Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Town Traveller
by
George Gissing
CONTENTS
I MR. GAMMON BREAKFASTS IN BED
II A MISSING UNCLE
III THE CHINA SHOP
IV POLLY AND MR. PARISH
V A NONDESCRIPT
VI THE HEAD WAITER AT CHAFFEY'S
VII POLLY'S WRATH
VIII MR. GAMMON'S RESOLVE
IX POLLY'S DEFIANCE
X THE STORMING OF THE FORT
XI THE NOSE OF THE TREFOYLES
XII POLLY CONDESCENDS
XIII GAMMON THE CRAFTY
XIV MR. PARISH PURSUES A BROUGHAM
XV THE NAME OF GILDERSLEEVE
XVI AN ALLY IN THE QUEST
XVII POLLY SHOWS WEAKNESS
XVIII LORD POLPERRO'S REPRESENTATIVE
XIX NOT IN THE SECRET
XX THE HUSBAND'S RETURN
XXI HIS LORDSHIP'S WILL
XXII NEW YEAR'S EVE
XXIII HIS LORDSHIP RETIRES
XXIV THE TRAVELLER'S FICKLENESS AND FRAUD
XXV THE MISSING WORD
XXVI A DOUBLE EVENT
XXVII THE TRAVELLER AT REST
CHAPTER I
MR. GAMMON BREAKFASTS IN BED
Moggie, the general, knocked at Mr. Gammon's door, and was answered by
a sleepy "Hallo?"
"Mrs. Bubb wants to know if you know what time it is, sir? 'Cos it's
half-past eight an' more."
"All right!" sounded cheerfully from within. "Any letters for me?"
"Yes, sir; a 'eap."
"Bring 'em up, and put 'em under the door. And tell Mrs. Bubb I'll have
breakfast in bed; you can put it down outside and shout. And I say,
Moggie, ask somebody to run across and get me a 'Police News' and
'Clippings' and 'The Kennel'--understand? Two eggs, Moggie, and three
rashers, toasted crisp--understand?"
As the girl turned to descend a voice called to her from another room
on the same floor, a voice very distinctly feminine, rather shrill, and
a trifle imperative.
"Moggie, I want my hot water-sharp!"
"It ain't nine yet, miss," answered Moggie in a tone of remonstrance.
"I know that--none of your cheek! If you come up here hollering at
people's doors, how can anyone sleep? Bring the hot water at once, and
mind it _is_ hot."
"You'll have to wait till it _gits_ 'ot, miss."
"_Shall_ I? If it wasn't too much trouble I'd come out and smack your
face for you, you dirty little wretch!"
The servant--she was about sixteen, and no dirtier than became her
position--scampered down the stairs, burst into the cellar kitchen, and
in a high, tearful wail complained to her mistress of the indignity she
had suffered. There was no living in the house with that Miss Sparkes,
who treated everybody like dirt under her feet. Smack her face, would
she? What next? And all because she said the water would have to be
'_otted_. And Mr. Gammon wanted his breakfast in bed, and--and--why,
there now, it had all been drove out of her mind by that Miss Sparkes.
Mrs. Bubb, the landlady, was frying some sausages for her first-floor
lodgers; as usual at this hour she wore (presumably over some invisible
clothing) a large shawl and a petticoat, her thin hair, black streaked
with grey, knotted and pinned into a ball on the top of her head. Here
and there about the kitchen ran four children, who were snatching a
sort of picnic breakfast whilst they made ready for school. They looked
healthy enough, and gabbled, laughed, sang, without heed to the elder
folk. Their mother, healthy too, and with no ill-natured face-a slow,
dull, sluggishly-mirthful woman of a common London type-heard Moggie
out, and shook up the sausages before replying.
"Never you mind Miss Sparkes; I'll give her a talkin' to when she comes
down. What was it as Mr. Gammon wanted? Breakfast in bed? And what
else? I never see such a girl for forgetting!"
"Well, didn't I tell you as my 'ead had never closed the top!" urged
Moggie in plaintive key. "How can I 'elp myself?"
"Here, take them letters up to him, and ask again; and if Miss Sparkes
says anything don't give her no answer--see? Billy, fill the big
kettle, and put it on before you go. Sally, you ain't a-goin' to school
without brushin' your 'air? Do see after your sister, Janey, an' don't
let her look such a slap-cabbage. Beetrice, stop that 'ollerin'; it
fair mismerizes me!"
Having silently thrust five letters under Mr. Gammon's door, Moggie
gave a very soft tap, and half whispered a request that the lodger
would repeat his orders. Mr. Gammon did so with perfect good humour. As
soon as his voice had ceased that of Miss Sparkes sounded from the
neighbouring bedroom.
"Is that the water?"
For the pleasure of the thing Moggie stood to listen, an angry grin on
her flushed face.
"Moggie!--I'll give that little beast what for! Are you there?"
The girl made a quick motion with both her hands as if clawing an
enemy's face, then coughed loudly, and went away with a sound of
stamping on the thinly-carpeted stairs. One minute later Miss Sparkes'
door opened and Miss Sparkes herself rushed forth--a startling vision
of wild auburn hair about a warm complexion, and a small, brisk figure
girded in a flowery dressing-gown. She called at the full pitch of her
voice for Mrs. Bubb.
"Do you hear me? Mrs. Bubb, have the kindness to send me up my hot
water immejately! This moment, if you please!"
There came an answer, but not from the landlady. It sounded so near to
Miss Sparkes that she sprang back into her room.
"Patience, Polly! All in good time, my dear. Wrong foot out of bed this
morning?"
Her door slammed, and there followed a lazy laugh from Mr. Gammon's
chamber.
In due time the can of hot water was brought up, and soon after it came
a tray for Mr. Gammon, on which, together with his breakfast, lay the
three newspapers he had bespoken. Polly Sparkes throughout her
leisurely toilet was moved to irritation and curiosity by the sound of
frequent laughter on the other side of the party wall--uproarious
peals, long chucklings in a falsetto key, staccato bursts of mirth.
"That is the comic stuff in 'Clippings,'" she said to herself with an
involuntary grin. "What a fool he is! And why's he staying in bed this
morning? Got his holiday, I suppose. I'd make better use of it than
that."
She came forth presently in such light and easy costume as befitted a
young lady of much leisure on a hot morning of June. Meaning to pass an
hour or two in quarrelling with Mrs. Bubb she had arrayed herself thus
early with more care than usual, that her colours and perfumes might
throw contempt upon the draggle-tailed landlady, whom, by the by, she
had known since her childhood. On the landing, where she paused for a
moment, she hummed an air, with the foreseen result that Mr. Gammon
called out to her.
"Polly!"
She vouchsafed no answer.
"Miss Sparkes!"
"Well?"
"Will you come with me to see my bow-wows this fine day?"
"No, Mr. Gammon, I certainly will not!"
"Thank you, Polly, I felt a bit afraid you might say yes."
The tone was not offensive, whatever the words might be, and the laugh
that came after would have softened any repartee, with its undernote of
good humour and harmless gaiety. Biting her lips to preserve the
dignity of silence, Polly passed downstairs. Sunshine through a landing
window illumined the dust floating thickly about the staircase and
heated the familiar blend of lodging-house smells--the closeness of
small rooms that are never cleansed, the dry rot of wall-paper,
plaster, and old wood, the fustiness of clogged carpets trodden thin,
the ever-rising vapours from a sluttish kitchen. As Moggie happened to
be wiping down the front steps the door stood open, affording a glimpse
of trams and omnibuses, cabs and carts, with pedestrians bobbing past
in endless variety--the life of Kennington Road--all dust and sweat
under a glaring summer sun. To Miss Sparkes a cheery and inviting
spectacle--for the whole day was before her, to lounge or ramble until
the hour which summoned her to the agreeable business of selling
programmes at a fashionable theatre. The employment was precarious;
even with luck in the way of tips it meant nothing very brilliant; but
something had happened lately which made Polly indifferent to this view
of the matter. She had a secret, and enjoyed it all the more because it
enabled her to excite not envy alone, but dark suspicions in the people
who observed her.
Mrs. Bubb, for instance--who so far presumed upon old acquaintance as
to ask blunt questions, and offer homely advice--plainly thought she
was going astray. It amused Polly to encourage this misconception, and
to take offence on every opportunity. As she went down into the kitchen
she fingered a gold watch-chain that hung from her blouse to a little
pocket at her waist. Mrs. Bubb would spy it at once, and in course of
the quarrel about this morning's hot water would be sure to allude to
it.
It turned out one of the finest frays Polly had ever enjoyed, and was
still rich in possibilities when, at something past eleven, the kitchen
door suddenly opened and there entered Mr. Gammon.