Part 28 (2/2)

Jeffreys glanced up, half doubtful whether the question was asked in seriousness or ironically.

”No, sir, unfortunately not.”

”Well,” said Mr Rimbolt, ”it has its advantages and disadvantages. You would, I dare say, value it; but for the serious work of life it may sometimes be unsettling. Is it fair to ask what your profession is, Mr Jeffreys?”

”None at all just now. I was till lately usher in a private school,”

replied Jeffreys, wincing.

Mr Rimbolt observed the wince, and delicately steered away from the topic. ”Ah, that must be a monotonous calling, and you, with your love of books and literary tastes, would find it specially irksome. You must forgive me if I take an interest in your affairs, Mr Jeffreys. May I ask if you have any engagement in prospect?”

”None at all,” said Jeffreys.

”My reason for asking is a selfish one, quite, and has been suggested by the interest you take in my library. I have been inquiring for a month or two for some one who will a.s.sist me as a private librarian. The fact is, Mr Jeffreys,” continued Mr Rimbolt, noticing the look of surprised pleasure in his listener's face, ”with my time so much occupied in parliamentary and other duties, I find it quite impossible to attend to the care of my books as I should wish. I made up my mind most reluctantly some time ago that I should have to entrust the duty to some one else, for it was always my pride that I knew where every book I had was to be found. But my collection has grown beyond my control and wants a regular custodian. Look here,” said he, opening a folding door at the end of the room.

Jeffreys saw another room, larger than the one he was in, lined with shelves, and crowded on the floor with heaps of books in most admired disorder.

”It was no use,” said Mr Rimbolt half pathetically. ”I cherished the hope as long as I was able of reducing this chaos to order, and putting away each one of these treasures (for they are no common volumes) in a place of its own. Every day it grows worse. I've fought against it and put it off, because I could find no one who would undertake it as much for the love of the work as for the small salary to which a private librarian would be ent.i.tled. Now you see the selfish reason I have for mentioning the matter to you, Mr Jeffreys. I offer you nothing to jump at; for it will need sheer hard work and a lot of drudgery to overtake the arrears of work, and after that I doubt if the keeping up of the library will leave you much leisure. You would incur no little responsibility either, for if I handed the care of the library to you, I should hold you responsible for every volume in it, and should expect you to know something of the inside of the books as well as the outside.

You may think a salary of 100 a year hardly adequate to this amount of work and responsibility; if so I must not press you further, for that is the sum I have arranged to give, and cannot see my way to offering more.

It would include residence here, and board, of course.”

Jeffreys felt almost dazzled by the prospect thus deprecatingly unfolded by Mr Rimbolt. Had the offer been made in any less delicate way; had it savoured of charity to the outcast, or reward to the benefactor, he would have rejected it, however tempting. As it was, it seemed like the opening of one of the gates of Providence before him. The work promised was what of all others he coveted; the salary, with the casually-thrown in addition of board and lodging, seemed like affluence; his employer was a gentleman, and the opportunities of study and self-improvement were such as fall to the lot of few. Above all, in hard work among those quiet and friendly bookshelves he would find refuge from his bad name, and perhaps be able to establish for himself what he had hitherto striven for in vain--a character.

”I am most grateful, sir,” said he, ”if you really think I should suit you.”

”I think you would,” said Mr Rimbolt, in a tone which gratified Jeffreys far more than if he had launched out into idle flattery and compliments.

And so it was settled. Jeffreys could scarcely believe what had happened to him when, half an hour later, Mr Rimbolt being called away on business, he found himself taking a preliminary survey of his new preserves, and preparing himself seriously for his duties as private librarian at Wildtree Towers.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Sn.o.b AND SNUB.

Jeffreys was not long in finding out the best and the worst of his new lot at Wildtree Towers. To an ordinary thick-skinned fellow, with his love of books and partiality for boys, his daily life during the six months which followed his introduction under Mr Rimbolt's roof might have seemed almost enviable. The whole of each morning was devoted to the duties of the library, which, under his conscientious management, gradually a.s.sumed the order of a model collection. A librarian is born, not made, and Jeffreys seemed unexpectedly and by accident to have dropped into the one niche in life for which he was best suited. Mr Rimbolt was delighted to see his treasures gradually emerging from the chaos of an overcrowded lumber-room into the serene and dignified atmosphere of a library of well-arranged and well-tended volumes. He allowed his librarian _carte blanche_ with regard to shelves and binding. He agreed to knock a third room into the two which already const.i.tuted the library, and to line it with bookcases. He even went the length of supporting a clever bookbinder at Overstone for several months with work on his own volumes, and, greatest sacrifice of all, forebore his craze of buying right and left for the same s.p.a.ce of time until the arrears of work should be overtaken, and a clear idea could be formed of what he already had and what he wanted. Jeffreys revelled in the work, and when he discovered that he had to deal with one of the most valuable private collections in the country, his pride and sense of responsibility advanced step by step. He occupied his leisure hours in the study of bibliography; he read books on the old printers and their works; he spent hours with the bookbinder and printer at Overstone, studying the mechanism of a book; he even studied architecture, in connexion with the ventilation and lighting of libraries, and began to teach himself German, in order to be able to master the stores of book- lore buried in that rugged language.

All this, then, was congenial and delightful work. He was left his own master in it, and had the pride of seeing the work growing under his hands: and when one day Mr Rimbolt arrived from London with a great man in the world of old books, for the express purpose of exhibiting to him his treasures, it called an honest flush to the librarian's face to hear the visitor say, ”Upon my word, Rimbolt, I don't know whether to congratulate you most on your books or the way in which they are kept!

Your librarian is a genius!”

If all his life could have been spent in the shelter of the library Jeffreys would have had little to complain of. But it was not, and out of it it needed no great discernment to perceive that he had anything but a friend in Mrs Rimbolt. She was not openly hostile; it was not worth her while to wage war on a poor domestic, but she seemed for all that to resent his presence in the house, and to be possessed of a sort of nervous desire to lose no opportunity of putting him down.

After about a week, during which time Jeffreys had not apparently taken her hint as to the arranging of his person in ”respectful” raiment.

Walker waited upon the librarian in his chamber with a brown-paper parcel.

”My lady's compliments,” said he, with a grin--he was getting to measure the newcomer by his mistress's standard--”and hopes they'll suit.”

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