'YES, sir, yes sir; I've got your order,' cried Victoria to a middle
aged man, whose face reddened with every minute of waiting. 'Steak, sir?
Yes, sir, that'll be eight minutes. And sautees, yes sir. Gladys, send
Dicky up to four. What was yours, sir? Wing twopence extra. No bread?
Oh, sorry, sir, thought you said Worcester.'
Victoria dashed away to the counter. This was the busy hour. In her
brain a hurtle of food stuffs and condiments automatically sorted itself
out.
'Now then, hurry up with that chop,' she snapped, thrusting her head
almost through the kitchen window.
''Oo are you,' growled the cook over her shoulder. 'Empress of Germany?
I don't think.'
'Oh, shut it, Maria, hand it over; now then Cora, where you pushing to?'
Victoria edged Cora back from the window, seized the chop and rushed
back to her tables.
The bustle increased; it was close on one o'clock, an hour when the
slaves drop their oars, and for a while leave the thwarts of many
groans. The Rosebud had nearly filled up. Almost every table was
occupied by young men, most of them reading a paper propped up against a
cruet, some a Temple Classic, its pages kept open by the weight of the
plate edge. A steady hum of talk came from those who did not read, and,
mingled with the clatter of knives and forks, produced that atmosphere
of mongrel sound that floats into the ears like a restless wave.
Victoria stepped briskly between the tables, collecting orders, deftly
making out bill after bill, smoothing tempers ruffled here and there by
a wrongful attribution of food.
'Yes sir, cutlets. No veg? Cauli? Yes sir.'
She almost ran up and down as half-past one struck and the young men
asked for coffees, small coffees, small blacks, china teas. From time to
time she could breathe and linger for some seconds by a youth who
audaciously played with the pencil and foil suspended from her waist. Or
she exchanged a pleasantry.
'Now then, Nevy, none of your larks.' Victoria turned round sharply and
caught a hand engaged in forcing a piece of sugar into her belt.
Nevy, otherwise Neville Brown, laughed and held her hand the space of a
second. 'I love my love with a V . . .' he began, looking up at her, his
blue eyes shining.
'Chuck it or I'll tell your mother,' said Victoria, smiling too. She
withdrew her hand and turned away.
'Oh, I say, Vic, don't go, wait a bit,' cried Neville, 'I want, now what
did I want?'
'Sure I don't know,' said Victoria, 'you never said what you wanted.
Want me to make up your mind for you?'
'Do, Vic, let our minds be one,' said Neville.
Victoria looked at him approvingly. Neville Brown deserved the nickname
of 'Beauty,' which had clung to him since he left school. Brown wavy
hair, features so clean cut as to appear almost effeminate, a broad
pointed jaw, all combined to make him the schoolgirl's dream. Set off by
his fair and slightly sunburnt face, his blue eyes sparkled with
mischief.
'Well, then, special and cream. Sixpence and serve you right.'
She laughed and stepped briskly away to the counter.
'You're in luck, Beauty,' said his neighbour with a sardonic air.
'Oh, it's no go, James,' replied Brown, 'straight as they make them.'
'Don't say she's not. But if I weren't a married man, I'd go for her
baldheaded.'
'Guess you would, Jimmy,' said Beauty, laughing, 'but you'd be wasting
your time. You wouldn't get anything out of her.'
'Don't you be too sure,' said Jimmy meaningly. He passed his hand
reflectively over his shaven lips.
'Well, well,' said Brown, 'p'raps I'm not an Apollo like you, Jimmy.'
Jimmy smiled complacently. He was a tall slim youth, well groomed about
the head, doggy about the collar and tie, neatly dressed in Scotch
tweed. His steady grey eyes and firm mouth, a little set and rigid, the
impeccability of all about him, had stamped business upon his face as
upon his clothes.
'Oh, I can't queer your pitch, Beauty,' he said a little grimly. 'I know
you, you low dog.'
Beauty laughed at the epithet. 'You've got no poetry about you, you
North Country chaps, when a girl's as lovely as Victoria--'
'As lovely as Victoria,' he repeated a little louder as Victoria laid
the cup of coffee before him.
'I know all about that,' said Victoria coolly, 'you don't come it over
me like that, Nevy.'
'Cruel, cruel girl,' sighed Neville. 'Ah, if you only knew what I
feel----'
Victoria put her hand on the tablecloth and, for a moment, looked down
into Neville's blue eyes.
'You oughtn't to be allowed out,' she pronounced, 'you aren't safe.'
Jimmy got up as if he had been sitting on a suddenly released spring.
'Spoon away both of you,' he said smoothly, 'I'm going over to Parsons'
to buy a racquet. Coming, Beauty? No, thought as much. Ta-ta, Vic.
Excuse me. Steak and kidney pie is tenpence, not a shilling. Cheer oh!
Beauty.'
'He's a rum one,' said Victoria, reflectively, as Jimmy passed the cash
desk.
'Jimmy? oh, he's all right,' said Neville, 'but look here Vic, I want to
speak to you. Let's go on the bust to-night. Dinner at the New Gaiety
and the theatre. What d'you think?'
Victoria looked at him for a second.
'You are a cure, Nevy,' she said.
'Then that's a bargain?' said Brown, eagerly snapping up her
non-refusal. 'Meet me at Strand Tube Station half-past seven. You're off
to-night, I know.'
'Oh you know, do you,' said Victoria smiling. 'Been pumping Bella I
suppose, like the rest. She's a green one, that girl.'
Neville looked up at her appealingly. 'Never mind how I know,' he said,
'say you'll come, we'll have a ripping time.'
'Well, p'raps I will and p'raps I won't,' said Victoria. 'Your bill,
Sir? Yessir.'
Victoria went to the next table. While she wrote she exchanged chaff
with the customers. One had not raised his eyes from his book; one stood
waiting for his bill; the other two, creatures about to be men, raised
languid eyes from their coffee cups. One negligently puffed a jet of
tobacco smoke upwards towards Victoria.
'Rotten,' she said briefly, 'I see you didn't buy those up West.'
'That's what _you_ think, Vic,' said the youth, 'fact is I got them in
the Burlington. Have one?'
'No thanks. Don't want to be run in.'
'Have a match then.' The young man held up a two inch vesta. 'What
price that, eh? pinched 'em from the Troc' last night.'
'You are a toff, Bertie,' said Victoria with unction. 'I'll have it as a
keepsake.' She took it and stuck it in her belt.
Bertie leaned over to his neighbour. 'It's a mash,' he said confidently.
'Take her to Kew,' said his friend, 'next stop Brighton.'
'Can't run to it, old cock,' said the youth. 'However we shall see.'
'Vic, Vic,' whispered Neville. But Victoria had passed him quickly and
was answering Mr Stein.
'Vat you mean by it,' he growled, 'making de gentleman vait for his
ticket, gn?'
'Beg your pardon, Mr Stein, I did nothing of the kind. The gentleman was
making _me_ wait while he talked to his friend.'
Victoria could now lie coolly and well. Stein looked at her savagely and
slowly walked away along the gangway between the tables, glowering from
right to left, looking managerially for possible complaints.
Victoria turned back from the counter. There, behind the coffee urn
where Cora presided, stood Burton, in his blue suit, tiny beads of
perspiration appearing on his forehead. His little blue eyes fixed
themselves upon her like drills seeking in her being the line of least
resistance where he could deliver his attack. She almost fled, as if she
had seen a snake, every facet of her memory causing the touch of his hot
warm hand to materialise.
'Vic,' said Neville's voice softly as she passed, 'is it yes?'
She looked down at the handsome face.
'Yes, Beauty Boy,' she whispered, and walked away.