"You're the fust pineter whort I've knowed," said JULIA SANBY,
demurely. "Father works at a plumber's, but 'e ain't industr'us. 'E
ain't a good man. An' mother drinks. Orful!"
JULIA SANBY had consented, in consideration of money received, to let
me make a sketch of her. She was a tall thin child, with a dirty and
very intelligent face, great grey eyes, and long reddish hair. She was
very bright and talkative; and yet she amazed me by being distinctly
sanctimonious. She looked critically round my studio on her entrance.
[Illustration]
"You ain't got no tex' 'ung up," she remarked, disparagingly. "We 'as
two tex' in our kitching. I 'ung 'em up myself. An' father beat me for
it. But I didn't keer, 'cos I knew I wos doin' good."
She pressed her thin lips together, and looked like a mangled martyr.
"Do you go to Sunday School?" I asked, as I got to work.
"I goes reggler, an' I'm first in the School, and I knows more colics
than any of 'em, excep' teachers. I ain't like GAZEY."
"Who's GAZEY?"
"She's a girl what I 'ites. She's a bad girl. We calls 'er GAZEY, 'cos
it's short for GEHAZI; but that ain't 'er real nime. She's a liar.
She's allus tellin' lies--seems as if she couldn't storp doin' it."
JULIA SANBY sighed sadly.
"What kind of lies?"
"She don't tell no lies to get 'erself out of nothin'; 'cos she's so
bad that she don't keer whort rows she gets inter. But she tells other
sorts. She just sits up on the fence what goes roun' the green, an'
mikes up things, an' a lot of the children ain't got no more sense
than to sit roun' an' listen to 'er. That just mikes 'er worse. She
sits theer, a-tellin' stories, an' sweerin' they're all true. You
never 'eard such stories."
"What are they all about?"
"Mostly about gran' things an' wunnerful things--kings, an' carridges,
an' angels, an' firewux, an' dreams what she says she's 'ad. An'
she'll sweer they're true. My word, it is wicked of 'er! She's allus
pretennin' to be things what she ain't, too. One Sat'dy arf'noon she
said she was a steam-injun. An' she got 'old of a little boy, BOB
COLLINGS, and said 'e was the tender. An' BOB COLLINGS 'ad to foller
close be'ind 'er all that arf'noon, else she'd a' nigh killed 'im. 'E
got rather tired, because she kept runnin' about, bein' a express an'
'avin' cerlishuns. Lawst of all she wived 'er awms about, and mide a
kind o' whooshin' noise. 'Now,' she said, 'my biler's bust, an' I'm
done for!' So she lay flat on the wet groun', an' the tender went 'ome
to 'is tea."
"What's she like to look at?"
JULIA SANBY confessed, with apparent reluctance, that GAZEY was very
pretty. "She's prettier nor I am, nor any of the other childrun roun'
'ere. She's got golding 'air, an' blue eyes. But I 'ite 'er, 'cos
she's so bad, an' 'cos she mikes the other children bad. I don't never
listen to none of 'er mike-ups now."
"Would she let me make a sketch of her?"
"Dunno. You wouldn't like 'er. She's low in the wye she talks. The new
curick don't like 'er. Nobody don't like 'er."
Now, just in this sentence, I fancied that the sanctimoniousness of
JULIA SANBY had become mixed with some real feeling. I also reflected
on the fact that, although most children are egoists, JULIA SANBY
seemed to take more pleasure in talking about GAZEY than in discussing
herself. I had distinct suspicions.
"Could you remember any of GAZEY's stories?"
"Might, p'raps."
"Go on, then. Tell me one."
She began a story, which was obviously an improvisation, with little
incidents taken from other stories added to it. It was full of the
wildest imaginings. She told it without the least nervousness or
embarrassment. Her assumption of demureness and sanctity vanished
utterly. She became vivid and dramatic. "An' I'd tike my gorspil oath
it's all true," she added, at the conclusion, as if from force of
habit.
"JULIA SANBY," I said, "GAZEY has not got golden hair nor blue eyes,
neither is she pretty. _You_ are GAZEY."
"I swear I ain't. I'm a good girl, and knows my colics; GAZEY's
something orful."
"Very well," I answered, and went on finishing the sketch, as though
I took no interest in her. After a few seconds' silence, she added,
quite calmly,
"Owdjer know? I can pretend proper, cawn't I? But I 'adn't never
talked about myself as if I was someone else afore. That pickshur
ain't much like me."
"It will be when it's finished. Come to-morrow at the same time."
"Do you think I'm a liar?"
"You're either a liar or an artist, but I'm not sure which."
GAZEY put on her exceedingly frowsy hat. "The new curick needn't a bin
so cock-sure about it then. G'mornin'."
* * * * *