Steerforth was very angry with Traddles, and said he was glad he had caught it.  Poor Traddles, who had passed the stage of lying with his head upon the desk, and was relieving himself as usual with a burst of skeletons, said he didn’t care.  Mr. Mell was ill-used.

“Who has ill-used him, you girl?” said Steerforth.

“Why, you have,” returned Traddles.

“What have I done?” said Steerforth.

“What have you done?” retorted Traddles.  “Hurt his feelings and lost him his situation.”

“His feelings!” repeated Steerforth, disdainfully.  “His feelings will soon get the better of it, I’ll be bound.  His feelings are not like yours, Miss Traddles!  As to his situation—­which was a precious one, wasn’t it?—­do you suppose I am not going to write home and take care that he gets some money?”

We all thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was a rich widow, and, it was said, would do anything he asked her.  We were all very glad to see Traddles so put down, and exalted Steerforth to the skies, and none of us appreciated at that time that our hero, J. Steerforth was very, very small indeed, as to character, in comparison to funny, unfortunate Tommy Traddles.

Years later, when Salem House was only a memory, and we were both men, Traddles and I met again.  He had the same simple character and good temper as of old, and had, too, some of his old unlucky fortune, which clung to him always; yet notwithstanding that—­as all of his trouble came from good-natured meddling with other people’s affairs, for their benefit, I am not at all certain that I would not risk my chance of success—­in the broadest meaning of that word—­in the next world surely, if not in this, against all the Steerforths living, if I were Tommy Traddles.

Poor Traddles?—­No, happy Traddles!

“DEPUTY”

[Illustration:  “DEPUTY".]

They were certainly the very oddest pair that ever the moon shone on,—­Stony Durdles and the boy “Deputy.”

Durdles was a stone-mason, from which occupation, undoubtedly, came his nickname “Stony,” and Deputy was a hideous small boy hired by Durdles to pelt him home if he found him out too late at night, which duty the boy faithfully performed.  In all the length and breadth of Cloisterham there was no more noted man than the stone-mason, Durdles, not, I regret to say, on account of his virtues, but rather because of his talent for remaining out late at night, and not being able to guide his steps homeward.  There is a coarser term which might have been applied to this talent of Durdles, but we have nothing to do with that, here and now; what we desire is an introduction to the small boy who is Durdles’s shadow.