Jilted! Or, My Uncle's Scheme, Volume 1 — John Shaqi
Jilted! Or, My Uncle's Scheme, Volume 1Russell, William Clark
General
Jilted! Or, My Uncle's Scheme, Volume 1
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 19th century
I must confess that he spoke very nicely; and I felt that if he would
only pull that atrocious ring off his forefinger, I might not find
him so objectionable as I had feared. Nor was he so plain, now that I
examined him closely. He certainly had good eyes and teeth, and there
was a delicacy in his hands which even his ring could not deform. But
his dress was very clerkly, consisting of a long frock coat, which he
wore open, and a waistcoat buttoned up to his throat, scarcely showing
a spotted cotton cravat, ornamented with a pin. The back of his head,
moreover, was a convexity of black friz. On the other hand, his voice
was pleasing, and his manners sufficiently easy.
Before long my uncle bustled into the bank, and on catching sight of me
called out in his cheery way, “There you are, Charlie! How are you?”
and came behind the counter and shook hands.
“Now,” said he, taking me aside, “what I want to impress upon you is
this: master the details of banking as quickly as you can, and try and
like your work. Before long I shall hope to be able to convince you
that it will be well worth your while to apply yourself. In reality
there is very little to learn. The mere clerkly portion of the business
is nothing; any ploughboy could be taught it in a week. The banker’s
real needs are, a good address, thorough amiability, a high sense of
honour, and a good knowledge of human nature. You understand?”
“Perfectly; and I may hope that I am not deficient in some of the
qualifications you speak of.”
“Indeed you are not. Where you are at present wanting, is in what I
must call practicality. You will have to fight against some difficult
prejudices which you have brought with you out of your life in
Longueville. But,” he continued, clapping me on the shoulders, “in
spite of some little weaknesses, there is enough in you to persuade me
that you will do very well.” He then went into his private room.
I almost forget how that day passed. I had a seat on a high stool near
Mr. Curling’s desk, and I remember that from time to time he would turn
to explain something in connexion with the business, which, he told me,
was important to know. He went about his work diligently and steadily,
and particularly amazed me by the extraordinary capacity he manifested
of counting any amount of money in an incredibly short space of time.
Threepenny and fourpenny-bits, half-sovereigns and half-crowns,
shillings and two-shilling-pieces, discharged out of the queer old
bags in which the customers brought their hoards, fled like lightning,
under his nimble fingers, up into a corner where they arranged
themselves in piles. Nor was his perception of a bad or doubtful coin
less remarkable. Now and then he would stay his miraculous counting to
examine a piece of money, give it a sharp ring, fling it aside, and
proceed in his work like a machine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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