قراءة كتاب Reginald Cruden A Tale of City Life
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than that, my poor Reg,” said she; “and something we can share all together. I hope Mr Richmond will be able to hear of some business opening for me, as well as you, for we shall need to put our resources together to get on.”
“Mother,” exclaimed Reginald, overwhelmed with sudden contrition, “what a selfish brute you must think me! You don’t think I’d let you work while I had a nerve left. I’ll do anything—so will Horace, but you shall not, mother, you shall not.”
Mrs Cruden did not argue the point just then, and in due time Mr Richmond arrived to give a new direction to their thoughts.
The investment he proposed seemed a good one. But, in fact, the little family knew so little about business generally, and money matters in particular, that had it been the worst security possible they would have hardly been the wiser.
This point settled, Mr Richmond turned to his proposals for the boys.
“As I said in my letter, Mrs Cruden,” said he, “the opening is only a modest one. A company has lately been formed to print and publish an evening paper in the city, and as solicitor to the company I had an opportunity of mentioning your sons to the manager. He is willing to take them, provided they are willing to work. The pay will begin at eighteen shillings a week, but I hope they will soon make their value felt, and command a better position. They are young yet.”
“What shall we have to do?” asked Horace.
“That I cannot exactly say,” said the lawyer; “but I believe the manager would expect you to learn the printer’s business from the beginning.”
“What would the hours be?” asked Mrs Cruden.
“Well, as it is an evening paper, there will fortunately be no late night work. I believe seven in the morning to eight at night were the hours the manager mentioned.”
“And—and,” faltered the poor mother, who was beginning to realise the boys’ lot better than they did themselves—“and what sort of companions are they likely to have, Mr Richmond?”
“I believe the manager is succeeding in getting respectable men as workmen. I hope so.”
“Workmen!” exclaimed Reginald, suddenly. “Do you mean we are to be workmen, Mr Richmond? Just like any fellows in the street. Couldn’t you find anything better than that for us?”
“My dear Master Cruden, I am very sorry for you, and would gladly see you in a better position. But it is not a case where we can choose. This opening has offered itself. Of course, you are not bound to accept it, but my advice is, take what you can get in these hard times.”
“Oh, of course, we’re paupers, I—forgot,” said Reg, bitterly, “and beggars mayn’t be choosers. Anything you like, mother,” added he, meeting Mrs Cruden’s sorrowful look with forced gaiety. “I’ll sweep a crossing if you like, Mr Richmond, or black your office-boy’s boots,—anything to get a living.”
Poor boy! He broke down before he could finish the sentence, and his flourish ended in something very like a sob.
Horace was hardly less miserable, but he said less. Evidently, as Reg himself had said, beggars could not be choosers, and when presently Mr Richmond left, and the little family talked the matter over late into the afternoon, it was finally decided that the offer of the manager of the Rocket Newspaper Company, Limited, should be accepted, and that the boys should make their new start in life on the Monday morning following.