"You are Frederick Batchelor.

How is it you are late ?" "I'm sorry, sir," faltered I, at this rather discouraging beginning, "but--" And here I stuck.

What was the use of trying to explain what still remained the fact?
Mr Barnacle eyed me keenly, and continued, "You are fourteen, you say, have just left school, and are good at arithmetic.

What school were you at ?" "Stonebridge House, sir." "Where is that ?" "In Cliffshire." "And you think you would suit us ?" "I'd try, sir," said I.
"Do you know what our work is ?" said Mr Barnacle.
"No, sir, not exactly," I replied.
"Generally speaking," mildly put in Mr Merrett, "you've a sort of idea." "Yes," said I, not quite sure whether I was telling the truth or not.
Mr Barnacle touched his bell, and the clerk appeared.
"Bring me the invoice-book, Doubleday." Mr Doubleday returned directly with a large account-book, which he deposited on the table before the junior partner.
Mr Barnacle pushed it towards me.
"I want a list made out of all the goods sent to Mr Walker, of Bombay, since the beginning of the year.

Let me see you make it out." Then touching his bell again, he said to Mr Doubleday, the clerk, "Here, Doubleday, give this boy some invoice paper and a pen, and let him write at your desk.