Returned to a state of pecuniary
uncertainty and finding himself in need of employment, Mr. Headstone began to
cast around for a suitable position. As a certificated schoolmaster, he had all
reasonable expectation of finding a post commensurate with both his needs and
his talents. However, as the former exceeded the latter by some significant
margin, he was bound to be disappointed; and a series of unsuccessful
interviews in which he demonstrated fully the extent of his limitations without
once exhibiting his potential left him morose and dejected. In such circumstances,
Mr. Headstone had but one recourse to satisfaction, and that he found behind
the bar of The Saracen’s Head.
One forenoon as the schoolmaster sat contemplating his future, which he appeared
to divine in the dregs of his emptied glass, there entered a stranger, looking
extremely red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at a party which
had taken anything but a convivial turn. This individual called for a pint of
ale and a broiled fowl, and sat himself down opposite the schoolmaster to await
his repast. When the meal came, he worried over rather than ate it, growling
like any four-footed inmate of a menagerie, tearing the flesh from the bone
with his crooked yellow teeth and letting the grease run down his chin as if it
were a requisite lubricant for the savage action of his jaws. Mr. Headstone
attended the operation with a fascination born out of hunger, and was so
particular in his observation that the diner could not allow it to go
unchallenged.
Apprised of the schoolmaster’s desperate situation, the stranger pushed
the remains of ragged uneaten meat across the table and invited Mr. Headstone
to partake, which that gentleman did with all the evidence of a voracious
appetite. The feast having been concluded to the satisfaction of both parties,
the stranger drew out a pipe and lit it, and introduced himself as ‘a honest
tradesman’ by the name of Jerry Cruncher. Ruminating on his tobacco, which was
a necessary aid to digestion, Mr. Cruncher asked Mr. Headstone if he was
willing to learn an honest trade that required only light labour and was guaranteed
to turn a tidy profit. The schoolmaster’s reply being in the affirmative, Mr.
Cruncher then asked if Mr. Headstone objected to a little night work. Mr. Headstone
did not object, if it were absolutely necessary to the success of the
enterprise, which Mr. Cruncher assured him that it was. The terms and
conditions of employment were thus agreed, and the two men parted company with
a resolution to meet again at Mr. Cruncher’s private lodging in Hanging-sword-alley,
Whitefriars, at half-past ten of the clock that very evening.
