'YOU come back with me, Vic, don't you?'
'You silly,' said Victoria, witheringly, 'I don't go off to-day, Gertie,
worse luck.'
'Worse luck! I don't think,' cried Gertie. 'I'll swap with you, if you
like. As if yer didn't know it's settling day. Why there's two and a
kick in it!'
'Shut it,' remarked a fat, dark girl, placidly helping herself to
potatoes, 'some people make a sight too much out of settling day.'
'Perhaps yer'll tell me wot yer mean, Miss Prodgitt,' snarled Gertie,
her brown eyes flashing, her cockney accent attaining a heroic pitch.
'What I say,' remarked Miss Prodgitt, with the patronising air that
usually accompanies this enlightening answer.
'Ho, indeed,' snapped Gertie, 'then p'raps yer'll keep wot yer've got
ter sye to yersel, _Miss_ Prodgitt.'
The fat girl opened her mouth, then, changing her mind, turned to
Victoria and informed her that the weather was very cold for the time of
the year.
'That'll do, Gertie,' remarked Lottie, 'you leave Bella alone and hook
it.'
Gertie glowered for a moment, wasted another look of scorn on her
opponent and flounced out of the room into a cupboard-like dark place,
whence issued sounds like the growl of an angry cat. Something had
obviously happened to her hat.
Victoria looked round aimlessly. She had no appetite; for half-past
three, the barbarous lunch hour of the Rosebud girls, seemed calculated
to limit the food bill. By her side Bella was conscientiously absorbing
the potatoes that her daintier companions had left over from the Irish
stew. Lottie was deeply engrossed in a copy of _London Opinion_, left
behind by a customer. Victoria surveyed the room, almost absolutely bare
save in the essentials of chairs and tables. It was not unsightly,
excepting the fact that it was probably swept now and then but never
cleaned out. Upon the wall opposite was stuck a penny souvenir which
proclaimed the fact that the Emperor of Patagonia had lunched at the
Guildhall. By its side hung a large looking glass co-operatively
purchased by the staff. Another wall was occupied by pegs on which hung
sundry dust coats and feather boas, mostly smart. Gertie, in the corner,
was still fumbling in the place known as 'Heath's' because it
represented the 'Hatterie.' It was a silent party enough, this; even the
two other girls on duty downstairs would not have increased the
animation much. Victoria sat back in her chair, and, glancing at the
little watch she carried on her wrist in a leather strap, saw she still
had ten minutes to think.
Victoria watched Gertie, who had come out of 'Heath's' and was poising
her hat before the glass. She was a neat little thing, round everywhere,
trim in the figure, standing well on her toes; her brown hair and eyes,
pursed up little mouth, small, sharp nose, all spoke of briskness and
self-confidence.
'Quarter to four, doin' a bunk,' she remarked generally over her
shoulder.
'Mind Butty doesn't catch you,' said Victoria.
'Oh, he's all right,' said Gertie, 'we're pals.'
Fat Bella, chewing the cud at the table, shot a malevolent glance at
her. Gertie took no notice of her, tied on her veil with a snap, and
collected her steel purse, parasol, and long white cotton gloves.
'Bye, everybody,' she said, 'be good. Bye, Miss Prodgitt; wish yer luck
with yer perliceman, but you take my tip; all what glitters isn't
coppers.'
Before Miss Prodgitt could find a retort to this ruthless exposure of
her idyll, Gertie had vanished down the stairs. Lottie dreamily turned
to the last page of _London Opinion_ and vainly attempted to sound the
middle of her back; she was clearly disturbed by the advertisement of a
patent medicine. Victoria watched her amusedly.
They were not bad sorts, any of them. Lottie, in her sharp way, had been
a kindly guide in the early days, explained the meaning of 'checks,'
shown her how to distinguish the inflexion on the word 'bill,' that
tells whether a customer wants the bill of fare or the bill of costs,
imparted too the wonderful mnemonics which enable a waitress to sort
four simultaneous orders. Gertie, the only frankly common member of the
staff, barked ever but bit never. As for Bella, poor soul, she
represented neutrality. The thread of her life was woven; she would
marry her policeman when he got his stripe, and bear him dull company to
the grave. Gertie would no doubt look after herself. Not being likely to
marry, she might keep straight and end as a manageress, probably save
nothing and end in the workhouse, or go wrong and live somehow, and then
die as quickly as a robin passing from the sunshine to the darkness.
Lottie was a greater problem; in her intelligence lay danger; she had
imagination, which in girls of her class is a perilous possession. Her
enthusiasm might take her anywhere, but very much more likely to misery
than to happiness. However, as she was visibly weak-chested, Victoria
took comfort in the thought that the air of the underground smoking-room
would some day settle her troubles.
Victoria did not follow up her own line of life because as for all young
things, there was no end for her--nothing but mist ahead, with a rosy
tinge in it. Sufficient was it that she was in receipt of a fairly
regular income, not exactly overworked, neither happy nor miserable.
Apart from the two hours rush in the middle of the day, there was
nothing to worry her. After two months she had worked up a fair
connection; she could not rival the experienced Lottie, nor even Gertie
whose forward little ways always 'caught on,' but she kept up an average
of some fourteen shillings a week in tips. Thus she scored over Gladys
and Cora, whose looks and manners were unimpressive, lymphatic Bella
being of course outclassed by everybody. Twenty-one and six a week was
none too much for Victoria, whose ideas of clothes were fatally upper
middle class; good, and not too cheap. Still, she was enough of her
class to live within her income, and even add a shilling now and then to
her little hoard.
A door opened downstairs. 'Four o'clock! Come down! Vic! Bella! Lottie!
Vat are you doing? gn?'
Bella jumped up in terror, her fat cheeks quivering like jelly. 'Coming,
Mr Stein, coming,' she cried, making for the stairs. Victoria followed
more slowly. Lottie, secure in her privileges as head waitress, did not
move until she heard the door below slam behind them.
Victoria lazily made for her tables. They were unoccupied save by a
youth of the junior clerk type.
'Small tea toasted scone, Miss,' said the monarch with an approving look
at Victoria's eyes. As she turned to execute his order he threw himself
back in the bamboo arm chair. He joined his ten finger tips, and,
crossing his legs, negligently displayed a purple sock. He retained this
attitude until the return of Victoria.
'Kyou,' she said, depositing his cup before him. She had unconsciously
acquired this incomprehensible habit of waitresses.
The young man availed himself of the wait for the scone to inform
Victoria that it was a cold day.
'We don't notice it here,' she said graciously enough.
'Hot place, eh,' said the customer with a wink.
Victoria smiled. In the early days she would have snubbed him, but she
had heard the remark before and had a stereotyped answer ready which,
with a new customer, invariably earned her a reputation for wit.
'Oh, the hotter the fewer.' She smiled negligently, moving away towards
the counter. When she returned with the scone, the youth held out his
hand for the plate, and, taking it, touched the side of hers with his
finger tips. She gave him a faint smile and sat down a couple of yards
away on a chair marked 'Attendant.'
The youth congratulated her upon the prettiness of the place. Victoria
helped him through his scone by agreeing with him generally. She
completed her conquest by lightly touching his shoulder as she gave him
his check.
'Penny?' asked Bella, as the youth gone, Victoria slipped her fingers
under the cup.
'Gent,' replied Victoria, displaying three coppers.
Bella sighed. 'You've got all the luck, don't often get a twopenny;
never had a gent in my life.'
'I don't wonder you don't,' said Cora from the other side of the room,
'looking as pleasant as if you were being photographed. You got to give
the boys some sport.'
Bella sighed. 'It's all very well, Cora, I'm an ugly one, that's what it
is.'
'Get out; I'm not a blooming daisy. Try washing your hair . . .'
'It's wrong,' interposed Bella ponderously.
'Oh, shut it, _Miss_ Prodgitt, I've no patience with you.'
Cora walked away to the counter where Gladys was brewing tea. There was
a singular similarity between these two; both were short and plump; both
used henna to bring their hair up to a certain hue of redness; both had
complexions obviously too dark for the copper of their locks, belied as
it was already by their brown eyes. Indeed their resemblance frequently
created trouble, for each maintained that the other ruined her trade by
making her face cheap.
'Can't help it if you've got a cheap face,' was the invariable answer
from either. 'You go home and come back when the rhubarb's out,' usually
served as a retort.
The July afternoon oozed away. It was cool; now and then an effluvium of
tea came to Victoria, mingled with the scent of toast. Now and then too
the rumble of a dray or the clatter of a hansom filtered into the
dullness. Victoria almost slept.
The inner door opened. A tall, stout, elderly man entered, throwing a
savage glance round the shop. There was a little stir among the girls.
Bella's rigidity increased tenfold. Cora and Gladys suddenly stopped
talking. Alone Victoria and Lottie seemed unconcerned at the entrance of
Butty, for 'Butty' it was.
'Butty,' otherwise Mr Burton, the chairman of 'Rosebud, Ltd.,' continued
to glare theatrically. He wore a blue suit of a crude tint, a check
black and white waistcoat, a soft fronted brown shirt and, set in a
shilling poplin tie, a large black pearl. Under a grey bowler set far
back on his head his forehead sloped away to his wispy greying hair. His
nose was large and veined, his cheeks pendulous and touched with
rosacia; his hanging underlip revealed yellow teeth. The heavy dullness
of his face was somewhat relieved by his little blue eyes, piercing and
sparkling like those of a snake. His face was that of a man who is
looking for faults to correct.
Mr Burton strode through the shop to the counter where Cora and Gladys
at once assumed an air of rectitude while he examined the cash register.
Then, without a word, he returned towards the doorway, sweeping Lottie's
tables with a discontented glance, and came to a stop before one of
Bella's tables.
'What's this? what the devil do you mean by this?' thundered Butty,
pointing to a soiled plate and cup.
'Oh, sir, I'm sorry, I . . .' gasped Bella, 'I . . .'
'Now look here, my girl,' hissed Butty, savagely, 'don't you give me any
of your lip. If I ever find anything on a table of yours thirty seconds
after a customer's gone, it's the sack. Take it from me.'
He walked to the steps and descended into the smoking-room. Cora and
Gladys went into fits of silent mirth, pointing at poor Bella. Lottie,
unconcerned as ever, vainly tried to extract interest from the shop copy
of 'What's On.'
'Victoria,' came Butty's voice from below. 'Where's Mr Stein? Come
down.'
'He's washing, sir,' said Victoria, bending over the banisters.
'Oh, washing is he? first time I've caught him at it,' came the answer
with vicious jocularity. 'Here's a nice state of things; come down.'
Victoria went down the steps.
'Now then, why aren't these salt cellars put away? It's your job before
you come up.'
'If you please, sir, it's settling day,' said Victoria quietly, 'we open
this room again at six.'
'Oh, yes, s'pose you're right. I don't blame you. Never have to,' said
Butty grudgingly, then ingratiatingly.
'No, sir,' said Victoria.
'No, you're not like the others,' said Butty negligently coming closer
to her.
Victoria smiled respectfully, but edged a little away. Butty eyed her
narrowly, his lips smiling and a little moist. Then his hand suddenly
shot out and seized her by the arm, high up, just under the short
sleeve.
'You're a nice girl,' he said, looking into her eyes.
Victoria said nothing, but tried to free herself. She tried harder as
she felt on her forearm the moist warmth of the ball of Butty's thumb
softly caressing it.
'Let me go, sir,' she whispered, 'they can see you through the
banisters.'
'Never you mind, Vic,' said Butty drawing her towards him.
Victoria slipped from his grasp, ran to the stairs, but remembered to
climb them in a natural and leisurely manner.
'Cool, very cool,' said Butty, approvingly, 'fine girl, fine girl.' He
passed his tongue over his lips, which had suddenly gone dry.
When Victoria returned to her seat Lottie had not moved; Bella sat deep
in her own despair, but, behind the counter, Cora and Gladys were fixing
two stern pairs of eyes upon the favourite.