Part 8 (1/2)

David dropped on his knees at once, and put his hand on Grannie's shoulder.

”You aint likely to have a rise in your wages soon, are you, Dave?”

”Oh, yes, I am! arter a bit,” he answered. ”Mr. Groves is real pleased with me. He says I am a steady lad, and he often sets me to cast up accounts for him, and do little odds and ends of jobs. He says he has always railed against the School Board, but sometimes, when he sees how tidy I can write, and how well I can read and spell, he's inclined to change his mind.”

”And what rise will he give?” said Grannie, whose mind was entirely fixed on the money part of the question.

”Well, maybe a s.h.i.+lling more a week, when the first year is out.”

”And that 'll be----”

”Next March, Grannie; not so long coming round.”

”Yes,” she replied, ”yes.” In spite of herself, her voice had a sad note in it. ”Well, you see, Dave, you can't keep yourself on half a crown a week.”

”I wish I could,” he answered, looking dispirited, ”but I thought you were content. Is there anything that worries you, old lady?”

”No, that there aint, my brave boy. You stick to your work and please your master; you're safe to get on.”

”I wish I could support myself,” said David. ”I wish I knew shorthand; that's the thing. A lad who knows shorthand, and can write and spell as well as I can, can earn his ten s.h.i.+llings a week easy.”

”Ten s.h.i.+llings a week,” said Grannie. ”Lor' save us, what a power of money!”

”It's true,” said David; ”there's a lad who was at school with me--his name was Phil Martin--he managed to pick up shorthand, and he's earning ten s.h.i.+llings a week now. He's a bit younger than I am, too. He won't be fifteen for two months yet.”

”Shorthand?” said Grannie, in her reflective voice; ”that's writing, aint it?”

”Why, to be sure, Grannie; only a different sort of writing.”

”Still, you call it writing, don't you?”

”To be sure I do.”

”Then, for the Lord's sake, don't have anythink to do with it, David.

Ef there is a mischievous, awful thing in the world, it's handwriting.

I only do it twice a year, and it has finished me, my lad--it has finished me out and out. No, don't talk of it--keep your half a crown a week, and don't be tempted with no handwriting, short or long.”

David looked puzzled and distressed; Grannie's words did not amuse him in the least--they were spoken with great pa.s.sion, with a rising color in the little old cheeks, and a flash of almost fever in the bright eyes. Grannie had always been the perfect embodiment of health and strength to all the grandchildren, and David did not understand her this morning.

”Still,” he said, ”I can't agree with you about shorthand; it's a grand thing--it's a trade in itself; but there's no chance of my getting to know it, for I aint got the money. Now, hadn't I better get breakfast?

Ally will be out in a minute.”

”No, no; there's time enough. Look here, Dave, Harry must leave school altogether--he's old enough, and he has pa.s.sed the standard. He must earn somethink. Couldn't he go as one of them messenger boys?”

”Perhaps so, Grannie; but why are you in such a hurry? Harry's really clever; he's got more brains than any of us, and he earns a s.h.i.+lling or so a week now in the evenings helping me with the figures at Mr.

Groves'.”

”Do you think Mr. Groves would take him on altogether, Dave?”

”No, he'd do better as a messenger boy--but don't hurry about him leaving school. He'd best stay until midsummer, then he'll be fit for anything.”