To The West | Page 4

and as soon as my back's turned, you're off to play with the boys in the street. Where have you been?"
I was silent, I felt that I could not tell him.
"Sulky, eh? Here, you," he roared, turning upon Esau, "where has he been? How long has he been gone?"
"Don't you hit me! Don't you hit me!" cried the boy, sulkily; "I shan't stand this."
"I say, how long has he been gone?"
"I was only gone a few minutes, sir," I said.
"Gone a few minutes, you scoundrel! How dare you be gone a few minutes, leaving my office open? You're no more use than a boy out of the streets, and if I did my duty by you, I should thrash you till you could not stand. Back to your desk, you dog, and the next time I catch you at any of these tricks off you go, and no character."
As I climbed back to my place at the desk, hot, flushed, and indignant, feeling more and more unable to explain the reason for my absence, and guilty at the same time--knowing as I did that I had no business to steal off--Mr Dempster turned once more upon Esau, who backed away from him round the office, sparring away with his arms to ward off the blows aimed at him, though I don't think they were intended to strike, but only as a malicious kind of torture.
"Here, don't you hit me! don't you hit me!" Esau kept on saying, as if this was the only form of words he could call up in his excitement.
"I'll half break your neck for you, you scoundrel! Is that catalogue done?"
"How can I get it done when you keep on chivvying me about the place?" cried Esau.
"How can you get it done if you go to sleep, you scoundrel, you mean. Now then, up on to that stool, and if it isn't done you stop after hours till it is done. Here, what are you staring at? Get on with those letters."
Mr Dempster had turned upon me furiously as I sat looking, and with a sigh I went on with my writing, while red-faced and wet-eyed, for he could not keep the tears back, Esau climbed slowly on to his stool, and gave a tremendous sniff.
"I shall tell mother as soon as I get home," he cried.
"Tell your mother, you great calf! You had better not," roared Mr Dempster. "She has troubles enough. It was only out of charity to her that I took you on. For you are useless--perfectly useless. I lose pounds through your blunders. There, that will do. Get on with your work."
He went back into the inner office, and banged the door so heavily that all the auction bills which papered the walls of our office began to flap and swing about. Then for a few minutes there was only the scratching of our pens to be heard.
Then Esau gave a tremendous sniff, began wiping his eyes on the cuffs of his jacket, and held the blotting-paper against each in turn as he looked across at me.
"'Tain't crying," he said. "Only water. Ketch him making me cry!"
"You were crying," I said, quietly.
"No, I wasn't. Don't you get turning again' me too. Take a better man than him to make me cry."
I laughed.
"Ah, you may grin," grumbled my companion; "but just you have your head knocked again' the desk, and just you see if it wouldn't make your eyes water."
At that moment the door was opened with a snatch.
"Silence there! You, Gordon, will you go on with your work?"
The door was banged before I could have answered. Not that I should have said anything. But as soon as the door clicked Esau went on again without subduing his voice--
"I ain't afraid of him--cheating old knocktioneer! Thinks he's a right to knock everybody down 'cause he's got a licence."
"Go on with your work," I whispered, "or he'll come back."
"Let him; I don't care. I ain't afraid. It was all your fault for going out."
"And yours for being asleep."
"I can't help my head being heavy. Mother says it's because I've got so much brains. But I'll serve him out. I'll make all the mistakes I can, and he'll have to pay for them being corrected."
"What good will that do?"
"I dunno; but I'll serve him out. He shan't hit me. I say, what did you go out to buy?"
"Nothing. I went out to speak to that gentleman who came."
"What gentleman who came?"
"While you were asleep."
"There you go! You're as bad as old Knock-'em-down. Fellow's only got to shut his eyes, and you say he's asleep. But I don't care. Everybody's again' me, but I'll serve 'em out."
"You'd better go on with your writing."
"Shan't. Go on with yours. I know. I'll 'list--that's what I'll do. Like to