protested.
“But you can read?” Master Ule persisted. “In the
name of the Father and the Seven Fates, it is nothing for you to be
ashamed of! But where on earth did you happen to acquire that
skill?”
“From Gottfried Jenk the bookseller.” Jed made the
admission reluctantly. “I used to take lessons along of his
granddaughter, Miss Sera Vorder, but she always got on better than
me, coming to it naturally, as you might say.”
Master Ule handed him a ledger bound in green
leather. “Read something to me; choose any page you like,” he
demanded.
Somewhat hesitantly, Jed read off a page of names and
figures.
“And I suppose . . . but naturally, this schoolmaster
of yours—what did you say his name was?—taught you to write as
well?”
As Master Ule already knew the worst of him, Jed saw
no reason to conceal the truth. “He taught me to write and to . . .
well, there was history, and geography, and just about every sort
of lessons in them books he taught me to read, and I couldn’t very
well help learning them things along of my letters, now could
I?”
“Show me,” said Master Ule, and provided him with
pen, ink, and paper. This, however, was rather more difficult. Even
without books, Jed had plenty of opportunities for reading things:
street signs, and shop signs, and handbills pasted up on walls. But
since abandoning his studies with Gottfried Jenk he had never had
occasion to set pen to paper.
Using a crate for a writing desk, Jed laboriously
wrote out his name and the day of the year.
“You are somewhat rusty, I perceive,” said the dwarf,
examining this effort. “But with a little practice I believe you
might write a very fair hand. I suppose you can add up a column of
figures?”
Jed replied that he could, and proceeded to
demonstrate. “But my dear good lad, did it never occur to you to
seek employment as a clerk?”
Jed shook his head. It certainly had not. Young men
who dressed and spoke as he did were not employed in
counting-houses and offices.
“Well, perhaps not. Your appearance is somewhat
rough, and your speech leaves much to be desired. But with a little
polishing . . . with a little polishing we might put you in the way
of a very good position.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jed, rather stunned by this
proposition, though by now he began to perceive that he had fallen
into the hands of a sort of dwarf philanthropist.
For the rest of that day, Master Ule set him to
copying accounts from one ledger into another. When he had a moment
to think, Jed wondered how the absent Polydore Figg would react on
learning that Master Ule had hired such an unprepossessing new
clerk. Much to his surprise, the other clerks did not seem to mind
at all, and continued on with their work, ink-stained and cheerful,
as though it were nothing out of the ordinary for them to work,
virtually side by side, with a ragged boy from the river who filled
the room (Jed knew he was no garland of meadowflowers) with a fishy
odor of brine and riverwater.
“See here,” he finally gathered the courage to ask
the others, “am I of any use here at all?”
The stout young dwarf put down his pen, tipped back
his chair and appeared to consider. “You’ve given Master Ule the
opportunity to do a good and generous deed—which there’s nothing he
likes better. That’s useful, anyway. And if you work hard and learn
all that you can, why then, he’ll find you another position just as
he promised, and there you
may
be of use,
as well as affording considerable satisfaction to the kindest heart
in Thornburg.”
Jed thought that over. “I take it, I ain’t the first
piece of river trash Master Ule’s taken up and tried to make into
something better.”
“You’re the first in the counting-house,” said the
other dwarf, looking up from his work. “But half the fellows in the
glasshouse were once ‘trash’ (as you are pleased to call yourself)
and now they are all worthy and useful members of the community . .
.
“But you can read?” Master Ule persisted. “In the
name of the Father and the Seven Fates, it is nothing for you to be
ashamed of! But where on earth did you happen to acquire that
skill?”
“From Gottfried Jenk the bookseller.” Jed made the
admission reluctantly. “I used to take lessons along of his
granddaughter, Miss Sera Vorder, but she always got on better than
me, coming to it naturally, as you might say.”
Master Ule handed him a ledger bound in green
leather. “Read something to me; choose any page you like,” he
demanded.
Somewhat hesitantly, Jed read off a page of names and
figures.
“And I suppose . . . but naturally, this schoolmaster
of yours—what did you say his name was?—taught you to write as
well?”
As Master Ule already knew the worst of him, Jed saw
no reason to conceal the truth. “He taught me to write and to . . .
well, there was history, and geography, and just about every sort
of lessons in them books he taught me to read, and I couldn’t very
well help learning them things along of my letters, now could
I?”
“Show me,” said Master Ule, and provided him with
pen, ink, and paper. This, however, was rather more difficult. Even
without books, Jed had plenty of opportunities for reading things:
street signs, and shop signs, and handbills pasted up on walls. But
since abandoning his studies with Gottfried Jenk he had never had
occasion to set pen to paper.
Using a crate for a writing desk, Jed laboriously
wrote out his name and the day of the year.
“You are somewhat rusty, I perceive,” said the dwarf,
examining this effort. “But with a little practice I believe you
might write a very fair hand. I suppose you can add up a column of
figures?”
Jed replied that he could, and proceeded to
demonstrate. “But my dear good lad, did it never occur to you to
seek employment as a clerk?”
Jed shook his head. It certainly had not. Young men
who dressed and spoke as he did were not employed in
counting-houses and offices.
“Well, perhaps not. Your appearance is somewhat
rough, and your speech leaves much to be desired. But with a little
polishing . . . with a little polishing we might put you in the way
of a very good position.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jed, rather stunned by this
proposition, though by now he began to perceive that he had fallen
into the hands of a sort of dwarf philanthropist.
For the rest of that day, Master Ule set him to
copying accounts from one ledger into another. When he had a moment
to think, Jed wondered how the absent Polydore Figg would react on
learning that Master Ule had hired such an unprepossessing new
clerk. Much to his surprise, the other clerks did not seem to mind
at all, and continued on with their work, ink-stained and cheerful,
as though it were nothing out of the ordinary for them to work,
virtually side by side, with a ragged boy from the river who filled
the room (Jed knew he was no garland of meadowflowers) with a fishy
odor of brine and riverwater.
“See here,” he finally gathered the courage to ask
the others, “am I of any use here at all?”
The stout young dwarf put down his pen, tipped back
his chair and appeared to consider. “You’ve given Master Ule the
opportunity to do a good and generous deed—which there’s nothing he
likes better. That’s useful, anyway. And if you work hard and learn
all that you can, why then, he’ll find you another position just as
he promised, and there you
may
be of use,
as well as affording considerable satisfaction to the kindest heart
in Thornburg.”
Jed thought that over. “I take it, I ain’t the first
piece of river trash Master Ule’s taken up and tried to make into
something better.”
“You’re the first in the counting-house,” said the
other dwarf, looking up from his work. “But half the fellows in the
glasshouse were once ‘trash’ (as you are pleased to call yourself)
and now they are all worthy and useful members of the community . .
.
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