"Four-and-a-penny and two-and-six makes six-and-seven. That leaves you five and fivepence for mere foolery. Good God! what more do you want?"
"I'll take eighteen, sir," I answered. "I can't really manage on less."
"Very well, I won't beat you down," he answered. "Fifteen shillings a week."
"I said eighteen," I persisted.
"Well, and I said fifteen," he retorted, somewhat indignant at the quibbling. "That's splitting the difference, isn't it? I can't be fairer than that."
I dared not throw away the one opportunity that had occurred.
Anything was better than return to the Reading Rooms, and the empty days full of despair. I accepted, and it was agreed that I should come the following Monday morning.
"Nabbed?" was Minikin's enquiry on my return to the back office for my hat.
I nodded.
"What's he wasting on you?"
"Fifteen shillings a week," I whispered.
"Felt sure somehow that he'd take a liking to you," answered Minikin.
"Don't be ungrateful and look thin on it."
Outside the door I heard Mr. Lott's shrill voice demanding to know where postage stamps were to be found.
"At the Post-office," was Minikin's reply.
The hours were long--in fact, we had no office hours; we got away when we could, which was rarely before seven or eight--but my work was interesting. It consisted of buying for unfortunate clients in India or the Colonies anything they might happen to want, from a stage coach to a pot of marmalade; packing it and shipping it across to them. Our "commission" was anything they could be persuaded to pay over and above the value of the article. I was not much interfered with.
There was that to be said for Lott & Co., so long as the work was done he was quite content to leave one to one's own way of doing it. And hastening through the busy streets, bargaining in shop or warehouse, bustling important in and out the swarming docks, I often thanked my stars that I was not as some poor two-pound-a-week clerk chained to a dreary desk.
The fifteen shillings a week was a tight fit; but that was not my trouble. Reduce your denominator--you know the quotation. I found it no philosophical cant, but a practical solution of life. My food cost me on the average a shilling a day. If more of us limited our commissariat bill to the same figure, there would be less dyspepsia abroad. Generally I cooked my own meals in my own frying-pan; but occasionally I would indulge myself with a more orthodox dinner at a cook shop, or tea with hot buttered toast at a coffee-shop; and but for the greasy table-cloth and the dirty-handed waiter, such would have been even greater delights. The shilling a week for amusements afforded me at least one, occasionally two, visits to the theatre, for in those days there were Paradises where for sixpence one could be a god. Fourpence a week on tobacco gave me half-a-dozen cigarettes a day; I have spent more on smoke and derived less satisfaction. Dress was my greatest difficulty. One anxiety in life the poor man is saved: he knows not the haunting sense of debt. My tailor never dunned me. His principle was half-a-crown down on receipt of order, the balance on the handing over of the goods. No system is perfect; the method avoided friction, it is true; yet on the other hand it was annoying to be compelled to promenade, come Sundays, in shiny elbows and frayed trousers, knowing all the while that finished, waiting, was a suit in which one might have made one's mark--had only one shut one's eyes passing that pastry-cook's window on pay-day. Surely there should be a sumptuary law compelling pastry-cooks to deal in cellars or behind drawn blinds.
