[Illustration: Music]
Such were the stranes that smote the air as Mr. Harold Withersquash
drew near to the humbel home of his Selia. She was just a low born
girl but none could beat her at playing the piano.
Mr. Withersquash mutered: “She will do,” and wrapt the door with a
clatter.
Now Selia’s ma had shortly done her days wash, being Tuesday, and she
came and opened the door in a forbidable stile, not being in the best
of moods.
“What is it now?” snapt she at our hero, and sniffled in her nose, for
she was a rum lady and corshus as well as cross.
“Ah, good-morning, good-morning,” lisped Mr. Withersquash in rather a
sloppy mode for to make no mystery she had cut the land from his feet
by her plane ways.
“Selia!” the good woman borled, “Come on out and never mind your
hair-curlers, it’s only young Withersquash again.” She knew no better
than to be so plane, not having edducation.
“Dezist moddam,” cried Mr. Withersquash, “and list. My unckle Burt is
dead!”
“Him dead, well I never!” the chaste ample matron replied with a
kindly twist at her handsom broch of platted hares, “What ever next!”
But now the delicious Selia pushed past her ma’s elbow, she was a fair
rose of Briton, rather false hair like we see advertised, her
somewhat perfect nose would scarse be noticed to have been turned up,
owing to sleeping on her stomache, and she wore a nice dress of white
embrery, a good few broches and some yellow stockings.
“Your unckle dead?” she asked.
Mr. Withersquash grappling her hand in fierce welcome of joy, replied:
“Yes, and he has left me a good bit.”
“Ah, Harold!” cried our young heroine pushing more forward, “are you
in truth rich?”
“Well, not so bad,” our little gentleman replied. “I am quite well to
do.”
Selia’s ma now stept off to think this news over.
“Go on!” uttered Selia in amaze.
“True as I stand here,” ansered Mr. Withersquash making himself very
important.
“Well, what of it?” said she, for if Selia had a motto it was no
nonsense.
“Well,” he said, “I thought as you and me are a bit third class why
not lets go to some places and get into socierty and have a run for
our money,” and he slapt his manly bosom, although that was only his
way, for he was but a paltry figure as see in the illustrations, and
emploid at the 6½d. bazaar, nuff said.
“When shall we start?” said Selia, after she had pondered speedily,
for she was one to loose no time.
“Ah, you will dane to come, will you?” cried the joyous
Mr. Withersquash, and he added: “We might perhaps get wed later on,
eh?” with a meaning wink.
“Ma, ma!” cried Selia tripping within. “Mr. Withersquash and me are
going off to get into socierty, pray pack my attire,” for Selia was
always nice in her speech when folks were about.
While her Ma packed a bag, the young pair chatered together while
Selia wrote a few notes to the boys by way of regret, for she was a
popular girl, and Mr. Withersq stuck the stamps on.
It was a largish bag in which her Ma packed her garments, which had
been good in its time, and she put in a nightdress very litel soiled
as the washing was not yet aired not to say ironed, still it had some
ribbons in. Also she slipped in a nice toothbrush with green jelly
handle, some smelling sope with flannel for the neck, and an amusing
book to read in bed, entittled Peep of Day as even she knew that it is
very smart to read a bit in bed.
“Fare well, my child,” she uttered with a tear or two yet smiling at
the offspring of her lions. “And maybe you’ll have changed your name
when we meet again. There’s as good fish in the sea, you know what I
mean,” adding a sidefaced skowl at Mr. Withersq who truth to say she
didnt set much store by, nor Selia neither at that time. But the ma
thought if her girl could only get out into socierty all would be
well.
Off they went with a wave of the hand to the adventers in our next.