A few minutes more, and Charles was sent for to Mr. Preen's room. That gentleman--who had a great profusion of light curling hair and a pleasant face and manner--was alone, standing with his back to the fire near his table. He asked Charles very much the same questions that Mr. Stroud had asked, and particularly what his recent occupation had been. Charles told the truth: he had not been brought up to any occupation, but an unfortunate reverse of family circumstances was obliging him to seek one. "You have not been in a solicitor's office, then! Not been accustomed to copying deeds?" cried Mr. Preen. Charles confessed he had not. But he took courage to say he had no doubt he could do any copying required of him, and to beg that he might be tried. "Is your handwriting a neat one?" "Yes, it is," said Charles, eagerly, for he was speaking the truth. "Neat and good, and very plain." "You think you could copy quickly and correctly?" "I am sure I could, sir. I _hope_ you will try me," he added, a curious entreaty in his tone, that perhaps he was himself unconscious of; but which was nevertheless apparent to Mr. Preen. "I have been seeking something so long, day after day, week after week, that I have almost lost heart." Perhaps that last avowal was not the best aid to Charles's success; or would not have been with most men of business. With Mr. Preen, who was very good-natured, it told rather for than against him. The lawyer mused. They wanted a copying-clerk very badly indeed; being two hands short, including Fred Hartley, and extremely busy: but the question was, could this young man accomplish the work? A thought struck him. "Suppose you were to stay now and copy a few pages this afternoon?" suggested Mr. Preen. "You see, if you cannot do the work, it would be useless your attempting it: but if you can, we will engage you." "I shall only be too happy to stay, sir." "Very well," said Mr. Preen, ringing his bell for the managing-clerk. "And you shall then have an answer." Charles was put to work by Mr. Stroud: who came and looked at him three or four times whilst he was doing the copying. He wrote slowly: the result of his extra care, his intensely earnest wish to succeed: but his writing was good and clear. "I shall write quickly enough in a day or two, when I am used to it," he said, looking up: and there was hope in his face as well as his tone. Mr. Preen chanced to be standing by. The writing would do, he decided; and Mr. Stroud was told to engage him. To begin with, his salary was to be fifteen shillings a-week: in a short time--as soon, indeed, as his suiting them was assured--it would be raised to eighteen. He was to enter on the morrow. "Where do you live?" curtly questioned Mr. Stroud. "Just beyond Kennington." "Take care that you are punctual. Nine o'clock is the hour for the copying-clerks. You are expected to be at work by that time, therefore you must get here before the clock strikes."