Tom was not with me, for he, poor
fellow! was not well enough to be out o' nights in winter. My young
friend gave me, with great eagerness, a rare piece of news. Mr.
Johnstone, the Glasgow and South-Western general manager, was retiring
and Mr. Wainwright was to succeed him! Well, that did not excite me, and
I wondered at his earnestness; but more was to follow. Mr. Wainwright,
as general manager, required a principal clerk and there was, it seemed,
no one in the place quite suitable. He must be good at correspondence,
and expert at shorthand. I was, my young friend said, the very man; I
must apply. Mr. Wainwright was English, so was I; I came from the
Midland, and the Midland and the Glasgow and South-Western were hand and
glove. How lucky we had met; he had not thought of me till this very
moment. It was fate. Would I write tonight? By this time I was as
eager as himself. No more skating for me that night. I hurried home,
Tom and I composed a careful and judicious letter. I posted it in Her
Majesty's pillar box hard by; went to bed, but was too excited to sleep.
An answer soon came, and an interview with Mr.
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