Japhet, In Search Of A Father Part 1 by Frederick Marryat (read people like a book .TXT) 📕

Master May Rise In The Estimation Of The Reader,  When I Describe His

Person And His Qualifications.

Mr Phineas Cophagus Might Have Been About Forty-Five Years Of Age When I

First Had The Honour Of An Introduction To Him In The Receiving Room Of

The Foundling Hospital. He Was Of The Middle Height,  His Face Was Thin,

His Nose Very Much Hooked,  His Eyes Small And Peering,  With A

Good-Humoured Twinkle In Them,  His Mouth Large,  And Drawn Down At One

Corner. He Was Stout In His Body,  And Carried A Considerable

Protuberance Before Him,  Which He Was In The Habit Of Patting With His

Left Hand Very Complacently; But Although Stout In His Body,  His Legs

Were Mere Spindles,  So That,  In His Appearance,  He Reminded You Of Some

Bird Of The Crane Genus. Indeed,  I May Say,  That His Whole Figure Gave

You Just Such An Impression As An Orange Might Do,  Had It Taken To

Itself A Couple Of Pieces Of Tobacco Pipes As Vehicles Of Locomotion. He

Was Dressed In a Black Coat And Waistcoat,  White Cravat And High Collar

To His Shirt,  Blue Cotton Net Pantaloons And Hessian Boots,  Both Fitting

So Tight,  That It Appeared As If He Was Proud Of His Spindle Shanks. His

Hat Was Broad-Brimmed And Low,  And He Carried A Stout Black Cane With A

Gold Top In His Right Hand,  Almost Always Raising The Gold Top To His

Nose When He Spoke,  Just As We See Doctors Represented At A Consultation

In The Caricature Prints. But If His Figure Was Strange,  His Language

And Manners Were Still More So. He Spoke,  As Some Birds Fly,  In Jerks,

Intermixing His Words,  For He Never Completed A Whole Sentence,  With

_Um--Um--_And Ending It With "_So On,_" Leaving His Hearers To Supply

The Context From The Heads Of His Discourse. Almost Always In Motion,  He

Generally Changed His Position As Soon As He Had Finished Speaking,

Walking To Any Other Part Of The Room,  With His Cane To His Nose,  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.

     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,  Diez,

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,