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Handle locks with care, and make certain not to break a customer’s automotive with
auto shutters. I'm still feeling a bit shaky."
The truth of the latter statement was so evident that I felt morally
compelled to curtail my explorations to the utmost that was potential. But
it was a extreme trial. For as I hurried along Clerkenwell Road I discovered
myself in a veritable Tom Tiddler's Ground. By sheer drive of will, I had
to drag myself past these wonderful store windows that displayed--better
and more valuable than gold and silver--all the wonders of the
clock-maker's art. I hardly dared to have a look at them. But even the hasty
glance that I stole as I hurried previous gave me an indelible image of
those unbelievable treasures that I can recall to today. I see them
now, although the years have made acquainted the topics of that first,
ecstatic, impression: the entrancing instruments and gauges, bench-drills and
wheel-cutters, the lovely little watch maker's lathe, fairer to me than
the Rose of Sharon or the Lily of the Valley, the sharpening heads with
their buffs and brushes, the assembled movements, and the noble regulator
with its quicksilver pendulum, dealing with seconds as frequent clocks do
with hours. I felt that I could have spent eternity in that blessed
street.
However, my actual enterprise, although it was however with dealers in
"sundries", gave me the chance for more leisured observations.
Besides Clerkenwell Road, it carried me to St. John's Gate and
Clerkenwell Green; from which, finally, I tore myself away and set forth
at prime speed towards Holborn to catch the omnibus for Regent Circus (now,
by the way, called Oxford Circus). But all the way, as my carriage
rumbled sleepily westward, the imaginative and prescient of those Aladdin caves floated
earlier than my eyes and haunted me till I entered the little shop and
dismissed my grasp to his easy-chair within the sitting-room. Then I
unpacked my parcels, distributed their contents in the correct
receptacles, put away the treasured value-lists that I had collected for
future examine, and set about the peculiar enterprise of the day.
I do not suggest to comply with in detail the course of my life as Mr.
Abraham's apprentice. There would, in deed, be little enough to file;
for the times and months slipped by unreckoned, spent with placid
contentment within the work which was a pleasure to do and a satisfaction
when performed. But apart from the truth that there could be so little to tell,
the mere circumstances of my life will not be the actual subject of this
historical past. Its function is, as I've defined, to hint the antecedents of
sure events which occurred many years later when I was in a position to place my
finger on the one essential proven fact that was necessary to disclose the character
and authorship of a very singular crime. With the invention of that
crime, the foregoing chapters have had at least some connection; and in
what follows I shall confine myself to incidents that have been parts of the
same practice of causation.
Of these, the first was concerned with my Uncle Sam. By delivery he was a
Kentish man, and he had served his time in a small workshop at Maidstone,
carried out by a sure James Wright. When his apprenticeship had come to
an finish, he had migrated to London; however he had always kept in contact with
his previous master and paid him occasional visits. Now, about the tip of my
third yr, Mr. Wright, who was getting too old to carry on alone, had
offered to take him into partnership; and the supply being clearly
advantageous, Uncle Sam had accepted and forthwith made preparations for
the transfer.
It was a extreme blow to me, and I believe also to Aunt Judy. For though I
had taken up my abode with Mr. Abraham, hardly an evening had passed
which did not see me seated in the acquainted kitchen (however not in my
original chair) going through the previous Dutch clock and listening to old Mr.
Gollidge's interminable yarns. That kitchen had still been my house as it
had been since my infancy. I had still been a member, not solely of the
family, however of the family, absent, like Uncle Sam, solely during working
hours. But henceforth I ought to don't have any home--for Mr. Abraham's home was
a mere lodging; no household circle, and, worst of all, no Aunt Judy.
It was a dismal prospect. With a sinking coronary heart I watched the preparations
for the departure and counted the days as they slid previous, all too
shortly; and when the last of the sands had run out and that i stood on the
platform with my eyes mounted on the receding train, from a window of which
Aunt Judy's arm protruded, waving her damp handkerchief, I felt as would possibly
have felt some marooned mariner following with despairing gaze the hull
of his ship sinking below the horizon. Because the train disappeared round a
curve, I turned away and could have blubbered aloud; but I was now a
young man of sixteen, and a railway station shouldn't be a suitable place for
the show of the feelings.
But in the days that adopted, my condition was very desolate and lonely;
and yet, as I can now see, viewing occasions with a retrospective eye, this
shattering misfortune was for my final good. Indeed, it yielded
sure rapid benefits. For, casting about for some method of disposing
of the solitary evenings, I found an institution recognized as the
Working Men's College, then occupying a noble old home in Great Ormond
Street; whereby it took place that the homely kitchen was replaced by
austere but pleasant class rooms, and the voice of outdated Mr. Gollidge
recounting the mutiny on the Mar' Jane by those of friendly younger
graduates explaining the ideas of algebra and geometry, of applied
mechanics and machine-drawing.
The next incident, trivial as it is going to appear in the telling, had a fair
more profound impact within the shaping of my future; indeed, however for that
trifling occurrence, this history could by no means have been written. So I
proceed with out additional apologies.
On a certain morning originally of the fourth year of my
apprenticeship, my master and i had been within the shop together reviewing the
inventory when a somewhat irate-looking elderly gentleman entered, and, fixing
a truculent eye on Mr. Abraham, demanded:
"Do you know anything about equatorial clocks?