What is the name of this obliging youth? asked Sherlock Holmes.
His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he s not such a youth, either. It s
hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes;
and I know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what I
am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I
put ideas in his head?
Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an _employe_ who comes
under the full market price. It is not a common experience among
employers in this age. I don t know that your assistant is not as
remarkable as your advertisement.
Oh, he has his faults, too, said Mr. Wilson. Never was such a fellow
for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be
improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit
into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on
the whole he s a good worker. There s no vice in him.
He is still with you, I presume?
Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking
and keeps the place clean that s all I have in the house, for I am a
widower and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three
of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do
nothing more.
The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he
came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very
paper in his hand, and he says:
I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.
Why that? I asks.
Why, says he, here s another vacancy on the League of the
Red-headed Men. It s worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets
it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men,
so that the trustees are at their wits end what to do with the money.
If my hair would only change colour, here s a nice little crib all
33