Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 378 The "Ghostwriter" in the Tavern!
After reading the story, a burly man with a ruddy complexion walked over, patted Lionel on the shoulder, and handed him a glass of dark beer.

"Well done, kid! That's a fucking hilarious story! I'll buy you a drink!"

Lionel thanked him, took a sip of beer, which moistened his throat and relieved his hunger and fatigue.

After the drinks, the atmosphere became even more harmonious, and at everyone's request, Lionel read some other articles from the newspaper:
A bizarre theft in the East District, several product advertisements and missing person notices, and scandalous affairs involving some high-ranking government officials and nobles...

His voice was clear, his expression fluent, and his occasional brief comments showed great insight, winning unanimous praise from the drinkers.

The boss was very satisfied with Lionel's performance.

After Lionel finished reading, he immediately counted out a sixpence coin, placed it clinking on the bar, and then brought him a light meal from the kitchen:
A large piece of black bread, a thick slice of fried bacon, and a bowl of steaming potato soup.

The boss grinned. "Here you go, your pay and dinner. Kid, interested in working here regularly? I think you're way better than Jim!"

Lionel thanked him and took a bite of the bread; his hunger made the simple food taste especially delicious.

As he was pondering how to politely decline his boss's long-term invitation, an older drinker who had been listening intently came over.

He was an old man wearing old work clothes, his face full of wrinkles, holding a worn-out hat in his hand, and looking somewhat uneasy.

The old drinker spoke timidly, his accent heavy: "Sir, I see you are literate and a learned man... I wonder if you could do me a favor?"
When old pipe Jim was alive, he often helped us write letters…

Lionel swallowed the food in his mouth and looked at him: "You want to write a letter?"

The old drinker nodded quickly: "Yes, it was written for my son. He's in India, serving in the army for Her Majesty the Queen."

I... I can't read, and I'm not good with words. I want to tell him that everything is fine at home, and that he shouldn't worry about me, and that he should focus on his service, but I can't write it down myself..."

Lionel looked at the old man's earnest eyes, then at the sixpence coin on the bar, and hesitated for a moment.

He originally planned to leave as soon as he finished eating, but the old man's expectant eyes made it impossible for him to refuse.

Finally, he nodded and said, "Okay, I'll write it for you after I finish eating."

Seeing this, the owner moved a small folding table and a chair from behind the bar and placed them in a place next to the bar where they wouldn't get in the way.

Then he placed an ink bottle, a stack of letter paper, and a bald quill pen on the table.

The shopkeeper smiled and said, "These were all left by old Jim. His family hasn't come to collect them yet, so you can use them."

Lionel sat down, spread out the letter paper, picked up a quill pen that looked usable, dipped it in ink, and said, "You tell me, I'll write."

What's your son's name? Do you know his military unit number?

The old man rubbed his hands excitedly and began to narrate in fits and starts.

The content was nothing more than that everything was fine at home, that the mother was in good health—though actually not so good; and that the younger sister was getting married soon—and that the groom was a decent person.
Tell him to take care of himself while he's out there, make sure he's well-fed and clothed, don't worry about home, and focus on serving the empire and striving to achieve some merit...

The language is simple, even somewhat incoherent, but it is full of the most basic emotions of ordinary people and their concern for their son who has gone far away.

Lionel listened attentively, his hands flying across the paper as he wrote.

He did not simply repeat the old man's words, but instead organized these fragmented pieces of information into fluent and appropriate language.

He preserved the genuine affection in the old man's story, removed some overly trivial and repetitive parts, and added a touch of elegant expression and blessings.

His handwriting was clear and beautiful, so the whole letter was both warm and elegant to read.

After finishing the letter, Lionel read it aloud to the old man.

As the old man listened to the fluent and heartwarming sentences, his eyes welled up with tears, and he nodded repeatedly: "Yes, yes! That's exactly it! Sir, you wrote so well!"

It's even better than I expected!

With trembling hands, he fumbled for two pennies in his pocket and solemnly handed them to Lionel: "Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!" Lionel wanted to refuse, but seeing the old man's persistent and grateful eyes, he accepted them.

These two pence seem heavier than the six pence from before.

This scene was witnessed by others in the bar.

Soon, another young customer, who looked like an apprentice, timidly approached the table, his face showing shyness and nervousness.

The young man's voice was very soft: "Sir... could you... could you also help me write a letter?"

Lionel looked up and asked gently, "Of course. Who would you write it to?"

The young man blushed even more and stammered, "I want to...I want to send it to my cousin in Southampton...to...to propose to her."

But I'm bad with words, I can't think of any touching words... I'm afraid I won't write well enough to move her..."

Lionel looked at the lovelorn young man, smiled slightly, unfolded the letter paper again, and picked up the quill pen: "No problem, what's your cousin's name?"

------

"The sea breeze in Southampton is as gentle as my longing for you right now."

"Your smile under the brim of your hat is brighter than all the lights in the harbor."

"These ordinary moments, like scattered pearls, have been strung together in my memory to form the most precious necklace."

“Every time I polished a part or tightened a screw, I was thinking that I had to work harder to build a warm home for the two of us.”

"I have no riches, only two hands and a heart full of you."

I don't know how many storms the future holds, but I long to be the one who shelters you from the wind and rain.

……

As the apprentice read those words of love, which flowed from his heart but were embellished, his eyes instantly reddened, his lips trembled, and he almost cried.

He clutched the letter tightly, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world, thanked him repeatedly, and took out two pennies, warm from his palms, and gave them to Lionel.

Then, as if afraid the letter would fly away, he carefully held it and practically ran out of the tavern.

With these two successful examples, the other customers in the bar were also tempted.

They may not have any letters to send immediately, but Lionel's writing was so beautiful and his handwriting so elegant that it was far superior to that of "Old Pipe" Jim.

Jim's education level was only that of a first-year high school student. He could barely read a newspaper, but his handwriting was crooked and his letters were almost like his speech.

This ignited a deep-seated desire in them to express themselves.

After all, this young man seems to be only staying here for one night, and it will probably be difficult to find a ghostwriter of such high quality again in the future.

Soon, a dark-skinned worker sat down in front of Lionel, his voice hesitant: "Sir... could... could you help me write a letter to my old friend Tom?"

He moved to Manchester the year before last... I just wanted to tell him that I'm still alive, that Tower Bridge is being renovated... and that things are going well lately...

The 'Old Eel' tavern where we used to drink together has closed down... Sigh, I wonder how he is doing..."

Lionel nodded and unfolded the letter again: "Of course, please speak slowly."

I don't know when it started, but the patrons in the tavern stopped making a lot of noise. Even when they won a hand, they would just clench their fists and wave them in the air.

Watching all this, the boss poured Lionel another glass of wine, this time a fine brandy.

(End of this chapter)