England -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Runaway children -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
"Then you shall have some supper," he said dreamily, and with his eyes
fixed upon his model, forgetting me the next moment, as with his
dexterous fingers he tried the action of one or other of the wheels.
"It's a pity to leave it now," I cried.
"Yes, yes," he said with a sigh; "it is a pity: but it must be left. I
dare--"
He ceased talking, becoming completely abstracted in his task of
screwing on a nut, and without speaking I helped and watched and helped
until quite an hour and a half more had glided by, when with a look of
triumph he stood erect, for the task was done.
"She's finished, Antony," he cried, and in the elate eager face before
me I seemed to see some one quite different to the stern, quiet
compositor I met daily at the great printing-office by Fetter Lane.
I was as delighted as he, and together we stood gazing down at the
bright, beautiful bit of mechanism--the fruit of years of toil and
endless thought; but as I gazed at it a strange dull feeling of anxiety
came over me, and I glanced timorously at Hallett, for the thought
flashed across my mind:
"What will he say now if it fails?"
I literally trembled with dread as this thought forced its way home, and
with a choking sensation at my throat I watched his eager, elated face
each moment becoming more joyous and full of pride; and the more I
witnessed his pleasure, the more I feared lest his hopes should be
dashed.
"Why, it's daybreak, Antony," he said, drawing up the blind. "My poor
boy, what a thoughtless wretch I am. It is cruel to you. Come and lie
down directly."
"No," I said eagerly, "I want to see the model going."
"And so do I, Antony," he cried passionately; "but now the time has
come, my boy, I dare not try. I feel a horrible dread of failure, and I
must cover it over with a cloth, and leave it till I feel more calm."
He took up the large black cloth with which he had been in the habit of
covering it from the dust, and stood gazing down at the bright brass
model which had begun to glisten in the soft pure morning light now
stealing in from amidst the London chimney-pots, while a couple of
sparrows seated upon the parapet set up a cheery chirp.
I felt that I dared not speak, but as if I should have liked to lead him
away from the infatuation of his life. Somehow I knew that it would
break down, and the anguish he must feel would be something I could not
bear to see; and yet, combined with this, I shared his longing to see
the model at work--the beautiful little piece of mechanism that was to
produce a revolution in printing--turning easily, smoothly, and well.
As I gazed at his eager, anxious face, the pale light in the sky changed
to a soft warm flush; bright flecks of orange and gold sent their
reflections into the dingy garret, and seemed to illumine Hallett's
countenance, as with straining eyes and parted lips he stood there cloth
in hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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