"Nat told me to wait for him. But I can go," she added a little
stiffly, "ef I'm in the way. I ain't one to stay loitering round in any
room ef I'm not wanted."
"You ain't wanted here," said Poll. "It's weary waiting for folks as
has gone lovering, and besides I must go out myself at once."
Susy got up and said good-bye. Poll took her hand, looked into her
bright blue eyes and spoke--
"You has given me a power of advice this night, my gel."
"Yes; oh, if you would think it all over."
"I'm obleeged to yer, but I must own that I didn't catch on to many of
yer words. I had a power of thinking to do on my own account. Still
I'd like to pay yer back in yer own coin."
"What do you mean, Mrs Robinson?"
"This is what I mean. Here's a bit of advice for you. Leave that young
man yer brother and that young gel my daughter to themselves when they
are wedded. Don't make nor meddle with them, or you'll be doing a
mischief. Now good-night."
Susy went away, and Poll shut the door after her with a sort of vicious
good-will.
"I can't abear her," she muttered. "Ef Nat were her sort he shouldn't
have Jill."
Poll stood quiet for a moment, thinking hard. Then with a queer tremble
about her full red lips she went into the little bedroom, took down a
gaily-coloured shawl from its peg, wrapped it about her person, and went
out, putting the key of the little flat into her pocket.
"I can't abear it," she murmured, as she went down the stairs. "I has
stood up agen it all day long, and now, though it's the night when the
child gives herself to another, though it's the night when my Jill--the
best gel in Christendom--ought to be happy, and shall be happy, still, I
must get something to dull the bitter pain. Jest twopenn'orth of gin
'ot, just twopenn'orth, and then I'll be better." Poll found herself in
the street. She began to walk quickly along the gaily lighted pavement.
Her pain, bad and terrible as it was, did not interfere with her free,
almost grand movement. She would soon reach the public-house, and
twopennyworth of gin, the money for which she held in her hand, would
bring a certain deadness of sensation which was the unhappy woman's only
measure of relief. She walked on fast, her desire for the stimulant
growing fiercer and fiercer, her wish to spare Jill's feelings on this
night of all nights less and less.
A little mob of people blocked up the pavement. They were standing in
front of a chemist's shop, and were looking eagerly into the shop
through the brilliantly lighted windows.
"What is it?" said Poll, her attention arrested by the eager, excited
looks of the crowd.
A woman came up and touched her on the arm.
"It's me, Poll," said Betsy Peters. "I has sold all the poppies. I had
a power of luck with 'em. Yere's your shilling back agen, and may the
good Lord above reward you."
"I don't want the shilling. Keep it, neighbour," said Poll. "Ef you
had luck, it's more nor I had; but you keep your luck, I don't want it
off yer."
"There it is again," said Betsy Peters. "Worn't I prayin' for money to
buy some of the medicine for little Jeanie? And there, you has gone and
give it to me."
"Wot medicine?" asked Poll.
"Stuff they sells in yere. There's a sort of a doctor keeps this shop,
and he has made pints of some powerful stuff, and he sells it off in
bottles. It's warranted to cure colds and brownchitis and pains in the
'ead, and bad legs, and pains of all sorts whatever. Little Jeanie has
turned that pettish after the brownchitis that I thought I'd get a
bottle to brisk her up a bit. It's powerful 'ot, strong stuff, and they
say, folks as tried it, that it seems to go straight to the vitals, and
lifts you up so as you don't know yourself."
"And stops pain? Do they say that?" asked Poll.
"Sartin sure. It's a kind of an ease-all, that's the right name for
it."
Poll looked into the palm of her hand, which contained the solitary
twopence.
"How much do the stuff cost?" she asked.
"You get a big bottle for sixpence. It's dirt cheap, dirt cheap."
"You're sure as it ain't pizen?"
"Rayther. Didn't Mary Ann Jones in the court take it, and Peter Samson,
and a score more? It's fine stuff, strengthening and good. What is it,
neighbour? You look white. Ain't you well?"
"I has a bit of a pain, Betsy. A bit of a grip just under my left
breast. Oh, it ain't nothing; but I has a mind to try the medicine as
dulls pain. It don't seem to take you off yer 'ead, like sperits, for
instance?"
"No, no. You get a bit drowsy, and that's about all."
"Well, I have a mind to try it. I'm sorry, neighbour, but I must ask
you to give me fourpence back out of that shilling; I'll pay yer back
to-morrow in the market."
"Oh, neighbour, it's all yourn," said poor Betsy.
"No, it ain't, not a bit on it. Come into the shop with me, and we'll
get a bottle each of the stuff."
The two women pushed their way to the front, and soon entered the shop
through the swinging glass doors. It was very hot inside, for the place
was brilliantly lit with gas, and there was no proper ventilation. A
mass of people were standing four deep round the counter, all waiting
their turn to be supplied with the wonderful medicine.
The chemist, a pale man, with bright, wonderful keen eyes, was handing
bottle after bottle of the comforting stuff across the counter. Many
sixpences were passed across to him in return; he dropped them into the
open till by his side.
The sudden heat and closeness of the shop, after the outside air, proved
too much for Poll. She was weak after her day of suffering, and it
suddenly seemed to her that the shop reeled, that the gas came down and
blinded her, that the floor rose up to smite her in the face. Her black
eyes looked vaguely across the world of confusion in which she found
herself, then all consciousness left her.