After the Polderry picnic the relations between Tommy and his ladies
were distinctly strained. In many little ways they worked for his
regeneration and tried to bring home to him the enormity of his
offences.
On the following day, which was Sunday, he himself showed tact in
avoiding the upstairs sitting-room. Mammy brought up the letters and
whenever the ladies approached the kitchen they found Tommy fully and
unobtrusively occupied with urgent affairs in the corner farthest from
the door.
On Monday morning when he was running along the quay from school, his
quick eye saw a halfpenny lying in the dust near some drying tackle.
This was unprecedented good fortune. It was the first money that Tommy
had ever found. After picking it up he looked round for possible
claimants, but as none appeared he put it in his pocket and pursued
his homeward way.
He found only Mammy indoors. She was very busy just then, and although
she was moderately enthusiastic over his find, he felt the need of
wider sympathy and ran out into the alley on the off-chance of meeting
with Jimmy Prynne.
Jimmy Prynne was not in sight, but coming up from the sea were his
ladies. They carried travelling-rugs and books, and were laughing
together as they walked. Tommy had always taken them into his
confidence at once no matter whether it was in joy or sorrow. To-day
he felt an unaccountable diffidence in approaching them.
Somewhat hesitatingly he drew near and their laughter at once ceased.
"Found this!" and he held his dusty halfpenny up to view.
Miss Dorothea said nothing, Miss Margaret merely remarked "Oh," and
passed on.
Quite obviously they had not seen his treasure. "'Tis a 'a'penny," he
insisted. "I found 'e on the quay all in a 'eap o' dust."
Miss Dorothea passed into the house. Miss Margaret smiled politely,
and "Oh," she said once more.
Tommy was sick at heart. It was as though the very foundations of his
world were giving way.
In the matter of finds he seemed to have struck a run of luck, for on
Tuesday he came home with a knife picked up on the shingle near the
Frying Pan steps. It was an ivory-handled knife and had four blades of
different sizes; they were all rusty and all broken.
"I'll give ee my knife, Daddy," said Tommy, at tea-time, pushing it
across the table.
"Mustn't do that, must never give nothin' as cuts."
"Why?" asked Tommy.
"'Twill cut love. If so be as I took that knife I shouldn't love ee
any more. 'Tis all right if 'e do be bought, so here be a 'a'penny for
ee."
Daddy thrust the knife into his deep, trouser pocket, and Tommy put
the halfpenny into his.
Tommy felt that his ladies would surely be interested in this day's
event. There was not only the thrilling incident of the finding of the
knife, but there was the subsequent financial transaction with Daddy,
and a second halfpenny in his trouser pocket to-day. He poured out his
story to them as they were mounting the stairs. To his amazement it
left them cold.
When next they passed the kitchen door he entreated his Daddy to show
the knife to them, and Tregennis displayed the four broken blades from
which he had removed the rust with bits of cinder.
"You will find that most useful, Tregennis," said Miss Margaret. To
Tommy she spoke not at all.
In the doorway she relaxed just a little. "You have really been quite
lucky, Tommy," she remarked, and went with Miss Dorothea down to the
sea.
Later the ladies had occasion to buy stamps. Coming from the
post-office they saw Tommy sitting on the quay-wall, knocking off bits
of mortar with his heels.
"Our one-time friend!" laughed Miss Dorothea, but Miss Margaret looked
straight ahead.
When Tommy saw them he slipped from the wall and ran behind them
whistling and singing to attract attention. As this proved a dull and
ineffectual game he dodged in front kicking an old salmon tin before
him as he ran. By the Three Jolly Tars Teddy Falconer was playing.
When he saw Tommy he hastily picked up his ball and shrank into the
doorway of the inn. Now Tommy would have been distinctly glad for this
incident to pass unobserved, but it was at this moment, unluckily,
that Miss Margaret became aware of him.
"Why does Teddy look so frightened?" she asked.
"'Tother day I did kick his ball for 'e, and ..." with a dramatic
gesture towards the shrinking Teddy, "'e did run into his house to
tell his Mammy."
The look that Miss Margaret gave Tommy showed him that his position
was in no wise strengthened. He fell behind and walked home dejectedly
to tea.
At half-past six that evening, when the water was high, there was to
be a launch, Tregennis said. Miss Dorothea was tired, so Miss Margaret
went alone to see the new lugger take the water. She missed the launch
because it was all over half-an-hour before she got there, but she
found instead, playing on the quay, Mary Sarah and Katie, and the
whole Stevenson family.
Of course the Stevensons were there, Mary Sarah explained, for they
were the O'Grady's cousins. Mary Sarah was as much as five, and in
virtue of her age she took the lead. Mary Sarah enlightened the others
as to the identity of the Lady, and vouched for her respectability, so
to speak. The Lady had often spoken to her, she told them with an air
of superiority, and she had often spoken to the Lady when the Lady was
sittin' writin' up on the top o' the cliffs.
When the conversation dragged a reference was made to sweets, and the
whole party repaired to Mrs. Tregennis's house.
"Mrs. Tregennis," called out Miss Margaret, "here's Mary Sarah
O'Grady, and Katie O'Grady, and their cousins the Stevensons and me.
We've all come here for sweets. Have you any to give away?"
There was a blank moment when Mrs. Tregennis announced that she hadn't
got no not one.
Tommy, who was in the kitchen at the time, was delighted to think that
sweets were not forthcoming for Mary Sarah and Katie, and the whole
family of Stevensons.
Then Miss Margaret brightened up. "I remember!" she said, and ran
upstairs two steps at a time.
When she returned she had in her hand a good-sized paper bag which she
gave to Mary Sarah.
"Now Mary Sarah," she admonished; "you share them out, turn and turn
about. Be quite fair. They're such pretty children," she remarked to
Mrs. Tregennis.
"They did oughter be," was the reply, "for they be Irish to the very
finger-tips."
Miss Margaret again turned to the group of children. "What have you
got, Katie?" and Katie withdrew from her mouth a big bull's-eye.
With bulging cheek, and somewhat inarticulately, Mary Sarah spoke.
"Her do have a shocking bad cold," she said with the wisdom of three
times five; "they mints will be brave an' good for she."
This incident made a deep impression upon Tommy. So far the ladies had
been his own special property; he had shared them quite occasionally
with Ruthie, but with her alone. That Mary Sarah and Katie and the
Stevensons should adopt them was by no means in accordance with his
wishes. Something must be done, and that something clearly must be
the strengthening of his own moral character.
Weeks before Miss Margaret had initiated Tommy into the mysteries of
an early morning rite. You first of all clasped hands (right hands it
had to be, Tommy's left was always rejected), and then you said "Good
morning," and smiled, and after that you shook the hands up and down
and jumped once to each shake. Both shaking and jumping got quicker
and quicker, and at last ended with an abrupt stop, and your arms fell
stiffly to your sides.
To Tommy this ceremony had become an integral part of the morning. It
was strange, too, how only Miss Margaret knew the proper way. When
Miss Dorothea tried to shake hands with him once he found that she had
absolutely no knowledge of the right method of procedure and he had
been obliged to tell her so.
For three mornings now the ceremony had been neglected. On the
Wednesday Tommy determined that it must no longer be omitted, and when
he saw Miss Margaret he held out his hand and smiled. Miss Margaret
smiled too, took his hand in hers, shook it just once, said "Good
morning," then turned to Mrs. Tregennis and gave orders for the day.
"Why wouldn't Miss Margaret shake hands with me proper?" he asked
afterwards.
"Don't ee know?" Mammy replied, "I guess _I_ know. You think, my son."
So Tommy thought.
There was great excitement in Draeth the next day, for a big
Conservative tea-meeting had been arranged for the afternoon, and The
Member was to be present.
At one end of the tea-table Mrs. Tregennis presided. She was
accompanied by Tommy in the dandy-go-risset sailor suit, and by
Tregennis. Tregennis felt very stiff and uncomfortable, for as this
was such an important occasion Mrs. Tregennis had decided that he must
discard the fisherman's jersey in favour of his wedding suit. In all
the eight years he had been married this suit had not been worn above
a dozen times, for, as he declared to Miss Margaret, "It has to be
some fine weather, Miss, when I puts on they."
This afternoon the wedding suit was worn, and Tregennis, Mrs.
Tregennis and Tommy sat down to tea with their fellow-Conservatives
and with all the quality of Draeth. An excellent tea was provided at
sixpence a head; The Member made a few remarks on the political
outlook which were well received, and the meeting broke up amid
general congratulations. As Mrs. Tregennis explained afterwards to the
ladies she herself was not a Conservative, in fact, her father was a
Liberal, so if it came to a question of family she was a Liberal too.
She knew naught of it, but always hoped that the best man would get
in, politics or no politics. Tommy, she supposed, would be brought up
as a Conservative and follow in his father's steps.
"But that is too dreadful to contemplate," exclaimed Miss Margaret.
"Tommy, come here."
This was a tone of voice Tommy had not heard for five days. He came
with alacrity.
Miss Margaret held out a bottle of boiled sweets that were just the
very best kind he liked; hard and scrunchy they were on the outside,
soft and sticky within.
"These," said Miss Margaret, "are Liberal sweets. Each time you eat
one you must say, 'I'm a good Liberal.'"
Tommy grinned.
"That do be bribery and corruption," objected Tregennis.
"Never mind," Miss Margaret replied. "Now, Tommy, what are you to
say?"
Tommy had taken two sweets at the same time and there was a bulge in
each cheek. In reply to Miss Margaret's question he bit first on the
right side of his mouth, and "I be a brave good Liberal," he asserted.
Then he bit on the left side and the formula was repeated.
Afterwards, "I don't care which I be, 'servative or Liberal," he
affirmed, "but I do like they sweets better'n either."
The next morning Miss Margaret shook hands with him in quite the
proper manner. They jumped quite thirteen times and the ending was
exceptionally sudden and abrupt. While Miss Margaret stood stiffly in
front of him Tommy made a little dash forward and threw his arms
around her. She stooped and kissed him and Tommy went off happily to
school.
So big was the bottle of Liberal sweets that even on Saturday there
were still some left. Just before tea Tommy asked many times that
Mammy would get these from the cupboard and let him eat them then.
"Not before tea, ma handsome; not till ee do go to bed."
"Wants they now to wanst, _please_ Mammy," Tommy stated.
"Not till ee do go to bed, I tell ee."
"Gimme one of they Liberal sweets _now_."
"Tommy," it was Miss Margaret's voice. "Tommy, I want to give you a
box of chocolates to-morrow, but if you ask once more to-day for the
bottle of sweets, I shall keep the chocolates for myself."
"There, you hear," said Mammy, "an' you do know now, Tommy, that what
Miss Margaret says that she do mean."
Tommy nodded a little shamefacedly. "Yes, I know," he assented; "I
remember."
When Tommy came in from play two hours later he walked up to the
kitchen cupboard.
"Mammy," he demanded eagerly, holding up his hands to the shelf out of
reach, "Mammy, I tell ee, do give I one o' they Lib...."
Then came recollection. "Oh," he said, "I had a'most forgot."
His outstretched hands dropped to his sides, he clutched the stuff of
his trousers to keep the restless fingers still, and with very tightly
closed lips turned his back on the cupboard and the kitchen, and
walked upstairs to bed.
Thus it was that Tommy took the first conscious and determined step
towards the improvement of his moral character.