Psychological fiction; Railroad stations -- England -- London -- Fiction
I turned my face northward, and went over into “the Black Country.”
I am not going to dwell on this part of my story. How I worked out the
term of my apprenticeship; how, when I had served my full time and become
a skilled workman, I took Mat from the plough and brought him over to the
Black Country, sharing with him lodging, wages, experience—all, in short,
that I had to give; how he, naturally quick to learn and brimful of quiet
energy, worked his way up a step at a time, and came by-and-by to be a
“first hand” in his own department; how, during all these years of
change, and trial, and effort, the old boyish affection never wavered or
weakened, but went on, growing with our growth and strengthening with our
strength—are facts which I need do no more than outline in this place.
About this time—it will be remembered that I speak of the days when Mat
and I were on the bright side of thirty—it happened that our firm
contracted to supply six first-class locomotives to run on the new line,
then in process of construction, between Turin and Genoa. It was the
first Italian order we had taken. We had had dealings with France,
Holland, Belgium, Germany; but never with Italy. The connexion,
therefore, was new and valuable—all the more valuable because our
Transalpine neighbours had but lately begun to lay down the iron roads,
and would be safe to need more of our good English work as they went on.
So the Birmingham firm set themselves to the contract with a will,
lengthened our working hours, increased our wages, took on fresh hands,
and determined, if energy and promptitude could do it, to place
themselves at the head of the Italian labour-market, and stay there.
They deserved and achieved success. The six locomotives were not only
turned out to time, but were shipped, despatched, and delivered with a
promptitude that fairly amazed our Piedmontese consignee. I was not a
little proud, you may be sure, when I found myself appointed to
superintend the transport of the engines. Being allowed a couple of
assistants, I contrived that Mat should be one of them; and thus we
enjoyed together the first great holiday of our lives.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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