Robert Michael Ballantyne - The Young Fur Traders стр 6.

The room itself was small, and lighted by two little windows, which opened into the courtyard. The entire apartment was made of wood. The floor was of unpainted fir boards. The walls were of the same material, painted blue from the floor upwards to about three feet, where the blue was unceremoniously stopped short by a stripe of bright red, above which the somewhat fanciful decorator had laid on a coat of pale yellow; and the ceiling, by way of variety, was of a deep ochre. As the occupants of Red River office were, however, addicted to the use of tobacco and tallow candies, the original colour of the ceiling had vanished entirely, and that of the walls had considerably changed.

There were three doors in the room (besides the door of entrance), each opening into another apartment, where the three clerks were wont to court the favour of Morpheus after the labours of the day. No carpets graced the floors of any of these rooms, and with the exception of the paint aforementioned, no ornament whatever broke the pleasing uniformity of the scene. This was compensated, however, to some extent by several scarlet sashes, bright-coloured shot-belts, and gay portions of winter costume, peculiar to the country, which depended from sundry nails in the bedroom walls; and as the three doors always stood open, these objects, together with one or two fowling-pieces and canoe-paddles, formed quite a brilliant and highly suggestive background to the otherwise sombre picture. A large open fireplace stood in one corner of the room, devoid of a grate, and so constructed that large logs of wood might be piled up on end to any extent. And really the fires made in this manner, and in this individual fireplace, were exquisite beyond description. A wood-fire is a particularly cheerful thing. Those who have never seen one can form but a faint idea of its splendour; especially on a sharp winter night in the arctic regions, where the thermometer falls to forty degrees below zero, without inducing the inhabitants to suppose that the world has reached its conclusion. The billets are usually piled up on end, so that the flames rise and twine round them with a fierce intensity that causes them to crack and sputter cheerfully, sending innumerable sparks of fire into the room, and throwing out a rich glow of brilliant light that warms a man even to look at it, and renders candles quite unnecessary.

The clerks who inhabited this counting-room were, like itself, peculiar. There were threecorresponding to the bedrooms. The senior was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular mana Scotchmanvery good-humoured, yet a man whose under-lip met the upper with that peculiar degree of precision that indicated the presence of other qualities besides that of good-humour. He was book-keeper and accountant, and managed the affairs entrusted to his care with the same dogged perseverance with which he would have led an expedition of discovery to the North Pole. He was thirty or thereabouts.

The second was a small manalso a Scotchman. It is curious to note how numerous Scotchmen are in the wilds of North America. This specimen was diminutive and sharp. Moreover, he played the flutean accomplishment of which he was so proud that he ordered out from England a flute of ebony, so elaborately enriched with silver keys that ones fingers ached to behold it. This beautiful instrument, like most other instruments of a delicate nature, found the climate too much for its constitution, and, soon after the winter began, split from top to bottom. Peter Mactavish, however, was a genius by nature, and a mechanical genius by tendency; so that, instead of giving way to despair, he laboriously bound the flute together with waxed thread, which, although it could not restore it to its pristine elegance, enabled him to play with great effect sundry doleful airs, whose influence, when performed at night, usually sent his companions to sleep, or, failing this, drove them to distraction.

The third inhabitant of the office was a ruddy, smooth-chinned youth of about fourteen, who had left home seven months before, in the hope of gratifying a desire to lead a wild life, which he had entertained ever since he read Jack the Giant Killer, and found himself most unexpectedly fastened, during the greater part of each day, to a stool. His name was Harry Somerville, and a fine, cheerful little fellow he was, full of spirits, and curiously addicted to poking and arranging the fire at least every ten minutesa propensity which tested the forbearance of the senior clerk rather severely, and would have surprised any one not aware of poor Harrys incurable antipathy to the desk, and the yearning desire with which he longed for physical action.

Harry was busily engaged with the refractory fire when Charley, as stated at the conclusion of the last chapter, burst into the room.

Hollo! he exclaimed, suspending his operations for a moment, whats up?

Nothing, said Charley, but fathers temper, thats all. He gave me a splendid description of his life in the woods, and then threw his pipe at me because I admired it too much.

Ho! exclaimed Harry, making a vigorous thrust at the fire, then youve no chance now.

No chance! what do you mean?

Only that we are to have a wolf-hunt in the plains tomorrow; and if youve aggravated your father, hell be taking you home to-night, thats all.

Oh! no fear of that, said Charley, with a look that seemed to imply that there was very great fear of that,much more, in fact, than he was willing to admit even to himself. My dear old father never keeps his anger long. Im sure that hell be all right again in half an hour.

Hope so, but doubt it I do, said Harry, making another deadly poke at the fire, and returning, with a deep sigh, to his stool.

Would you like to go with us, Charley? said the senior clerk, laying down his pen and turning round on his chair (the senior clerk never sat on a stool) with a benign smile.

Oh, very, very much indeed, cried Charley; but even should father agree to stay all night at the fort, I have no horse, and Im sure he would not let me have the mare after what I did to-day.

Do you think hes not open to persuasion? said the senior clerk.

No, Im sure hes not.

Well, well, it dont much signify; perhaps we can mount you. (Charleys face brightened.) Go, he continued, addressing Harry Somervillego, tell Tom Whyte I wish to speak to him.

Harry sprang from his stool with a suddenness and vigour that might have justified the belief that he had been fixed to it by means of a powerful spring, which had been set free with a sharp recoil, and shot him out at the door, for he disappeared in a trice. In a few minutes he returned, followed by the groom Tom Whyte.

Tom, said the senior clerk, do you think we could manage to mount Charley to-morrow?

Why, sir, I dont think as how we could. There aint an oss in the stable except them wots required and them wots badly.

Couldnt he have the brown pony? suggested the senior clerk.

Tom Whyte was a cockney and an old soldier, and stood so bolt upright that it seemed quite a marvel how the words ever managed to climb up the steep ascent of his throat, and turn the corner so as to get out at his mouth. Perhaps this was the cause of his speaking on all occasions with great deliberation and slowness.

Why, you see, sir, he replied, the brown ponys got cut under the fetlock of the right hind leg; and I ad im down to LEsperance the smiths, sir, to look at im, sir; and he says to me, says he, That dont look well, that oss dont,and hes a knowing feller, sir, is LEsperance, though he is an alf-breed