Japhet, in Search of a Father. Фредерик Марриет
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and his head cocked on one side, with a self-sufficient tiptoe gait. When I was ushered into his presence, he was standing with two of the governors. "This is the lad," said one of them, "his name is Japhet."
"Japhet," replied Mr. Cophagus; "um, scriptural—Shem, Ham, um—and so on. Boy reads?"
"Very well, and writes a very good hand. He is a very good boy, Mr. Cophagus."
"Read—write—spell—good, and so on. Bring him up—rudiments—spatula—write labels—um—M.D. one of these days—make a man of him—and so on," said this strange personage, walking round and round me with his cane to his nose, and scrutinising my person with his twinkling eyes. I was dismissed after this examination and approval, and the next day, dressed in a plain suit of clothes, was delivered by the porter at the shop of Mr. Phineas Cophagus, who was not at home when I arrived.
Chapter II
Like all Tyros, I find the rudiments of learning extremely difficult and laborious, but advance so rapidly than I can do without my Master.
A tall, fresh-coloured, but hectic looking young man, stood behind the counter, making up prescriptions, and a dirty lad, about thirteen years old, was standing near with his basket to deliver the medicines to the several addresses, as soon as they were ready. The young man behind the counter, whose name was Brookes, was within eighteen months of serving his time, when his friends intended to establish him on his own account, and this was the reason which induced Mr. Cophagus to take me, that I might learn the business, and supply his place when he left. Mr. Brookes was a very quiet, amiable person, kind to me and the other boy who carried out the medicines, and who had been taken by Mr. Cophagus, for his food and raiment. The porter told Mr. Brookes who I was, and left me. "Do you think that you will like to be an apothecary?" said Mr. Brookes to me, with a benevolent smile.
"Yes; I do not see why I should not," replied I.
"Stop a moment," said the lad who was waiting with the basket, lookly archly at me, "you hav'n't got through your rudimans yet."
"Hold your tongue, Timothy," said Mr. Brookes. "That you are not very fond of the rudiments, as Mr. Cophagus calls them, is very clear. Now walk off as fast as you can with these medicines, sir—14, Spring Street; 16, Cleaver Street, as before; and then to John Street, 55, Mrs. Smith's. Do you understand?"
"To be sure I do—can't I read? I reads all the directions, and all your Latin stuff into the bargain—all your summen dusses, horez, dìez, cockly hairy. I mean to set up for myself one of these days."
"I'll knock you down one of these days, Mr. Timothy, if you stay so long as you do, looking at the print shops; that you may depend upon."
"I keep up all my learning that way," replied Timothy, walking off with his load, turning his head round and laughing at me, as he quitted the shop. Mr. Brookes smiled, but said nothing.
As Timothy went out, in came Mr. Cophagus. "Heh! Japhet—I see," said he, putting up his cane, "nothing to do—bad—must work—um—and so on. Mr. Brookes—boy learn rudiments—good—and so on." Hereupon Mr. Cophagus took his cane from his nose, pointed to the large iron mortar, and then walked away into the back parlour. Mr. Brookes understood his master, if I did not. He wiped out the mortar, threw in some drugs, and, showing me how to use the pestle, left me to my work. In half an hour I discovered why it was that Timothy had such an objection to what Mr. Cophagus facetiously termed the rudiments of the profession. It was dreadful hard work for a boy; the perspiration ran down me in streams, and I could hardly lift my arms. When Mr. Cophagus passed through the shop and looked at me, as I continued to thump away with the heavy iron pestle. "Good,"—said he, "by-and-bye—M.D.—and so on." I thought it was a very rough road to such preferment, and I stopped to take a little breath. "By-the-by—Japhet—Christian name—and so on—sirname—heh!"
"Mr. Cophagus wishes to know your other name," said Mr. Brookes, interpreting.
I have omitted to acquaint the reader that sirnames as well as Christian names, are always given to the children at the Foundling, and in consequence of the bank note found in my basket, I had been named after the celebrated personage whose signature it bore. "Newland is my other name, sir," replied I.
"Newland—heh!—very good name—every body likes to see that name—and have plenty of them in his pockets too—um—very comfortable—and so on," replied Mr. Cophagus, leaving the shop.
I resumed my thumping occupation, when Timothy returned with his empty basket. He laughed when he saw me at work. "Well, how do you like the rudimans?—and so on—heh?" said he, mimicking Mr. Cophagus.
"Not overmuch," replied I, wiping my face.
"That was my job before you came. I have been more than a year, and never have got out of those rudimans yet, and I suppose I never shall."
Mr. Brookes, perceiving that I was tired, desired me to leave off, an order which I gladly obeyed, and I took my seat in a corner of the shop.
"There," said Timothy, laying down his basket; "no more work for me hanty prandium, is there, Mr. Brookes?"
"No, Tim; but post prandium, you'll post off again."
Dinner being ready, and Mr. Cophagus having returned, he and Mr. Brookes went into the back parlour, leaving Timothy and me in the shop to announce customers. And I shall take this opportunity of introducing Mr. Timothy more particularly, as he will play a very conspicuous part in this narrative. Timothy was short in stature for his age, but very strongly built. He had an oval face, with a very dark complexion, grey eyes flashing from under their long eyelashes, and eyebrows nearly meeting each other. He was marked with the small-pox, not so much as to disfigure him, but still it was very perceptible when near to him. His countenance was always lighted up with merriment; there was such a happy, devil-may-care expression in his face, that you liked him the first minute that you were in his company, and I was intimate with him immediately.
"I say, Japhet," said he, "where did you come from?"
"The Foundling," replied I.
"Then you have no friends or relations."
"If I have, I do not know where to find them," replied I, very gravely.
"Pooh! don't be grave upon it. I haven't any either. I was brought up by the parish, in the workhouse. I was found at the door of a gentleman's house, who sent me to the overseers—I was about a year old then. They call me a foundling, but I don't care what they call me, so long as they don't call me too late for dinner. Father and mother, whoever they were, when they ran away from me, didn't run away with my appetite. I wonder how long master means to play with his knife and fork. As for Mr. Brookes, what he eats wouldn't physic a snipe. What's your other name, Japhet?"
"Newland."
"Newland—now you shall have mine in exchange: Timothy Oldmixon at your service. They christened me after the workhouse pump, which had 'Timothy Oldmixon fecit' on it; and the overseers thought it as good a name to give me as any other; so I was christened after the pump-maker with some of the pump water. As soon as I was big enough, they employed me to pump all the water for the use of the workhouse. I worked at my papa, as I called the pump, all day long. Few sons worked their father more, or disliked him so much: and now, Japhet, you see, from habit, I'm pumping you."
"You'll soon pump dry, then, for I've very little to tell you," replied I; "but, tell me, what sort of a person is our master?"
"He's just what you see him, never alters, hardly ever out of humour, and when he is, he is just as odd as ever. He very often threatens me, but I have never had a blow yet, although Mr. Brookes has complained once or twice."
"But surely Mr. Brookes is not cross?"
"No,