Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 7

by R. Austin Freeman

  "It wants a lot of doing to it, but it will pay for a bit of careful work. Care to take it on when you've finished that table?"

  Uncle Sam took it on readily, having rather a liking for renovations of good old work; and when he had clamped up some glued joints on his table, fell to work forthwith on the case, dismembering it, as a preliminary measure, with a thoroughness that rather horrified me, until it seemed to be reduced to little more than a collection of fragments. But I realized the necessity for the dismemberment when I saw him making the repairs and restorations on the separated parts, unhampered by their connections with the others.

  I followed his proceedings from day to day with deep interest as the work grew; first, when all the old varnish had been cleaned off, the cutting away of damaged parts, then the artful insetting of new pieces and their treatment with stain until from staring patches they became indistinguishable from the old. So it went on, the battered old parts growing newer and smarter every day with no visible trace of the repairs, and, at last, when the fresh polish was hard, the separated parts were put together and the transformation was complete. The shabby old wreck had been changed into a brand-new case.

  "Well, Sam," said Mr. Beeby, looking at it critically as its restorer stood it on the newly finished table, "you've made a job of that. It's good now for another hundred years. Ought to satisfy Abraham. Nat might as well run round presently and let him know that it's finished."

  "Why shouldn't he take it with him?" Uncle Sam suggested.

  Mr. Beeby considered the suggestion and eventually, having admonished me to carry the case carefully, adopted it. Accordingly, the case was wrapped in one or two clean dusters and tied up with string, leaving the gilt top handle exposed for convenience of carrying, and I went forth all agog to see how Mr. Abraham would be impressed by Uncle Sam's wizardry.

  I found that gentleman seated at his counter writing on a card, and, as the inscription was in large Roman capitals, my eye caught at a glance the words, "Smart youth wanted.". He rounded off the final D and then looked up at me and enquired: "You are Mr. Beeby's apprentice, aren't you? Is that the case?"

  "This is the case, sir," I replied, "but I am not an apprentice. I am the workshop boy."

  "Oh!" said he, "I thought you were an apprentice, as you were working at the bench. Well, let's see what sort of a job they've made of the case. Bring it in here."

  He preceded me into a small room at the back of the shop which was evidently the place where he worked, and here, having cleared a space on a side bench, he took the case from me and untied the string. When the removal of the dusters revealed the case in all its magnificence, he regarded it with a chuckle of satisfaction.

  "It looks a bit different from what it did when you saw it last, sir," I ventured to remark.

  He seemed a little surprised, for he gave me a quick glance before replying.

  "You're right, my boy; I wouldn't have believed it possible. But there, every man to his trade, and Mr. Beeby is a master of his."

  "It was my uncle, Mr. Gollidge, that did the repairs, sir," I informed him, bearing in mind Mr. Beeby's rule that the doer of a good job should have the credit. Again Mr. Abraham looked at me, curiously, as he rejoined: "Then your uncle is a proper tradesman and I take my hat off to him."

  I thanked him for the compliment, the latter part of which was evidently symbolical, as he was bareheaded, and then asked: "Is that the clock that belongs to the case, sir?" and I pointed to a bracket clock with a handsome brass, silver-circled dial which stood on a shelf, supported by a movement-holder.

  "You're quite right," he replied. "That's the clock; all clean and bright and ready for fixing. Would you like to see it in its case? Because, if so, you may as well help me to put it in."

  I agreed, joyfully, and as he released the movement from the holder, I unlocked and opened the back door of the case and "stood by" for further instructions, watching intently every stage of the procedure. There was not much for me to do beyond steadying the case and fetching the screws and the screwdriver; but I was learning how a bracket clock was fixed into its case, and when, at last, the job was finished and the fine old clock stood complete in all its beauty and dignity, I had the feeling of, at least, having been a collaborator in the achievement.

  It had been a great experience. But all the time, a strong under-current of thought had been running at the back of my mind. "Smart youth wanted." Was I a smart youth? Honest self-inspection compelled me to admit that I was not. But perhaps the smartness was only a rhetorical flourish, and in any case, it doesn't do to be too modest. Eventually I plucked up courage to ask: "Were you wanting a boy, sir?"

  "Yes," he replied. "Do you know of one who wants a job?"

  "I was wondering, sir, if I should be suitable."

  "You!" he exclaimed. "But you've got a place. Aren't you satisfied with it? "

  "Oh, yes, sir, I'm quite satisfied. Mr. Beeby is a very good master. But I've always wanted to get into the clock trade."

  He looked down at me with a broad smile. "My good boy," said he, "cleaning a clockmaker's window and sweeping a clockmaker's floor won't get you very far in the clock trade."

  It sounded discouraging, but I was not put off. Experience had taught me that there are boys and boys. As Dr. Pope's bottle boy I had learned nothing and gained nothing but the weekly wage. As Mr. Beeby's workshop boy I had learned the rudiments of cabinet-making and was learning more every day.

  "It would be a start, sir, and I think I could make myself useful," I protested.

  "I daresay you could," said he (he had seen me working at the bench), "and I would be willing to have you. But what about Mr. Beeby? If you suit him, it wouldn't be right for me to take you away from him."

  "Of course, I should have to stay with him until he had got another boy."

  "And there is your uncle. Do you think he would let you make the change?"

  "I don't think he would stand in my way, sir. But I'll ask him."

  "Very well," said he. "You put it to him, and I'll have a few words with Mr. Beeby when I call to settle up."

  "And you won't put that card in the window, sir," I urged.

  He smiled at my eagerness but was not displeased; indeed, it was evident to me that he was well impressed and very willing to have me.

  "No," he agreed, "I'll put that aside for the present."

  Much relieved, I thanked him and took my leave; and as I wended homeward to dinner I prepared myself a little nervously, for the coming conference.

  But it went off more easily than I had expected. Uncle Sam, indeed, was strongly opposed to the change ("just as the boy had got his foot in and was beginning to learn the trade"), and he was disposed to enlarge on the subject of rolling stones. But Aunt Judy was more understanding.

  "I don't know, Sam," said she, "but what the boy's right. His heart is set on clocks, and he'll be happier working among things that he likes than going on with the cabinet-making. But I'm afraid Mr. Beeby won't be pleased."

  That was what I was afraid of. But here again my fears proved to be unfounded. On the principle of grasping the nettle, I attacked him as soon as we returned to the workshop after dinner; and certainly, as he listened to my proposal with his great eyebrows lowered in a frown of surprise, he seemed rather alarming, and I began to "look out for squalls". But when I had finished my explanations, he addressed me so kindly and in such a fatherly manner that I was quite taken aback and almost regretful that I had thought of the change.

  "Well, my son," said he, "I shall be sorry to lose you. If you had stayed with me I would have given you your indentures free, because you have got the makings of a good workman. But if the clock trade is your fancy and you have a chance to get into it, you are wise to take that chance. A tradesman's heart ought to be in his trade. You go to Mr. Abraham and I'll give you a good character. And you needn't wait for me. Take the job at once and get a start, but look us up now and again and tell us how you are getting on."

  I wanted to
thank Mr. Beeby, but was too overcome to say much. However, he understood. And now—such is human perversity—I suddenly discovered an unsuspected charm in the workshop and an unwillingness to tear myself away from it; and when "knocking-off time" came and I stowed my little collection of tools in the rush basket to carry away, my eyes filled and I said my last "good night" in an absurd, tremulous squeak.

  Nevertheless, I took Mr. Abraham's shop in my homeward route and found it still open; a fact which I noted with slight misgivings as suggestive of rather long hours. As I entered, my prospective employer rose from the little desk at the end of the counter and confronted me with a look of enquiry; whereupon I informed him briefly of the recent developments and explained that I was now a free boy.

  "Very well," said he; "then I suppose you want the job. It's five shillings a week and your tea—unless," he added as an afterthought, "you'd rather run round and have it at home. Will that suit you? Because, if it will, you can come to-morrow morning at half-past eight and I will show you how to take down the shutters."

  Thus, informally, were my feet set upon the road which I was to tread all the days of my life; a road which was to lead me, through many a stormy passage, to the promised land which is now my secure abiding place.

  IV. THE INNOCENT ACCESSORY

  The ancient custom of hanging out a distinctive shop sign still struggles for existence in old-fashioned neighbourhoods. In ours there were several examples. A ham-and-beef merchant proclaimed the nature of his wares by a golden ham dangled above his shop front; a gold-beater more appropriately exhibited a golden arm wielding a formidable mallet; barbers in different streets displayed the phlebotomist's pole with its spiral hint of blood and bandages; and Mr. Abraham announced the horologer's calling by a large clock projecting on a bracket above his shop.

  They all had their uses, but it seemed to me that Mr. Abraham's was most to the point. For whereas the golden ham could do no more for you than make your mouth water, leaving you to seek satisfaction within, and the barber's offer to "let blood" was a pure fiction (at least, you hoped that it was), Mr. Abraham's sign did actually make you a free gift of the time of day. Moreover, for advertising purposes the clock was more efficient. Ham and gold leaf supply only occasional needs; but time is a commodity in constant demand. Its sign was a feature of the little street observed by all wayfarers, and thus conferred distinction on the small, antiquated shop that it surmounted.

  At the door of that shop the tenant was often to be seen, looking up and down the street with placid interest and something of a proprietary air; and so I found him, refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff, when I arrived at twenty-six minutes past eight on the morning after my engagement. He received me with unexpected geniality, and, putting away the tortoise shell snuff-box and glancing up approvingly at the clock, proceeded forthwith to introduce me to the art and mystery of taking down the shutters, including the secret disposal of the padlock. The rest of the daily procedure—the cleaning of the small-paned window, the sweeping of the floor, and such dusting as was necessary—he indicated in general terms, and, having shown me where the brooms and other cleaning appliances were kept, retired to the little workshop which communicated with the retail part of the premises, seated himself at the bench, fixed his glass in his eye, and began some mysterious operations on a watch. I observed him furtively in the intervals of my work, and when I had finished, I entered the workshop for further instructions; but by that time the watch had dissolved into a little heap of wheels and plates which lay in a wooden bowl covered by a sort of glass dish-cover, and that was the last that I saw of it. For it appeared that, when not otherwise engaged, my duty was to sit on a stool behind the counter and "mind the shop".

  In that occupation, varied by an occasional errand, I spent the first day; and mighty dull I found it after the life and activity of Mr. Beeby's establishment, and profoundly was I relieved when, at half-past eight, Mr. Abraham instructed me to put up the shutters under his supervision. As I took my way home, yawning as I went, I almost wished myself back at Beeby's.

  But it was a false alarm. The intolerable dullness of that first day was never repeated. On the following morning I took the precaution to provide myself with a book, but it was not needed; for, while I was cleaning the window, Mr. Abraham went forth, and presently returned with an excessively dirty "grandfather" clock—without its case—which he carried into the workshop and at once began to "take down" (i.e., to take to pieces). As I had finished my work, I made bold to follow him and hover around to watch the operation; and, as he did not seem to take my presence amiss, but chatted in quite a friendly way as he worked, I ventured to ask one or two questions, and meanwhile kept on the alert for a chance to "get my foot in".

  When he had finished the "taking down" and had put away the dismembered remains of the movement in a drawer, leaving the two plates and the dial on the bench, he proceeded to mix up a paste of rotten-stone and oil, and then, taking up one of the plates, began to scrub it vigorously with a sort of overgrown tooth brush dipped in the mixture. I watched him attentively for a minute or two, and then decided that my opportunity had come.

  "Wouldn't it save you time, sir, if I were to clean the other plate?" I asked.

  He stopped scrubbing and looked at me in surprise. "That's not a bad idea, Nat," he chuckled. "Why shouldn't you? Yes, get a brush from the drawer. Watch me and do exactly as I do."

  Gleefully, I fetched the brush and set to work, following his methods closely and observing him from time to time as the work progressed. He gave an eye to me now and again, but let me carry out the job completely, even to the final polishing and the "pegging out" of the pivot-holes with the little pointed sticks known as peg-wood. When I had finished, he examined my work critically, testing one or two of the pivot-holes with a clean peg, and finally, as he laid down the plate, informed me that I had made quite a good job of it.

  That night I went home in a very different frame of mind. No longer did I yearn for Beeby's. I realized that I had had my chance and taken it. I had got my foot in and was now free of the workshop. Other jobs would come my way and they would not all be mere plate-cleaning. I should see to that. And I did. Cautiously and by slow degrees I extended my offers of help from plates to wheels and pinions, to the bushing of worn pivot-holes and the polishing of pivots on the turns. And each time Mr. Abraham viewed me with fresh surprise, evidently puzzled by my apparent familiarity with the mechanism of clocks, and still more so by my ability to make keys and repair locks, an art of which he knew nothing at all.

  Thus, the purpose that had been in my mind from the first was working out according to plan. My knowledge of the structure and mechanism of time-keepers was quite considerable. But it was only paper knowledge, book-learning. It had to be supplemented by that other kind of knowledge that can be acquired only by working at the bench, before I could hope to become a clock-maker. The ambition to acquire it had drawn me hither from Mr. Beeby's, and now the opportunity seemed to be before me.

  In fact, my way was made unexpectedly easy, for Mr. Abraham's inclinations marched with mine. Excellent workman as he was, skilful, painstaking and scrupulously conscientious, he had no enthusiasm. As Mr. Beeby would have said, his heart was not in his trade. He did not enjoy his work, though he spared no pains in doing it well. But by nature and temperament he was a dealer, a merchant, rather than a craftsman, and it was his ability as a buyer that accounted for the bulk of his income. Hence he was by no means unwilling for me to take over the more laborious and less remunerative side of the business, in so far as I was able, for thereby he was left with more free time to devote to its more profitable aspects.

  Exactly how he disposed of this free time I could never quite make out. I got the impression that he had some other interests which he was now free to pursue, having a deputy to carry on the mere retail part of the business and attend to simple repairs. But how ever that may have been, he began occasionally to absent himself from the shop, leaving me in
charge; and as time went on and he found that I managed quite well without him, his absences grew more frequent and prolonged until they occurred almost daily, excepting when there were important repairs on hand. It seemed an anomalous arrangement, but there was really nothing against it. He had instructed me in the simple routine of the business, had explained the artless "secret price marks" on the stock, and ascertained (I think from Beeby) that I was honest and trustworthy, and if he was able to employ his free time more profitably, there was nothing further to be said.

  It was on the occasion of one of these absences that an incident occurred which, simple as it appeared to be at the time, was later to develop unexpected consequences. This was one of the days on which Mr. Abraham went down into the land of Clerkenwell to make purchases of material and stock. Experience had taught me that a visit to Clerkenwell meant a day off; and, there being no repairs on hand, I made my arrangements to pass the long, solitary day as agreeably as possible. It happened that I had recently acquired an old lock of which the key was missing; and I decided to pass the time pleasantly in making a key to fit it. Accordingly, I selected from the stock of spare keys that I kept in my cupboard a lever key the pipe of which would fit the drill-pin of the lock, but of which the bit was too long to enter; and with this and a small vice and one or two tools, I went out into the shop and prepared to enjoy myself.

  I had fixed the vice to the counter, taken off the front plate of the lock (it was a good but simple lock with three levers), clamped the key in the vice and was beginning to file off the excess length of the bit, preparatory to cutting the steps, when a man entered the shop, and, sauntering up to the counter, fixed an astonished eye on the key.

  "Guvnor in?" he enquired.

  I replied that he was not.

  "Pity," he commented. "I've broke the glass of my watch. How long will he be?"