My railway apprenticeship: Day three

I found myself in the midst of the most wondrous dream this morning: I was jaunting about the city of Vienna, one hand holding a sack of mint berwick cockles and the other clutching that of my dear chum and travel companion, Crispin Devonshire. We had made our way to a charming little boulevard called the Ringstrasse, where I happened across a delightful pair of lace stockings that Crispin and I agreed would square quite neatly with my taffeta cassock. It was then, just as I was reaching for my pocketbook to make the purchase, that my dream came to an abrupt end. The vision of those lovely stockings was brusquely replaced with that of Ms. Myrtleberry's wrinkled face, as the old hag roused me from my sweet slumber to send me away for the third day of my wretched apprenticeship!

I sought to return to Vienna by napping during the trip to father's railway offices in Tuttle Village, but the carriage ride was a terribly bumpy one, and sleep eluded me. When I disembarked I was in a thoroughly agitated state, cheered only by the knowledge that, having arranged for the preparation of a private lock and key, I would travel in the building's lift alone, without the nuisance of beggar children or Chinamen. But as you well know, esteemed reader, Fortune frowns upon me, in these recent days more so than ever before. The cursed lift operator had failed to heed my instructions, claiming mechanical ignorance, and the lift's doors opened to greet me with a horde of filthy plebeians.

I went into an absolute fit, one of such magnitude that I do not recall how long it lasted (although the soil on my pantaloons suggested to me that at one point I must have fallen to the floor and rolled about). When I emerged from this emotional torrent, father's face was beet-red and the general assembly seemed to be in a state of shock. It was an effective demonstration indeed, and it saved me from a dirty day on the lift! Instead, I was instructed to present myself at the workmen's shed, where I was to toil alongside the Chinamen.

I am not a man built for physical undertakings. Of course, I am quite capable of such, but my standing does not permit it -- were a gentleman of my stature to lower himself to donkeywork before the peasantry, social chaos would not be far behind. The railway foreman must also have been aware of the importance of preserving the social order, for upon taking sight of me in my gentle garb, he suggested that I leave the work to the workers and spend the day in the shed, where I was to sit quietly and watch the proceedings through a small window. It was an arrangement that suited me nicely, and the foreman as well: I am sure that the presence of my watchful eye promoted industriousness among his peons.

And industrious these Chinamen are indeed! They worked diligently throughout the day, and seemed to even take pleasure in their travail. On several occasions I left the shed to examine them more closely, and was met each time with waves of delighted laughter! It was a glee undoubtedly born of the satisfaction of their drudgery, and could only be quieted with the foreman's whip.

These sights awakened a great curiosity in me, and I am eager to learn more of these cheerful folk and their native land. If I am to return to the railway offices, perhaps I shall seek out the two Chinamen who took such pleasure in my appearance on the first day of my apprenticeship. Crispin and I have often spoken of exploring the mysteries of the East, and perhaps these two chaps could serve as guides.

Comments

[Madame M]

If you should sojourn in the Orient, do be sure to keep up with your journaling. And do peruse the lovely silks and fine accoutrements offered there! I am quite sure you shall find an object to replace those delicious lace stockings of your dreams!

Fondly,

Madame M

[Duke of Spankington]

I must commend you for paying proper heed to the social order. If men our stature begin to toil as common peasants, we might stop torturing these peasants and stripping them of all human dignity. This time must never come.

[Rupert Edgerton, Esq]

Your comments are quite apt, my dear boy. The Chinaman is a marvelous labourer (when he is not besotted with opium), and most well-suited to perform those especially nasty tasks with which we of the better classes simply cannot be bothered. I do so wish the House of Lords would vote to award each and every gentleman in the realm his own Chinaman!