A Life for a Life, Volume 1 (of 3)Craik, Dinah Maria Mulock
General
A Life for a Life, Volume 1 (of 3)
Craik, Dinah Maria Mulock
Fiction
Among those I met on Thursday, was an old colonel, under whom I went out
on my first voyage as assistant-surgeon, twelve years ago. He stopped me
in the Mall, addressing me by name; I had almost forgotten his, till his
cordial greeting brought it to mind. Then we fell to upon many mutual
questions and reminiscences.
He said that he should have known me anywhere, though I was altered a
good deal in some respects.
"All for the better, though, my boy--beg pardon, Doctor--but you were
such a slip of a lad, then. Thought we should have had to throw you
overboard before the voyage was half over, but you cheated us all, you
see,--and, 'pon my life, hard as you must have been at it since then,
you look as if you had many years more of work in you yet."
I told him I hoped so,--which I do, for some things, and then, in answer
to his friendly questions, I entered into the business which had brought
me to London.
The good colonel was brimful of interest.
He has a warm heart, plenty of money, thinks that money can do
everything. I had the greatest difficulty in persuading him that his
cheque-book would not avail me with the commander-in-chief, or the
honourable British officers whom I hoped to stir up to some little
sympathy with the men they commanded.
"But can't I help you at all?--can't my son, either?--you remember
Tommy, who used to dance the sailor's hornpipe on the deck. Such a dandy
young fellow;--got him a place under Government--capital berth, easy
hours, eleven till four, and regular work--the whole _Times_ to read
through daily. Ha! ha! you understand, eh?"
I laughed too, for it was a pretty accurate description of what I had
this week seen in Government offices; indeed, in public offices of
all kinds, where the labour is so largely sub-divided as to be in the
responsible hands of very few, and the work and the pay generally follow
in an opposite ratio of progression. In the present instance, from what
I remember of him, no doubt such a situation would exactly suit Master
Tommy Turton.
His father and I strolled up and down the shiny half-dried pavement till
the street-lamps were lighted, and the club-windows began to brighten
and glow.
"You'll dine with me, of course--not at the United Service--it's my day
with Tom at his club, the New Universal, capital club too. No apologies;
we'll quarter ourselves upon Tommy, he will be delighted. He's extremely
proud of his club; the young rogue costs me--it's impossible to say
what Tom costs me per annum, over and above his pay. Yet he is a good
lad, too--as lads go--holds up his head among all the young fellows of
the club, and keeps the very best of company."
So went on the worthy old father--with more, which I forget. I had been
on my feet all day, and was what women call "tired,"--when they delight
to wheel out arm-chairs and push warmed slippers under wet feet--at
least, so I have seen done.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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