LITMIR.BIZ

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only the front and bottom of the book is cut. You do the rest with your paper-knives. Well, we’re paid piecework – fair money, you know – so much a dozen or score, so that a man has what he earns; and with my hands all corny and hard, I was letting go at a good rate, while my poor mate aside me was fresh at that work, and doing precious little good beyond blistering his hands and making his fingers sore; and I could see with half an eye as his bill would only be a small one o’ Saturday.

      Now, the rule in most shops in London is, take care of yourself, and let others look out o’ their own side; but I never found myself any the worse off for helping a lame dog over a stile: so I kept on giving my mate a lift in the shape of a word here or there, so that he got on a little better, but very slowly; for a man can’t fall into the knack of it all at once. But he’d a good heart, and that “will do it” sorter stuff that makes men get on in the world and rise above their fellows; and he stuck at it till I saw him tear a strip off his handkerchief and bind it round his chafed finger, so that the blood shouldn’t soil the books; and though he didn’t say much, I could see by his looks as he thanked me.

      Towards afternoon, while the foreman was out of the way, one of the men comes up for this new chap’s footing; and being a big shop, where good wages were made, it was five shillings. I didn’t take much notice, for it warn’t my business; but I saw the young fellow colour up and hesitate, and stammer, as he says, —

      “You must let me off till wages are paid;” but my gentleman begins to bluster, and he says, —

      “That comes o’ working aside Tom Hodson, a scaly humbug as never paid his own footings; but we ain’t a-going to stand any more o’ that sort o’ thing; and if you can’t come the reg’lar, you’ll soon find the place too hot to hold you.”

      I felt as if I should have liked to give my man one for his nob, but went on with my work; and after a bit more rowing, they left the young chap alone; for I could see how the wind lay – he hadn’t got the money, and no wonder; but all that afternoon and next morning the chaps were pitching sneers and jeers about from one to another; about the workus, and a lot more of it, till, being quite a young chap, I could see more than once the tears in his eyes. Everybody cut him, and when he asked a civil question no one would answer; and after tea the second night, when I got back, there was a regular chorus of laughter, for the young chap was standing red and angry by his lot of books, where some one had been shying a lot o’ dirty water over them, so as would spoil perhaps four shillings’ worth of sheets, and get the poor chap into a row as well as having to pay for them.

      Now, when we went to tea that night, I’d on the quiet asked him how he stood, and lent him the money, thinking it would be better paid, for they’d always have had a spite against him else; and now seeing this I felt quite mad and spoke up: —

      “Looks like one of that cowardly hound Bill Smith’s tricks,” I says; and Bill, being a great hairy, six-foot-two fellow, puts on the bully, and comes across the shop to me as if he was going to punch my head.

      “If you can’t pay your footing,” he says to me, “don’t think as we’re a-goin’ to take it in mouth; so just shut up,” he says, “and mind your own business;” and then, afore I knew what was up, that slight little fellow with cheeks flaming, and eyes flashing, had got hold of Bill, big as he was, and with his fingers inside his handkerchief, shook away at him like a terrier does a rat – shook him till his teeth chattered; and the great cowardly bounceable chap roared for mercy, and at last went down upon his knees, while, with his teeth set, that young fellow shook him till the whole shop roared again with laughter.

      “Give it him, little ’un,” says one; “Stick to him, young ’un,” says another; while big Bill Smith looked as if he was being murdered, till the young chap sent him over against a plough-tub, where he knocked against a glue-kettle, and the half-warm stuff came trickling over his doughy white face, and he lay afraid to move.

      “There’s your beggarly footing,” says the young chap, shying down two half-crowns on the big bench; and then, without another word, he walked to his place and tried to go on with his work.

      I never did see a set of men look more foolish in my life than ours did that night; and first one and then another slipped into his work, till all were busy; while them two half-crowns lay on the table winking and shining in the gaslight, and not a man had the face to come forward to pick them up and send for the beer.

      Last of all, it was getting towards seven, when, now quite cool, the young chap beckons one of the boys and sends him out for two gallons and a half of sixpenny; and when it came, goes himself and pours for the whole shop, even offering the pot to Bill Smith; but he wouldn’t take it, but growled out something, when the whole shop laughed at him again, and the rest of that evening he got chaffed awfully.

      Next morning I’d been thinking how to get some fresh sheets stitched in the young chap’s books, so as to be as little expense as possible, and when I got to the shop he was there looking at his heap, when I found that though working men do wrong sometimes, there’s the real English grit in them; and here, before we came, if the chaps hadn’t walked off the damaged copies, shared them amongst ’em, and put fresh ones from their own heaps, so as it never cost my young mate a shilling.

      But it’s a bad system, men. Have your beer if you like, but don’t ask a poor hard-up fellow to rob self, wife, and child to pay his footing.

      Chapter Two.

      Aboard a Light-Ship

      Goes in for salvage, sir; and when a ship’s going on to the sands, where she must be knocked to pieces in no time, and a party of our company goes off and saves her, why we deserves it, don’t we? That’s our place, you see; and them’s old names of ships and bits o’ wreck nailed up again it. We keeps oars, and masts, and sails in there; ropes, and anchors, and things as don’t want to be lying out on the beach; and then, too, it serves for a shelter and lookout place. Them’s our boats – them two – yawls we call ’em; and I mean to say that, lifeboat, or other boat, you’ll never find aught to come anigh ’em for seaworthiness. There’s a build! there’s fine lines! Why, she goes over the water like a duck; and when we’ve a lot of our chaps in, some o’ them sand-bags and irons at the bottom for ballast, the two masts, and a couple o’ lug sails up, it’ll be such a storm as I ain’t seen yet as’ll keep us from going out. Why, we’ve gone out, when in five minutes – ah! less than that – you couldn’t see the shore – nought but wild sea and spray all round; but there, we’re used to it, you see; and when we get to a ship in trouble, and save her, why, there’s some satisfaction in it. And, after all, ’tain’t half so bad as being in a light-ship.

      Light-ship? yes, there’s one out yonder. No, not that – that’s one o’ the harbour lights. Out more to sea. There, you can’t see her now; but if you take a look you’ll see her directly. Not the ship, o’ course, but the light. There; that’s her, bo. Don’t you see her? That’s a revolving light. Goes round and round, you know, so that sometimes you see it, and sometimes you don’t; and that’s on the top of a mast aboard a light-ship, moored head and starn on the sands, two mile out; and sooner than spend a night aboard her when there’s a storm on, I’d go out to fifty wrecks.

      Pretty sight that, ain’t it? Surprises many people as comes to the sea-side. Seems as if the sea’s on fire, don’t it? There now, watch that boat as the oars dip – quite gives flashes o’ light. But that ain’t nothing, that ain’t, to what I’ve seen abroad. I was in one of the Queen’s frigates out in the Pacific, and when we lay in the harbour at Callao one night, the officers had a ball on board, and we chaps had plenty to do taking the ladies backwards and forwards. Well, when it was over we in the first cutter were taking a party ashore – officers and ladies – when they were singing, and so on, and they made us pull slowly, for it was just as if the whole bay was afire, and when we dipped the flash was enough to light up all our faces with the soft pale light.

      But you should be out in the light-ship there for a night when there’s a heavy sea on and the waves makes a clean breach over you. It’s a dull life out there at any time, for there’s not much to do – only the light to keep trimmed and the glass and reflectors well polished. When I was there we used to pass the time

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