In the first place, Roland began life there as he had been accustomed to do it in England; that is, as a gentleman. In the second place there proved to be no especial market for frying-pans. That useful culinary article might be bought in sufficient abundance, he found, when inquired for, without bringing into requisition the newly-arrived supply. The frying-pans being thus left upon his hands, lying like a dead weight on them, metaphorically10 speaking, brought the first check to his hopes; for they had been relied upon (as the world knows) to inaugurate and establish the great enterprizes, commercial or otherwise, that had floated in rose-coloured visions through Roland's brain. He quitted the port town, Durban, and went to Maritzburg, fifty miles off, and then came back to Durban. Thrown upon his own resources (through the failure of the frying-pans), Roland had leisure to look about him, for some other fertile source in which to embark11 his genius and energy, and lead him on to speedy fortune. Such resources did not appear to be going begging; they were coyly shy; or at least came not flowing in Roland's way; and meanwhile his money melted. Partly in foolish expenditure12 on his own account, partly in helping13 sundry14 poor wights, distressed15 steerage passengers with whom he had made acquaintance on board (for Roland had brought out his good-nature with him), the money came to a summary end. One fine morning, Roland woke up from a dream of idle carelessness, to find himself changing the last sovereign of all the fifty. It did not dismay him very much: all he said was, "I must set about money-making in earnest now."
Of course the great problem was--how to do it. You, my reader, may be, even now, trying to solve it. Thousands of us are, every day. Roland Yorke made but one more of a very common experience; and he had to encounter the usual rubs incidental to the process. He came to great grief and was reduced to a crust; nay16, to the not knowing where the crust could be picked up from. The frying-pans went first, disposed of in a job lot, almost literally17 for an old song. Some man who owned a shed had, for a consideration, housed the case that contained them, and they were eating their handles off. Roland's wardrobe went next, piece-meal; and things fell to the pass that Roland was not sure but he himself would have to go after it. It came to one of two things--starvation or work. To do Roland justice, he was ready and willing to work; but he knew no mechanical trade; he had never done an hour's hard labour, and in that lay the difficulty of getting it. He would rush about from office to store, hunger giving him earnestness, from store to workshop, from workshop to bench, and say, Employ me. For the most part, the answer would be that he was not wanted; the labour market of all kinds was overstocked; but if the application appeared, by rare chance, likely to be entertained, and Roland was questioned of his experience and capabilities18, rejection19 was sure to follow. He was too honest, too shallow in the matter of tact20, to say he had been accustomed to work when he had not; and the experience in copying which he acknowledged and put forth21, was somehow never required to be tested. To hear Roland tell of what he had accomplished22 in this line at home, must have astonished the natives of Port Natal.
Well, time went on; it does not stand still for any one; and Roland went on with it, down and down and down. Years went on; and one rainy day, when about four winters had gone by from the date of his departure, Roland returned to England. He landed in St. Katharine's Docks, his coat out at elbows and ninepence in his pocket: as an old friend of his, Mr. Galloway, had once prophesied23 he would land, if he lived to get back at all.
Mr. Roland Yorke had sailed for Port Natal in style, a first-class cabin passenger; he came home in the steerage, paying twelve pounds for the passage, and working out part of that. From thence he made his way to Lord Carrick in Ireland, very much like a bale of returned goods.
The best account he gave of his travels to Lord Carrick, perhaps the best account he could give, was that he had been "knocking about." Luck had not been with him, he said; and there really did seem to have been a good deal in that. To hear him tell of his adventures was something rich; not consecutively24 as a history, he never did that: but these chance recollections were so frequent and diffuse25, that a history of his career at Natal might have been compiled from them. The Earl would hold his sides, laughing at Roland's lamentations for the failure and sacrifice of his frying-pans, and at the reminiscences in general. A life of adventure one week, a life of starvation the next. Roland said he had tried all kinds of things. He had served in stores; at bars where liquor was dispensed26; he had been a hired waiter at half the hotels in Natal; he had worked on the shore with the half-naked Zulu Kaffirs at lading and unlading boats; once, for a whole week, when he was very hard up, or perhaps very low down, he had cried hot potatoes in the streets. He had been a farmer's labourer and driven a waggon27, pigs, and cattle. He had been sub-editor in a newspaper office, The Natal Mercury, and one unlucky day sent the journal out with its letters printed upside down. He had hired himself out as chemist's assistant, and half ruined his master by his hopeless inability to distinguish between senna and tincture of laudanum, so that the antidotes28 obliged to be supplied to the hapless customers who came rushing for them, quite outweighed29 the profits. Occasionally he met with friends who assisted him, and then Roland was at ease--for his propensity30 to live as a gentleman was for ever cropping up. Up and down; down and up; now fortune smiling a little, but for the most part showing herself very grim, and frowning terribly. Roland had gone (as he called it) up the country, and amidst other agreeable incidents came to a fight with the Kaffirs. He took out a licence, the cost thirty shillings, and opened a retail31 store for pickled pork, candles, and native leeches32, the only articles he could get supplied him on trust. His fine personal appearance, ready address, evident scholarship, and hearty33 frank manners, obtained for him a clerkship in the Commercial and Agricultural Bank, recently opened, and he got into so hopeless a maze34 with the books and cash by the week's end, that he was turned off without pay. Architecture was tried next. Roland sent in a graphic35 plan as competitor for the erection of a public building; and the drawing--which he had copied from a model, just as he used to copy cribs in the college school at Helstonleigh--looked so well upon paper that the arbitrators were struck with admiration36 at the constructive37 talent displayed, until one of them made the abrupt38 discovery that there were no staircases and no room left to build any. So, that hope was abandoned for a less exalted39 one; and Roland was glad to become young man at a general store, where the work was light: alternating between dispensing40 herrings and treacle41 (called there golden syrup) to customers over the counter, and taking out parcels in a wheelbarrow.
But there was good in Roland. And a great deal of it too, in spite of his ill-luck and his careless improvidence42. The very fact of his remaining away four years, striving manfully with this unsatisfactory life of toil43 and semi-starvation, proved it. The brown bread and pea-soup Mr. Galloway had foreseen he would be reduced to live on, was often hungered for by Roland in vain. He put up with it all; and not until every chance seemed to have failed, would he go home to tax his uncle's pocket, and to disappoint his mother. A sense of shame, of keen, stinging mortification44, no doubt lay at the bottom of this feeling against return. He had been so sanguine45, as some of my readers may remember; and as he, sitting one day on a roadside stone in the sand, towards the close of his stay in Natal, recalled; so full of hopeful, glowing visions in the old home, that his mother, the Lady Augusta Yorke, had caught their reflection. Roland's castles in the air cannot have slipped yet out of people's memory. He had represented to his mother; aye, and believed it too; that Port Natal was a kind of Spanish El Dorado, where energetic young men might line their pockets in a short while, and come home millionaires for life. He had indulged large visions and made magnificent promises on the strength of them, beginning with a case of diamonds to his mother, and ending--nobody but Roland could have any conception where. Old debts were to be paid, friends benefited, enemies made to eat humble-pie. Mr. Galloway was to be passed in the street by Mr. Roland Yorke, the millionaire; the Reverend William Yorke to have the cold shoulder turned upon him. Arthur Channing was to be honoured; Jenkins, the hard-working clerk, who had thought nothing of doing Roland's work as well as his own, to be largely patronised; within three months after his arrival in Port Natal, funds were to be dispatched home to settle claims that might be standing46 against Roland in Helstonleigh. That there could be the slightest doubt he should come back "worth millions," Roland never supposed; he had talked of it everywhere--and talked faithfully. Poor Jenkins had long gone where worldly patronage47 and gifts could not follow him, but others had not. Roland remembered how his confident anticipations48 had so won upon his mother, that she went to bed and dreamt of driving about a charming city, whose streets were paved with Malachite marble.
And so, recalling these visions and promises, Roland, for very disappointment and shame, was not in a hurry to go back, but rather lingered on in Port Natal, struggling manfully with his ill-luck, as he called it. Pride and good-feeling alike prevented him. To appear before Lady Augusta, poor, starving, hatless, and bootless, would be undoubtedly49 a worse blow to her than that other alternative which he (forgetting his height and weight) had laid before her view: the one, he said, might happen if he did not get to Port Natal--the riding as a jockey on Helstonleigh race-course, in a pink silk jacket and yellow breeches.
No. He did try heartily50 with all his might and main; tried at it for four mortal years. Beyond a scrap51 of writing he now and again sent home, in which he always said he was "well, and happy, and keeping straight, and getting on," but which never contained a request for home news, or an address to which it might be sent, Lady Augusta heard nothing. Nobody else heard. One letter, indeed, reached a bosom52 friend of his, Arthur Channing, which was burnt when read, as requested, and Arthur looked grieved for a month after. He had told Arthur the truth; that he was not getting on; but under an injunction of secrecy53, and giving no details. Beyond that, no news reached home of Roland.
His fourth year of trial at Port Natal was drawing to a close when illness seized hold of him, and for the first time Roland felt as if he were losing heart. It was not serious illness, only such as is apt to attack visitors to the country, and from which Roland's strength of frame, sound constitution, and good habits--for he had no bad ones, unless a great appetite might be called such--had hitherto preserved him. But, what with the wear and tear of his chequered life, its uncertain food, a plentiful54 dinner today, bread and beans tomorrow, nothing the following one, and its harassing55 and continuous disappointments, Roland felt the illness as a depressing calamity56; and he began to say he could not make head against the tide any longer, and must get away from it. He might have to eat humble-pie on landing in England; but humble-pie seems tolerable or nauseous according to the existing state of mind; and it is never utterly57 poisonous to one of the elastic58 temperament59 of Roland Yorke. In a fit of impulse he went down to the ships and made the best bargain for getting home that circumstances allowed. He had been away more than four years, and never once, during that time, had he written home for money.
And so, behold60 him, out at pocket (except for ninepence) and out at elbows, but wonderfully improved in tone and physique, arriving in London early one rainy morning from Port Natal, and landing in the docks.
The first thing he did was to divide the ninepence with one who was poorer than he; the second was to get a cup of coffee and a slice of bread at a street coffee-stall; the third was to hasten to Lord Carrick's tailor--and a tremendous walk it was, but that was nothing to Roland--and get rigged out in any second-hand61 suit of clothes returned on hand that might be decent. There ill news awaited him; it was the time of year when Lord Carrick might, as a rule, be found in London; but he had not come; he was, the tailor believed, in Ireland. Roland at once knew, as sure as though it had been told him, that his uncle was in some kind of pecuniary62 hot water. Borrowing the very smallest amount of money that would take him to Ireland, he went off down the Thames in a return cattleboat that very day.
Since that period, hard upon three years, he had been almost equally "knocking about," and experienced nearly as many ups and downs in Ireland as at Port Natal. Sometimes living in clover with Lord Carrick, at others thrown on his own resources and getting on somehow. Lord Carrick's will was good to help him, but not always his ability; now and again it had happened that his lordship (who was really more improvident63 than his nephew, and had to take flights to the Continent on abrupt emergencies and without a day's warning) was lost to society for a time, even to Roland. Roland hired himself out as a kind of overlooker to some absentee's estate, but he could not get paid for it. This part of his career need not be traced; on the whole, he did still strive to do something for himself as strenuously64 as he had at Port Natal, and not to be a burthen to anybody, even to Lord Carrick.
To this end he came over to London, and presented himself one day to his late father's brother, Sir Richard Yorke, and boldly asked him if he could not "put him into something." The request caused Sir Richard (an old gentleman with a fat face) to stare immensely; he was very poor and very selfish, and had persistently65 held himself aloof66 from his late brother's needy67 family, keeping them always at arm's length. His son and heir had been content to do the same: in truth, the cousins did not know each other by sight. Sir Richard's estate was worth four thousand a-year, all told; and as he was wont68 to live at the rate of six, it will be understood that he was never in funds. Neither had he patronage or influence in anyway. To be thus summarily applied69 to by a stalwart young man, who announced himself as his nephew, took the baronet aback; and if he did not exactly turn Roland out of the house, his behaviour was equivalent to it "I'll be shot if I ever go near him again," cried Roland. "I'd rather cry hot pies in Poplar streets."
A day or two previously, in sauntering about parts of London least frequented by men of the higher class--for when we are very much down in the world we don't exactly choose the region of St. James's for our promenades70, or the sunny side of Regent Street--Roland had accidentally met one of the steerage passengers with whom he had voyaged home from Port Natal. Ever open-hearted, he had frankly71 avowed72 the reason of being unable to treat his friend; namely, empty pockets: he was not sure, he added, but he must take to crossing-sweeping for a living; he heard folks made fortunes at it. Upon this the gentleman, who wore no coat and very indifferent pantaloons, confided73 to him the intelligence that there was a first-rate opening in the perambulating hot-pie trade, down in Poplar, for an energetic young man with a sonorous74 voice. Roland, being great in the latter gift, thought he might entertain it.
Things were at a low ebb75 just then with Roland. Lord Carrick, as usual, was totally destitute76 of ready money; and Roland, desperately77 anxious though he was to get along of his own accord, was fain to write to his mother for a little temporary help. One cannot live upon air in London, however that desirable state of things may be accomplished at Port Natal. But the application was made at an inopportune moment. Every individual boy Lady Augusta possessed78 was then tugging79 at her purse-strings; and she returned a sharp answer to Roland, telling him he ought to be ashamed of himself not to be helping her, now that he was the eldest80, instead of wanting her to keep him. George, the eldest son, had died in India, which brought Roland first.
"It's true," said Roland, in a reflective mood, "I ought to be helping her. I wonder if Carrick could put me into anything, as old Dick won't. Once let me get a start, I'm bound to go on, and the mother should be the first to benefit by it."
A short while after this, and when Roland was far more at his wits' end for a shilling than he had ever been at Port Natal--for there he had no appearance to keep up, and here he had; there he could encamp out in the sand, here he couldn't--Lord Carrick arrived suddenly in London, in a little trouble as usual. Some warm-hearted friend had induced his good-natured lordship to accept a short bill, and afterwards treacherously81 left him to meet it. So Lord Carrick was again en route for the Continent, until his men of business, Greatorex and Greatorex, could arrange the affair for him by finding the necessary money. Halting in London a couple of days, to confer with them on that and other matters--for Lord Carrick's affairs altogether were complicated and could not be touched upon in an hour--Roland seized on the opportunity to prefer the application. And this brings us to the present time.
When under a cloud, and not quite certain that the streets were safe, the Earl was wont to eschew82 his hotel at the west end, and put up at a private one in a more obscure part. Roland, having had notice of his arrival, clattered83 in to breakfast with him on the morning of the second day, and entered on his petition forthwith--to be put into something.
"Anything for a start, Uncle Carrick," he urged. "No matter how low I begin: I'll soon go along swimmingly, once I get the start. I can't go about here, you know, with my toes out, as I have over yonder. It's awful work getting a dinner only once a week. I've had thoughts of crying hot pies in Poplar."
To judge by the breakfast Roland was eating, he had been a week without that meal as well as dinner. Lord Carrick, looking at the appetite with admiration, sat pulling his white whiskers in perplexity; for the grey hair of seven years ago had become white now. His heart was good to give Roland the post of Prime Minister, or any other trifling84 office, but he did not see his way clear to accomplish it.
"Me boy, there's only one thing I can do for ye just now," he said after silently turning the matter about in all its bearings, and hearing the explanation of the Poplar project. "Ye know I must be off tomorrow by the early French steamer, and I can't go about looking after places today, even if I knew where they could be picked up, which I don't. I must leave ye to Greatorex and Greatorex."
"What will they do?" asked Roland.
"You can come along with me there, and see."
Accordingly, when the Earl of Carrick went forth to his appointed interview that day with Mr. Greatorex, he presented Roland; and simply told the old lawyer that he must put him in a way of getting along, until he, Lord Carrick, was in funds again. Candid85 and open as ever Roland could be, the Earl made no secret whatever of that gentleman's penniless state, enlarging on the fact that to go dinnerless, as a rule, could not be good for him, and that he should not exactly like to see him set up as a hot-pie man in Poplar. Mr. Greatorex, perhaps nearly as much taken to as Sir Richard Yorke had been on a similar occasion, glanced at his son Bede who was present, and hesitated. He did not refuse point blank--as he might have done by almost anybody else. Lord Carrick was a valuable client, his business yearly bringing in a good share of feathers to the Greatorex nest, and old Mr. Greatorex was sensible of the fact. Still, he did not see what he could do for one who, like Roland, was in the somewhat anomalous86 position of being nephew to an earl and a baronet, but reduced to contemplate87 the embarking88 in the hot-pie trade.
"We might give him a stool in our office, Lord Carrick, for it happens that we are a clerk short: and pay him--pay him--twenty shillings a week. As a temporary thing, of course."
To one who had not had a dinner for days, twenty shillings a week seems an ample fortune; and Roland started up and grasped the elder lawyer's hand.
"I'll earn it," he said, his tone and eyes alike beaming with gratitude89. "I'll work for you till I drop."
Mr. Greatorex smiled. "The work will not be difficult, Mr. Yorke; writing, and going on errands occasionally. If you do come," he pointedly90 added, "you must be ready to perform anything you may be directed to do, just as a regular clerk does."
"Ready and willing too," responded Roland.
"We have room for a certain number of clerks only," proceeded Mr. Greatorex, who was desirous that there should be no misunderstanding in the bargain; "each one has his appointed work and must get through it. Can you copy deeds?"
"Can't I," unceremoniously replied Roland. "I was nearly worked to death with old Galloway, of Helstonleigh."
"Were you ever with him?" cried Mr. Greatorex in surprise to whom Mr. Galloway was known.
"Yes, for years; and part of the time had all the care of the office on my shoulders," was Roland's ready answer. "There was only Galloway then, beside myself, and he was not good for much. Why! the amount of copying I had to do was so great, I thought I should have dropped into my grave. Lord Carrick knows it."
Lord Carrick did, in so far as that he had heard Roland repeatedly assert it, and nodded assent91. Mr. Greatorex thought the services of so experienced a clerk must be invaluable92 to any house, and felt charmed to have secured them.
And that is how it arose that Roland Yorke, as you have seen, was entering the office of Greatorex and Greatorex. He was to be a clerk there to all intents and purposes; just as he had been in the old days at Mr. Galloway's; and yet, when he came in that morning, after his summerset out of the hansom cab, with a five-pound note in his pocket that Lord Carrick had contrived93 to spare for him, and an order for unlimited94 credit at his lordship's tailor's, hatter's, and bootmaker's, Roland's buoyant heart and fate were alike radiant, as if he had suddenly come into a fortune.
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1
natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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metaphorically
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embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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capabilities
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| n.能力( capability的名词复数 )；可能；容量；[复数]潜在能力 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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prophesied
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consecutively
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diffuse
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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antidotes
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| 解药( antidote的名词复数 )； 解毒剂； 对抗手段； 除害物 | |
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outweighed
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propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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leeches
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| n.水蛭( leech的名词复数 )；蚂蟥；榨取他人脂膏者；医生 | |
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hearty
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maze
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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improvidence
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| n.目光短浅 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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harassing
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| v.侵扰，骚扰( harass的现在分词 )；不断攻击（敌人） | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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improvident
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| adj.不顾将来的，不节俭的，无远见的 | |
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strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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promenades
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| n.人行道( promenade的名词复数 )；散步场所；闲逛v.兜风( promenade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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eschew
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| v.避开，戒绝 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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