“Where in deauce shall we start?” said Mr. Withersq when they got
round the corner. “We might suitably have a taxi to start off with.”
“Indeed yes,” simpered Selia as to the manner born, with a good pull
at her garters, at which the perfunctery Mr. Withersq ran into the
road and he soon found a fresh-looking taxi. The driver was rather a
kindly man with frizzled beard.
“Now my man, drive us about through some smart places,” said our hero,
blowing in his cheeks and breathing, but he really felt rather little
because of not yet knowing his way about the town.
“How would you care for an airing around Kensington, for that is a
good part my lord,” said the taxi man.
Mr. Withersq replied “Certenly, certenly, my good man,” and with a
wink of glee at each other he and his dear wench Selia popped into the
motor.
“What a whiz,” yelled Mr. Withersq as they poured through the streets.
When they arrived in Kensington, Mr. Withersq tossed the man some
money in silver very lordly, so he drove off highly gratifyed.
They had a look round.
“This is a bit slow,” said Selia, “I dont think this is hardly
society. Where we live is very like, only less dogs and the prams not
so sparkly.” For on every side beneath the trees spanking nurses
trundled smart prams tidily followed by neatly brushed dogs. It was
indeed smart, but of rather a nursery sort, and not what our pair were
out after.
“Indeed things are a bit slow in Kensington,” replyed Mr. Withersq. “I
tell you what,” he went on, “we might go to a party.”
“We do not know any,” said Selia, she was a bit waxy with the vexation
and her shoes had a stone in.
“You know my brother?” asked Mr. Withersq in a honey tone.
“Such folly” snapt Selia, “he isnt the class to know any partys!”
“Ah,” blushed our hero with a smile, “that’s were your wrong, for he
cleans for the best, so there.”
“What of it” she snapt, “once a window-cleaner always a
window-cleaner, and you know well enough that such as him dont go to
partys.”
“This is what of it,” snortled he, for truth to tell he little liked
her scorn. “This is what of it. My brother tells me there’s a
monstrous party tonight at where he cleaned yesterday, with tittled
ladys in galore and knites and what not for the asking, not forgetting
writers and painters and such like.”
“We might try our luck,” said Selia feeling a bit put down, so on they
stept to Soho and egerly ran into H—— Street. When they got there, it
was the house where Mr. Withersquashes brother had cleaned, and there
was a piece of spotted carpet out on the footwark, and you ran up it
to the door. The door was opened and they went in. Selia settled her
hat on the stares, it was one of those kind that slip and sniggle your
hair which is so vexing as it was rather too large, being a real Paris
shapoh left behind by one of her ma’s lodgers.
O what a bozz of merry crowds from above. O what a time for our little
heros, but Selia muttered in her throte: “Such is not for any likes of
us.” Even the galant Mr. Withersquash was half making off, until
slapping the cash in his trouzers pockets with a fine rattel, he
tucked Selia’s elboe in his, and burst into the room. The babbel
ceased, all eyes glowed upon them.
“My name is Withersquash and this young lady is Selia,” he cried very
loud. “My unckel Burt is dead, he has left me a good bit. Is it all
right?”
“Oh how charming,” cried the assembly in shrilly tones and all pressed
forward to stare closer.
They were indeed fine. The ladys in all manners of colours chiefly
oringe and green idly sipped up rich wine from some mugs, many smoked
without a stop, there were arms and backs and fronts all bare, some
frocks with tails to them, and some dames wore trouzer things, very
bright and sloppy, much to Mr. Withersquashes surprise. Several kinds
of men were dotted about, some in evening close, some like soldiers
and many with long locks or pale fat face as though in grief which
were the artists. The walls however were done up very high class in
coloured paints and not at all how you would expect in gentlepeoples
places. Such were the scene and the lights were low.
“And how much did your dead unckle leave?” kindly asked a magnificent
man of foreign stile.
“Oh a few millions,” replied Mr. Withersquash.
At that the assembly seemed quite cordiel and all pressed forward to
shake hands. A gent in kaki drew Selia to a well-stuffed couch altho
eyeing her white embrey dress in amaze and embracing her politely
began to have a nice chat. Mr. Withersq on the other hand when he saw
it was the thing, after a litel also embrased a few of the lushous
women one by one, but now and then he gave a good wink of glee over
their shoulders to Selia.
“Ha, ha,” he thought to himself. “Money always talks.”
Now the gent who had asked Mr. Withersq how much his unckle left came
up to the sofa on which Selia sat, and leaning on its stuffed arm,
bent and smiled in her eye.
For this the gent in kaki frowned aside, gnawing his lip for he had
little or no moustache to do it with.
“You have the advantage of me!” cried Selia coyly to this new face, to
which the foreign newcomer replied in a damp voice: “I am Tzpcham, the
times plastick avetar.”
“How nice!” replied Selia, brightly, at which he smiled faintly, so
she felt they were getting on. She was always one to want to quickly
pick up the tricks was Selia.
“My name is Selia,” she added, with a soft giggle for his sake.
But now a dazzling noble with diamond studs and slippery shoes in a
hard-boiled front like you see in laundrys came up murmuring
“Pleasure!” and then gripping Selia round the back, stood her on her
feet. Once more the gramyphone struck up, and they began to jig about
to its notes, as happily Selia guest when stood on her feet that this
was the thing to do. She could not dance very well, but it did not
matter as there was little room to do more than shuffel.
“Isnt she charming,” cried the ladys which made Mr. Withersq burn with
pride. Not to be outdone he seezed the largest lady round the centre.
She had a silk stocking tied round her head, which is very smart for
evening wear, and they began to have a bit of a caper also, and cries
of approval arose in a polite way from all assembeled.
“What a pant!” yelled Mr. Withersq, but he kept at it, knowing that to
dance was the craze of the hour. Round and round they went, and more
and more couples joined in until all jammed together they trudged and
shuffled to the music in the hot room.
When they at last stopt all out of breath and gasping, the lights got
a bit lower and the largest lady what he had since popt on a chair got
up and stood in the centre of the room but all the others sat down on
the floor or the sofars and lapped up some more wine to take the dust
out of their throats.
The fat lady now undid her flowing cape and dropped it down, very
lighthearted, draped as she was in a quantity of muslin, rather limp
perhaps, but striking, and then she took off her slippers, and already
having no stockings on was now barefoot and began to dance and show
off in the middel of the room, tied round the haunch with gold stuff,
and waggeled and bobbed herself about to the notes of the gramafone.
“Ecquisist,” howled the crowd of lovely folk, “What form divine!”
“What is she at?” growled Mr. Withersq for to tell the truth he felt a
bit queer, this being in the nature of a surprise, and hoping that
this was not a thing to copy, not feeling too sure of the last time he
washed his feet.
“Hussssh!” hissed a shriveled dowager beside him, “it is her art.”
Now the fat lady at last ceased dancing and sank down, and a
beaky-nosed sort of gentleman cried out: “Our newly-come friend
Withersq does not seem to understand.”
“Dont be a soft!” cried Selia, for she had guest he had put his foot
in it by his remark, remembering what her ma had taught her that no
true ladys and gentlemen ever took notice or seemed amazed but took
things as in a dream without saying much.
Now while all this turmoil went on, the ladys cried several times “How
two to!” and “Arent they two sweet?” and “Oh, _no_!” like a perfect
choir, which Selia and Mr. Withersq hardly knew how to take.
The sharpnosed gent before long rose to his feet with a bored sniff.
“Art, my dear friend, is but a long sigh for the beautiful and great,”
he drorled, and bursting into tears he left the room and was seen no
more, and the ladys said he was charming too.
Selia now ventured to wisper to the young person beside her on the
floor: “Why did he cry? What has he done wrong?”
“Oh, dont ask me, I am only a meer countess and no nothing of artists
and their ways,” this beauty replied with an haughty smirk.
“I see,” politely said Selia, although she did not really, but feeling
very improved to be on speaking terms with a countess so soon.
And now came another nice little event. The man Tzpcham having quaft
several bouts of the costly wines sudenly stept forward tossing back
his hairs and then like a conjurer he pulled from his coat a thing
like a football stuck on one side of a plate, only all made in one out
of stone, and it was really a statue. It was a surprise for Selia and
Mr. Withersq, as they had only seen statues before that were like
people.
“It is my latest,” cried Tzpcham, and the brite ladys and the men bent
and cooed round it making noises of pleasure.
“All art is the round getting the best of the plain,” said he then in
a gloomy way shaking his head.
“How too true!” cried Selia gushingly, for she was a quick girl and
had picked up this smart saying by now, and drew murmurs of admiration
from all beholders.
By this time of night, all the assembly had drunk many drinks and so
very soon they lay down in ordely heaps and pairs on the floor or the
sofars to sleep it off, and when Selia and Mr. Withersquash had said
their prayers they lay down too, Selia with her head softly rested on
her bag, and dropped quickly off to sleep very well pleased with the
way they had got on, and that was the end of the party.