The Magician's Sons

Chapter 31

"Three pence a day—three pence a day!" All the expectations Charlie had built for his future had started crumbling ever since he had heard those words. How had he deceived himself so long?

It had been "run, run, run" ever since Charlie had begun his job at The Pearl. He stumbled out of bed before there was a bit of light in the sky. And as he buttoned his waistcoat, his hands stung with blisters.

"Humph!" the boy had grumbled one morning. "After all the work I've done for Father, you would think I would have tougher skin than this!" But perhaps kneading soft bread dough wasn't a way to get callouses.

Charlie certainly wasn't a weak lad. He was used to hard labor. But cleaning a large part of a big hotel almost single handed was more than he had bargained for.

He was no longer the only janitor in The Pearl. There was now Gregory and Bert who cleaned the hotel as well. But they had their own allotted jurisdictions, and all three janitors had more work than they could handle.

For the first two weeks, Charlie had kept the highest hopes for this new job of his. He had been too busy to make particular inquiries about his wage. Somehow, both he and Mr. Jones had completely forgotten that necessary topic when the lad had been hired. But he was no longer under ignorance's cozy veil, and he wasn't feeling quite as optimistic about his work anymore.

Rubbish! Rubbish! Charlie thought in exasperation as he gathered trash from customers' bedrooms and picked it up from the kitchen. This place is full of nothing BUT rubbish! And yes, he went on, passing a room full of boastful gentleman and catching a few lines of their swearing and vulgarities—all of that is rubbish too!

The men's vile speech and excessive fondness for wine made them despicable rather than admirable in his eyes. When I am wealthy, I will not be like them! I never have drunk. My father never drank! And I never will! Setting down his moral boundary, he felt very smug compared to those deceitful gentlemen. He may have been a rubbish boy, but at least he was dumping the rubbish where it belonged instead of treasuring it.

His mood plummeted as reality struck him in the face. Ever and anon, his mind drifted to that far-off future of wealth and nobility which he saw for himself. But would he ever reach it?

I shan't reach it if I continue working here, I'm afraid! he panicked. Then, with a cringe, he repeated those awful words to himself—Three pence a day. That was the wage he was making. He recalled, vividly, the day when his dreams had all been ruined.

A feeling of eagerness had touched his heart. It had been the end of August, and all of the workers at The Pearl of Britannia had been babbling about it being the day when Mr. Jones would pay them. Charlie had nearly been beside himself with excitement.

I will do my work more thoroughly than ever, and Mr. Jones won't grudge me a coin! he had thought diligently.

True to his word, the boy had sprinted to every task, hauled bins and bins of refuse away, and had scrubbed the hotel with vigor. Everything he had touched had shined as if it had been brand new again. It had made a jolly sense of pride swell in Charlie's heart. While he had gone on with his hard tasks, he had pictured the look of pleased satisfaction which he would see on Mr. Jones's face when he marched into the manager's office to receive his pay.

"I can't think of another person in the world who deserves this more than you do, Charles!" he had expected the man to gush. "The way you work around here, we ought to pay you double! Why, you make Gregory and Bert look like utter sloths! How can we thank you enough?"