought George, "Uncle Brunton
was not far wrong when he said they were not a very good set."
"From what I have seen of Mr. Sanders," he said, "I think him a very
nice man! and as for work, I always thought that was what clerks were
engaged to do, and therefore it is their duty to do it, whether under the
eye of the manager or not."
George got this sentence out with some difficulty. He felt it was an
aggressive step, and did not doubt it would go the round of the office as
a tale against him.
"Ugh!" said the clerk; "you've got a thing or two to learn yet, I see. You
must surely be fresh and green from the country; but such notions soon
die out. I don't like to be personal though, so we'll change the subject.
Where are you going to dine? Most of our chaps patronize the King's
Head--first-rate place; get anything you like in two twinklings of a
lamb's tail. I'm going there now; will you go? By the way, I should
have told you before this that my name is Williams."
"I suppose, Mr. Williams,' the King's Head is a tavern? If so, I prefer a
coffee-house; but thank you, notwithstanding, for your offer."
"By George! that's a rum start. Our chaps all hate coffee-shops, with

the exception of young Hardy, and he's coming round to our tastes now.
You can get a good feed at the King's Head--stunning tackle in the
shape of beer, and meet a decent set of fellows who know how to crack
a joke at table; whereas, if you go to a coffee-shop, you have an ugly
slice of meat set before you, a jorum of tea leaves and water, or some
other mess, and a disagreeable set of people around. Now, which is
best?"
"Your description is certainly unfavourable in the latter case; but I do
not suppose all coffeehouses are alike, and therefore I shall try one
to-day. Good morning."
George soon found a nice-looking quiet place where he could dine, and
felt sure he had no need to go to taverns for better accommodation.
When he returned to the office, at two o'clock, Mr. Sanders was absent,
and the clerks were busily engaged, not at work, but in conversation.
Mr. Williams was the principal speaker, and seemed to have something
very choice to communicate. George made no doubt that he was the
subject of conversation, for he had caught one or two words as he
entered, which warranted the supposition. He had nothing to do until
Mr. Sanders returned; this was an opportunity, therefore, for Mr.
Williams to make himself officious.
"Mr. Weston," he said, "allow me to do the honours of the office by
introducing you, in a more definite manner than that old ----, I mean
than Mr. Sanders did this morning. This gentleman is Mr. Lawson, this
is Mr. Allwood, this is Mr. Malcolm, and this my young friend, Mr.
Charles Hardy, who is of a serious turn of mind, and is meditating
entering the ministry, or the undertaking line."
A laugh at Hardy's expense was the result of this attempt at jocularity
on the part of Mr. Williams. George hardly knew how to acknowledge
these introductions; but, turning to Charles Hardy, he said,--
"As Mr. Williams has so candidly mentioned your qualities, Mr. Hardy,
perhaps you will favour me with a description of his."

Hardy rose from his seat, for up to this time he had been engaged in
writing, and, in a tone of mock gravity, replied,
"This is Mr. Williams, who lives at the antipodes of everything that is
quiet or serious, whose mission to the earth seems expressly to turn
everything he touches into a laugh. He is not a 'youth to fortune and to
fame unknown,' for in the archives of the King's Head his name is
emblazoned in imperishable characters."
"Well said, Hardy!" said one or two at once. "Now, Williams, you are
on your mettle, old boy; stand true to your colours, and transmute the
sentence into a joke in self-defence."
Williams was on the point of replying when Mr. Sanders