My fellow lodger came home in the evening, and was glad at my coming.
His name was Linton, and I changed mine to Elliot. He was a flippant
unstable being, one on whom nothing appeared a difficulty, in his own
estimation, but who could effect very little after all. He was what is
called by some a compositor, in the Queen's printing house, then
conducted by a Mr. James Watson. In the course of our conversation that
night, I told him I was a first-rate classical scholar, and would
gladly turn my attention to some business wherein my education might
avail me something; and that there was nothing would delight me so much
as an engagement in the Queen's printing office. Linton made no
difficulty in bringing about that arrangement. His answer was: "Oo, gud
sir, you are the very man we want. Gud bless your breast and your
buttons, sir! Aye, that's neither here nor there. That's all very well.
Ha, ha, ha. A by-word in the house, sir. But, as I was saying, you are
the very man we want. You will get any money you like to ask, sir. Any
money you like, sir. God bless your buttons!--That's settled--All
done--Settled, settled--I'll do it, I'll do it--No more about it; no
more about it. Settled, settled."
The next day I went with him to the office, and he presented me to Mr.
Watson as the most wonderful genius and scholar ever known. His
recommendation had little sway with Mr. Watson, who only smiled at
Linton's extravagances, as one does at the prattle of an infant. I
sauntered about the printing office for the space of two or three
hours, during which time Watson bustled about with green spectacles on
his nose, and took no heed of me. But, seeing that I still lingered, he
addressed me at length, in a civil gentlemanly way, and inquired
concerning my views. I satisfied him with all my answers, in particular
those to his questions about the Latin and Greek languages; but when he
came to ask testimonials of my character and acquirements, and found
that I could produce none, he viewed me with a jealous eye, and said he
dreaded I was some n'er-do-weel, run from my parents or guardians, and
he did not choose to employ any such. I said my parents were both dead;
and that, being thereby deprived of the means of following out my
education, it behoved me to apply to some business in which my
education might be of some use to me. He said he would take me into the
office, and pay me according to the business I performed and the manner
in which I deported myself; but he could take no man into Her Majesty's
printing office upon a regular engagement who could not produce the
most respectable references with regard to morals.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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