Chapter 2

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_ CHAPTER TWO.

David Rowe had been a week in London engaged in the search for Owen's relatives. At last a letter came from him, desiring that the trap might be sent over to Reston, as he would be down, God willing, by the coach that day.

His arrival was eagerly looked for by all at Fenside Farm. David's laconic letter had not mentioned anything to satisfy their curiosity.

"Well, lad, what news?" exclaimed the farmer, as David stood while his mother and sister Sarah assisted him off with his great-coat. "Have you found out friends likely to help young Owen?"

"As to that I cannot exactly say," answered David; "I have discovered a relative who ought to help him--the identical Simon Fluke who gave the book to Susan Walford. Simon Fluke must be the boy's cousin, although removed a couple of degrees; but that should make no difference if Simon had any affection for his cousin, for the boy is certainly her only surviving descendant."

"But have you had any communication with Simon Fluke?" inquired the farmer.

"No, I thought that would be imprudent; it would be politic to let the boy introduce himself. I made all inquiries in my power, however, and ascertained that Simon Fluke is a bachelor, reputed to be rich, and has a flourishing business as a ship's chandler. As to his character, all I can learn is, that he is looked upon as a man of honour and credit in his business, although of somewhat eccentric habits. In regard to his private character I could gain no information; he may be as hard-hearted as a rock, or kind and generous. I went to his place of business in the hopes of having the opportunity of forming an opinion for myself, but I failed to see him, and therefore had to come away as wise as I went."

"What step do you advise us to take next?" asked the farmer.

"Send him up at once, and let him present himself at Simon Fluke's--say who he is, that his parents are dead, and that he wishes for employment. Do not let him appear like a beggar asking for alms; he will succeed best by exhibiting an independent spirit, and showing that he is ready to do any work which is given to him. We know he is quick, intelligent, writes a beautiful hand, and has as good a head on his shoulders as many a much older person."

"But surely we cannot send the boy up by himself," urged Mrs Rowe; "and you, I suppose, cannot go again! David?"

"I'll go with him, mother," said John, the eldest son, "and willingly bear the charge, for I should be glad to get a chance of seeing the big city. If Simon Fluke were to refuse to receive young Owen, what would become of the boy? I have heard of dreadful things happening to lads in London, especially when they have no friends to care for them."

And so it was settled. John undertook to start the very next morning, if Owen was willing to go.

Owen, who had been out in the garden making himself useful, now came in. David gave him the information he had obtained, and inquired whether he wished to pay a visit to his supposed relative?

"If he is likely to give me something to do, I am willing to go and ask him," answered Owen.

"There is nothing like trying, and you can lose little by asking for it," observed David.

Susan had prepared Owen's wardrobe to the best of her ability, so that he was ready the next morning to start with John Rowe. They duly reached the great city, and John and Owen managed to find their way to Wapping. They walked about for some time, making inquiries for Paul Kelson, Fluke and Company, whose place of business was at last pointed out to them. They had passed it once before, but the name on the side of the door was so obliterated by time that it was scarcely legible.

"Now, Owen, you go in, and success attend you," said John, shaking him by the hand, as if they were about to separate for an indefinite period. "Do not be afraid, I will not desert you!"

Owen, mustering courage, entered the dingy-looking office. John remained outside while Owen presented himself, as has been already described, to Simon Fluke.

Faithful John walked up and down, keeping a watchful eye on the door, in case Owen might be summarily ejected, and resolved not to quit his post until he had ascertained to a certainty that the boy was likely to be well cared for. "If the old man disowns him, I will take him to some London sights, and then we will go back to Fenside, and let him turn farmer if he likes, and I'll help him; or it may be that David will hear of something more to his advantage, or perhaps find out some of his other relatives. David is as keen as a ferret, and he'll not let a chance pass of serving the lad." John's patience was seriously tried. He saw seafaring men of various grades pass in and out, corroborating the account of the flourishing business of Paul Kelson, Fluke and Company, and he concluded, while Simon Fluke was engaged with them, that young Owen would have but small chance of being attended to.

"Well, I can but wait until they are about to close the place; then, if Owen does not come out, I must go in and look for him," thought John. He was resolved, however, not to do anything which might interfere with the boy's interests; it took a good deal to put John out of temper.

Meantime Owen's patience was undergoing a severe trial. The two brown-coated old gentlemen appeared to him to be a long time looking over those big books. They had just concluded, when a junior clerk came in to say that Captain Truck wished to see Mr Fluke. Glancing at Owen as he passed, Mr Fluke hurried into his private room, while the old clerk, tucking the big books under his arm, and filling his hands with the papers, left the office. He stopped as he was passing young Owen.

"Sit down there, boy," he said, pointing to a bench near the door; "Mr Fluke will speak to you when he is disengaged."

Several persons came in, however, before Captain Truck had gone away. They were admitted in succession to speak to Mr Fluke; so Owen had to wait and wait on, watching the clerks as they sat at their desks, and observing the visitors as they paced up and down, while waiting their turns to have an interview with the principal of the establishment. This impressed Owen with the idea that the brown, snuffy old gentleman was a far more important personage than he had at first supposed. Several of the clerks who were moving about with papers in their hands frequently passed the young stranger, but no one spoke, or bestowed even an inquiring glance at him. Owen, who was tired with his journey and long walk, was, in spite of his anxiety, nearly dropping asleep, when he heard the words--

"Well, boy, what is it you want? Quick, say your business, I have no time to spare."

The words were spoken by the brown-coated old gentleman. Owen, starting up, followed him into the inner office. Here Mr Fluke, nimbly taking his seat on his high stool with his back to the desk, again asked in a testy tone, "What is it you want?" Owen stood, hat in hand, as he had done nearly two hours before, and began briefly recounting his history.

"Tut, tut, what's all that to me?" exclaimed the old gentleman, pushing up his spectacles, and taking a huge pinch of snuff, as he narrowly scrutinised the boy with his sharp grey eyes. "What more have you got to say for yourself?"

"I did not explain, sir, as I ought to have done at first, that my mother's name was Walford, and that she was the daughter of a Miss Susan Fluke, who married my grandfather, Mr Henry Walford."

The old gentleman had not hitherto ceased kicking his legs against the high stool, a custom which had become habitual. He stopped, however, on hearing this, and looked more keenly than ever at Owen.

"What proof have you got, boy, that your mother was once Susan Fluke?" he asked in a sharp tone.

"David Rowe, who is clerk to Mr Orlando Browne the lawyer, found the name in a book which had once been my grandmother's, and left by her to my mother, called 'Sturm's Reflections.'"

"I should like to see the book," said Mr Fluke, in a tone which showed more interest than he had hitherto exhibited.

"David Rowe has the book at Fenside, but I could get it sent to you, sir, if you wish to see it," said Owen.

"I do wish to see it; I want proof of the strange story you tell me," said the old man, taking another pinch of snuff. "And suppose it is true, what do you want of me?"

"I want to find employment, sir, and the means of supporting myself. I don't wish to be a burden on Farmer Rowe, the only friend I have beside Jane Hayes, my old nurse."

Mr Fluke surveyed Owen from head to foot. "What can such a boy as you do, except run errands, or sweep out the office?" he asked in a tone of contempt. "What do you happen to know? Can you write? Have you any knowledge of arithmetic?"

"Yes, sir," said Owen, "I am tolerably well acquainted with quadratic equations; I have gone through the first six books of Euclid, and have begun trigonometry, but have not got very far. I am pretty well up in Latin. I have read Caesar and Virgil, and a little of Horace; and in Greek, the New Testament, Xenophon, and two plays of Aeschylus; and my father considered me well acquainted with English history and geography."

"Umph! a prodigy of learning!" muttered the old gentleman. "Can you do the rule of three and sum up?--that's more to the purpose. What sort of fist do you write? Can you do as well as this?" and he exhibited a crabbed scrawl barely legible.

"I hope that my writing would be more easily read than that, sir," answered Owen. "I could do the rule of three several years ago, and am pretty correct at summing up."

"Umph!" repeated the old gentleman, "if I take you at your word, I must set you down as a genius. I don't know that the learning you boast of will be of much use to you in the world. If, however, I find the account I have just heard correct, I may perhaps give you a trial. I am not to be taken in by impostors, old or young; you will understand, therefore, that I make no promises. I am busy now and cannot spend more time on you, so you must go. I suppose that you did not come up here by yourself?"

"No, sir, John Howe, Farmer Rowe's eldest son, accompanied me, and is waiting outside; if you cannot give me employment, he wants me to go back with him to Fenside."

"Tell him to stay in town until I have seen the book, and have had time to look into the matter," said Mr Fluke. "Where are you stopping, in case I may wish to send to you? But I am not likely to do that. Come again when you have got the book."

"We are stopping at the 'Green Dragon,' Bishopsgate Street, sir," said Owen.

"Well, write down your address and the name of your friend," and Simon Fluke handed a pen to Owen, and placed a piece of paper on the desk before him. "Umph! a clear hand, more like a man's than a boy's," muttered the old gentlemen to himself as he examined what Owen had written. "You may go now, and remember what I told you."

Saying this, Mr Fluke turned round on his stool, and applied himself to his work without another parting word to Owen, who, making the best of his way through the office, hastened out at the door. He looked up and down the street, wondering whether John would have got tired and gone away, but John was too faithful a friend to do that. He had merely crossed over the street, keeping his eye on Paul Kelson, Fluke and Company's office. Seeing Owen, John hastened over to meet him.

"Well, what news, Owen?" he asked, without uttering a word of complaint at the time he had been kept waiting.

Owen described his interview with Simon Fluke.

"Not very promising," observed John; "I suspect that Simon Fluke's heart is very like what David thought it might be, hard as a rock, or he would have shown more interest in you when he heard that you were Susan Fluke's grandson. However, we will do as he asks, and send for the book, and in the meantime you and I'll go and see this big city of London. There's the Tower, and Exeter Change, the British Museum, Saint Paul's, and Westminster Abbey, and other places I have heard speak of. The Tower is not far from here--we passed it as we came along; we will go and see that first."

On their way, however, they began to feel very hungry, and were thankful to find an eating-house where they could satisfy their appetites. The fare was not of the most refined character, nor were the people who came in. Two or three, seeing at a glance that John was fresh from the country, offered to show him and his son the way about London.

"Maybe you'd like to take a glass for good fellowship," said one of the men who addressed him.

But John, suspecting the object of the offer, declined it, as he did others subsequently made him, and taking Owen by the hand, he gladly got out of the neighbourhood. They made but a short visit to the Tower, as John was anxious to get back to the "Green Dragon," that he might write to David for the book.

"We will show it to the suspicious old gentleman, but we must take care he does not keep it," said John. "I don't think, Owen, you must raise your hopes too high. If he gives you the cold shoulder, you will not be worse off than you were before, and you shall come back with me. You will not be left without friends while father, David, and I are alive, so cheer up whatever happens."

John, who, although country-born and bred, had his wits about him, managed to see as many of the sights of London as he intended. Owen was much interested by all he saw, and the days passed quickly by. The important volume, which was, he hoped, to convince Simon Fluke of his relationship, safely arrived one evening, and he and John the following morning set off with it to Wapping. John insisted on remaining outside while Owen had his interview with Simon Fluke, and ascertained whether any employment was to be given him.

"If I find you are comfortably settled, then I shall go home happy in my mind," said John; "if not, as I said before, you shall come back with me; I won't leave you alone in this big city."

Owen entered the office with the book in his hand. Mr Fluke was engaged in his private room. Mr Tarwig, the head clerk, got off his stool to speak to him, and had Owen put a proper value on this piece of condescension, he would have considered it a good sign.

"Sit down, my boy, the master will be out soon, and he has something to say to you," said Mr Tarwig, pointing to a bench, and nodding to Owen, he returned to his seat. In a few minutes the door opened, and a fine-looking seafaring man, evidently the master of a ship, came out. As he passed by he gave a glance at Owen, who heard him addressed by Mr Tarwig as Captain Aggett. "What a pleasant look he has," thought Owen; "I should like to be under him. I wonder if he can give me anything to do?" Mr Fluke put his head out directly afterwards, and seeing Owen, beckoned him in.

"Well, lad, have you got the book?" he asked.

Owen undid the parcel, and handed him the volume. The old man examined it minutely, but Owen could detect no change in his countenance.

"That's my handwriting, there's no doubt about it, written when I gave the book to my cousin Susan, as she was about to marry Henry Walford," muttered Mr Fluke to himself. He was then silent for some time, forgetting, apparently, that any one was in the room. "Have you any books with the name of Walford in them?" he asked, fixing his keen glance on Owen; "that would be more clear proof that you are the person whom you say you are."

"Yes, sir, I remember several of my mother's books which she had before her marriage, and others which had belonged to my grandmother, with their names in them; I do not know, however, whether they can be recovered. A bookseller purchased the whole of them at the sale which took place at the vicarage, but perhaps he has not yet disposed of them."

"Boy, the books must be got at any price," exclaimed the old man, in an authoritative tone, like that of a person not accustomed to be contradicted. "Write to your friends, and tell them to buy them all up; I will send them a cheque for the amount. We must not let them go to the grocer's to wrap up butter and cheese."

"I will do as you desire, sir," said Owen.

"I am inclined to believe the account you give of yourself, boy, and you shall have a trial," said Mr Fluke; his manner was far less abrupt than it had hitherto been, and comparatively gentle. "Go to the outer office, I am busy now; Mr Tarwig will look after you, and tell me what he thinks."

He went to the door, and summoned his head clerk.

"Try him," said Mr Fluke, pointing to Owen.

"Come along with me," said Mr Tarwig, and he made a sign to Owen to get up on a high stool, handing him, at the same time, the draft of a letter. "There, copy that."

Owen transcribed it in a clear, regular hand, correcting two or three errors in spelling.

"Good," said Mr Tarwig, as he glanced over it, perhaps not discovering the improvement in the latter respect. "Now cast up these figures," and he handed him a long account.

Owen performed the work rapidly, and when checked by Mr Tarwig, it was found to be perfectly correct.

"Good," said the head clerk; "you'll do."

He handed him several accounts in succession, and which required considerable calculation.

"Ah me!" exclaimed Mr Tarwig, and taking the papers he actually went across the office to show them to his immediate surbordinate, who looked round with a surprised glance at the young stranger.

What "Ah me!" meant Owen could not tell, but he judged that Mr Tarwig was satisfied with his performance. Owen had not forgotten John.

"A friend is waiting for me outside, sir," he said; "if I am not wanted, I must rejoin him."

"Stay and hear what Mr Fluke has got to say to you," answered Mr Tarwig; "or go out and call your friend in, perhaps the master may have a word to say to him."

Owen gladly did as he desired.

"I think they are pleased with me," he said to John; "and I understand that Mr Fluke wants to speak to you, I suppose it is about getting back my mother's books," and Owen related what had occurred.

"A good sign," said John. "Things look brighter than I expected they would, but we must not raise our hopes too high."

Owen ushered John into the office, feeling almost at home there already. In a short time Owen and John were summoned into Mr Fluke's room. John was not prepossessed by that worthy's manner.

"You are John Rowe, I understand," he began. "Believing this boy's account of himself I am going to give him a trial; if he behaves well, he will rise in this office, for there is no doubt that he possesses the talents he boasts of. He shall come and stop at my house. Go and get his things and bring them here, for I shall take him home with me. Now listen, Mr John Rowe, I want you to perform a commission for me. Here is a cheque, you can get it cashed in the country. Buy up all the books with the name of Walford in them which were sold at the Fenside Vicarage sale."

As he spoke, he handed a cheque for 10 pounds to John, adding, "Do not tell the bookseller why you want them, or he will raise the price. Buy them in your own name. If this sum is not sufficient, let me know; should it be more than you require, take it to defray the expenses you have been at on the boy's account."

John thanked Mr Fluke, and promised to carry out his wishes, highly pleased at what he considered Owen's good fortune.

Owen, however, felt somewhat disappointed at not being able to spend another evening with his friend.

From Mr Fluke's manner, John saw that it was time to take his departure, and Owen followed him to the door. John had to return with Owen's box of clothes, but there probably would not then be time for any conversation.

Owen sent many grateful messages to Fenside Farm. "I hope that Mr Fluke will let me go down and see you sometimes," he added, "for I never can forget all the kindness you, your father, and David have shown me, and your mother and sisters."

"Well, if you are not happy here, mind you must tell us so, and you shall ever be welcome at Fenside," said John, as they parted. _

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