To The West

To The West, by George
Manville Fenn

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Title: To The West
Author: George Manville Fenn
Illustrator: W.J. Morgan
Release Date: May 16, 2007 [EBook #21495]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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WEST ***

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To The West, by George Manville Fenn.
CHAPTER ONE.

MR. JOHN DEMPSTER.
"What would I do, sir? Why, if I were as poor as you say you are, and
couldn't get on here, I'd go abroad."
"But where, sir? where to?"
"Anywhere. Don't ask me. The world's big enough and round enough
for you, isn't it?"
"But without means, Mr Dempster?"
"Yes, sir, without means. Work, sir--work. The same as I have done. I
pay my poor rate, and I can't afford to help other people. Good
morning."
I heard every word uttered as I sat on my stool in the outer office, and I
felt as if I could see my employer, short, stout, fierce-looking and grey,
frowning at the thin, pale, middle-aged man whom I had ushered
in--Mr John Dempster he told me his name was--and who had come to
ask for the loan of a little money, as he was in sore distress.
Every word of his appeal hurt me, and I felt, when the words came
through the open door, as if I should have liked to take my hat and go
away. But I dared not, for I had been set to copy some letters, and I
knew from old experience that if Mr Dempster--Mr Isaac Dempster that
is--came out or called for me, and I was not there, I should have a
repetition of many a painful scene.
I tried not to listen, but every word came, and I heard how unfortunate
Mr John Dempster had been; that his wife had been seriously ill, and
now needed nourishing food and wine; and as all that was said became
mixed up with what I was writing, and the tears would come into my
eyes and make them dim, I found myself making mistakes, and left off
in despair.
I looked cautiously over the double desk, peeping between some books
to see if Esau Dean, my fellow boy-clerk, was watching me; but as

usual he was asleep with his head hanging down over his blotting-paper,
and the sun shining through his pale-coloured knotty curls, which gave
his head the appearance of a black man's bleached to a whitey brown;
and as I looked through the loop-hole between the books, my
fellow-clerk's head faded away, and I was looking back at my pleasant
old school-days at Wiltboro', from which place I was suddenly
summoned home two years before to bid good-bye to my mother
before we had to part for ever.
And then all the old home-life floated before me like a bright sunny
picture, and the holidays at the rambling red-brick house with its great
walled garden, where fruit was so abundant that it seemed of no value
at all. There was my pony, and Don and Skurry, the dogs, and the river
and my boat, and the fellows who used to come and spend weeks with
me-- school-fellows who always told me what a lucky chap I was; and
perhaps it was as well, for I did not understand it then, not till the news
came of my father's death, and my second summons home. I did not
seem to understand it then--that I was alone in the world, and that
almost the last words my mother said to me would have to be thought
out and put to the test. I had a dim recollection of her holding my hand,
and telling me that whatever came I was to be a man, and patient, and
never to give up; but it was not till months after that I fully realised that
in place of going back to school I was to go at once out into the world
and fight for myself, for I was quite alone.
I can't go into all this now--how I used to sit in my bed-room at night
with my head aching from thinking and trying to see impossibilities.
Let it be sufficient if I tell you that after several trials at various things,
for all of which I was soon told I was inefficient, I found myself, a big,
sturdy, country-looking lad, seated on an old leather-covered stool at a
double desk,