Part 7 (1/2)

”Well, what?”

”Don't you think that you might call without waiting to hear his opinion of your testimonials?”

”No, Phil, I don't,” replied the other in a slightly petulant tone; ”I don't feel quite sure of the spirit in which he referred to my dear father. Of course it was kind and all that, but it was slightly patronising, and my father was an infinitely superior man to himself.”

”Well, I don't know,” said Phil; ”if you're going to accept a favour of him you had better try to feel and act in a friendly way, but of course it would never do to encourage him in pride.”

”Well then, I'll send it,” said Aspel, closing the letter; ”do you know where I can post it?”

”Not I. Never was here before. I've only a vague idea of how I got here, and mustn't go far with you lest I lose myself.”

At that moment Miss Lillycrop's door opened and little Tottie issued forth.

”Ah! she will help us.--D'you know where the Post-Office is, Tottie?”

”Yes, sir, it's at the corner of the street, Miss Lillycrop says.”

”Which direction?”

”That one, I think.”

”Here, I'm going the other way: will you post this letter for me?”

”Yes, sir,” said Tottie.

”That's a good girl; here's a penny for you.”

”Please, sir, that's not a penny,” said the child, holding out the half-crown which Aspel had put in her hand.

”Never mind; keep it.”

Tottie stood bereft of speech at the youth's munificence, as he turned away from her with a laugh.

Now, when Tottie Bones said that she knew where the post was, she did so because her mistress had told her, among other pieces of local information, that the pillar letter-box stood at the corner of the street and was painted red; but as no occasion had occurred since her arrival for the posting of a letter, she had not yet seen the pillar with her own eyes. The corner of the street, however, was so plain a direction that no one except an idiot could fail to find it.

Accordingly Tottie started off to execute her mission.

Unfortunately--or the reverse, as the case may be--streets have usually two corners. The child went, almost as a matter of course, to the wrong one, and there she found no pillar. But she was a faithful messenger, and not to be easily balked. She sought diligently at that corner until she really did find a pillar, in a retired angle. Living, as she did, chiefly in the back slums of London, where literary correspondence is not much in vogue, Tottie had never seen a pillar letter-box, or, if she had, had not realised its nature. Miss Lillycrop had told her it was red, with a slit in it. The pillar she had found was red to some extent with rust, and it unquestionably had a slit in it where, in days gone by, a handle had projected. It also had a spout in front. Tottie had some vague idea that this letter-box must have been made in imitation of a pump, and that the spout was a convenient step to enable small people like herself to reach the slit. Only, she thought it queer that they should not have put the spout in front of the pillar under the slit, instead of behind it. She was still more impressed with this when, after having twice got on the spout, she twice fell off in futile efforts to reach round the pump with her small arms.

Baffled, but not defeated, Tottie waited till some one should pa.s.s who could put the letter in for her, but in that retired angle no one pa.s.sed. Suddenly her sharp eyes espied a brickbat. She set it up on end beside the pump, mounted it, stood on tip-toe, and, stretching her little body to the very uttermost, tipped the letter safely in. The brickbat tipped over at the same instant and sent her headlong to the ground. But this was no novelty to Tottie. Regardless of the fall, she gathered herself up, and, with the light heart of one who has gained a victory in the performance of duty, ran off to her miserable home in the back slums.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

PHIL BEGINS LIFE, AND MAKES A FRIEND.

Some time after the small tea-party described in our last chapter, Philip Maylands was invested with all the dignity, privileges, and emoluments of an ”Out-door Boy Telegraph Messenger” in the General Post-Office. He rejoiced in the conscious independence of one who earns his own livelihood, is a burden to n.o.body, and has something to spare.

He enjoyed the privilege of wearing a grey uniform, of sitting in a comfortable room with a huge fire in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the office, and of walking over a portion of London as the bearer of urgent and no doubt all-important news. He also enjoyed a salary of seven s.h.i.+llings sterling a week, and was further buoyed up with the hope of an increase to eight s.h.i.+llings at the end of a year. His duties, as a rule, began at eight each morning, and averaged nine hours.

We have said that out of his vast income he had something to spare.