EDGED TOOLS.
'Noo, whaur wad ye like to gang?' inquired Liz, as they shut the outer
door behind them.
'Anywhere; it is pleasant to be out, only the air is not _very_ good
here. Do you think it is?'
'Maybe no'. We'll look at the shops first, onyhoo, an' then we'll gang
an' meet Teen Ba'four. D'ye mind Teen?'
'Oh yes. Is she quite well? She looked so ill that day I saw her. I
could not forget her face.'
'Oh, she's well enough, I think. I never asks. Oor kind gangs on till
they drap, an' then they maistly dee,' said Liz cheerfully. 'But Teen
will hing on a while yet--she's tough. I dinna see her very often. My
mither disna like her. She brings me the _Reader_ on Fridays. Eh,
wummin, "Lord Bellew's Bride" is finished. Everything was cleared up at
the end, an' the young man Lord Bellew was jealous o' turns oot to be
only her brither. The last chapter tells aboot the christenin' o' the
heir, an' she wears a white brocade goon, trimmed wi' real pearls an'
ostrich feathers. Fancy you an' me in a frock like that! Wad it no' mak'
a' the difference?'
'I don't know, I'm sure. I never thought of it,' answered Gladys,
quietly amused.
'Hae ye no'? I often think o'd. If I lived in a big hoose, rode in a
carriage, an' wore a silk dress every day, I wad be happy, an' guid too,
maybe. It's easy to be guid when ye are rich.'
'The Bible doesn't say so. Don't you remember how it explains that it is
so hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven?'
Liz looked round in a somewhat scared manner into her companion's face.
'D'ye read the Bible?' she asked bluntly. 'I never dae, so I canna mind
that. I never thocht onybody read it--or believed it, I mean--except
ministers that are paid for it.'
'Oh, that is quite a mistake,' said Gladys warmly. 'A great many people
read it, because they love it, and because it helps them in the battle
of life. I couldn't live without it. Walter and I read it every night.'
Liz drew herself a little apart doubtfully, and looked yet more
scrutinisingly into the face of Gladys.
'Upon my word, ye're less fit than I thocht for this warld. What were ye
born for? Ye'll never fecht yer way through,' she said, with a kind of
scornful pity.
'Oh yes, I will. Perhaps if it came to the real fight, I should prove
stronger than you, just because I have that help. Dear Liz, it is
dreadful, if it is true, to live as you do. Are you not afraid?'
'I fear naething, except gaun into consumption, an' haein' naebody to
look after me,' responded Liz. 'If it cam' to that, I'd _tak'_ something
to pit an end to mysel'. My mind's made up on that lang syne.'
She looked quite determined; her full red lips firmly set, and her eyes
looking straight before her, calm, steadfast, undaunted, in
corroboration of her boast that she feared nothing in the world.
'But, Liz, that would be very wicked,' said Gladys, in distress. 'We
have never more to bear than we are able; God takes care of that always.
But I am sure you are only speaking in haste. I think you have a great
deal of courage--too much to do that kind of thing.'
'Dinna preach, or we'll no' 'gree,' said Liz almost rudely. 'Let's look
at the hats in this window. I'll hae a new one next pay. Look at that
crimson velvet wi' the black wings; it's awfu' neat, an' only
six-and-nine. D'ye no' think it wad set me?'
'Very likely. You look very nice always,' answered Gladys truthfully,
and the sincere compliment pleased Liz, though she did not say so.
'Well, look, it's ten meenits past aicht. We were to meet Teen in the
Trongate at the quarter. We'll need to turn back.'
'And where will we go after that?' inquired Gladys. 'The shops are
beginning to shut.'
'You'll see. We've a ploy on. I want to gie ye a treat. Ye dinna get
mony o' them.'
She linked her arm with friendly familiarity into that of Gladys, and
began to chatter on again, chiefly of dress, which was dear to her soul.
Her talk was not interesting to Gladys, who was singularly free from
that feminine weakness, love of fine attire. No doubt she owed this to
her upbringing, having lived always alone with her father, and knowing
very few of her own sex. But she listened patiently to Liz's minute
account of the spring clothes she had in view, and even tried to make
some suggestions on her own account.
It was with something of a relief, however, that she beheld among the
crowd at last the slight figure and pale countenance of Teen.
'Guid-e'enin' to ye,' Teen said in her monotonous voice, and without a
smile or brightening of her face. 'Fine dry nicht. We're late, Liz, ten
minutes.'
'Oh, it doesna matter. We'll mak' a sensation,' said Liz, with a grim
smile. 'A' the same, we'd better hurry up an' get oor sixpenceworth.'
'Where are we going?' asked Gladys rather doubtfully.
'Oh, ye'll see. I promised ye a treat,' answered Liz; and the trio
quickened their steps until they came to a narrow entrance, illuminated,
however, by a blaze of gas jets, and adorned about the doorway with
sundry bills and pictures of music-hall _artistes_.
Before Gladys could utter the least protest, she was whisked in, paid
for at the box, and hurried up-stairs into a brilliantly-lighted hall,
the atmosphere of which, however, was reeking with the smoke and the
odour of tobacco and cheap cigars. Somebody was singing in a high,
shrill, unlovely voice, and when Gladys looked towards the platform
behind the footlights, she was horrified at the spectacle of a large,
coarse-looking woman, wearing the scantiest possible amount of clothing,
her face painted and powdered, her hair adorned with gilt spangles, her
arms and neck hung with sham jewellery.
'Who is she? Is it not awful?' whispered Gladys, which questions sent
the undemonstrative Teen off into one of her silent fits of laughter.
But Liz looked a trifle annoyed.
'Don't ask such silly questions. That's Mademoiselle Frivol, and she's
appearin' in a new character. It's an awful funny song, evidently. See
how they're laughin'. Be quiet, an' let's listen.'
Gladys held her peace, and sank into the seat beside Liz, and looked
about her in a kind of horrified wonder.
It was a large place, with a gallery opposite the stage. The seats in
the body of the hall were not set very closely together, and the
audience could move freely about. It was very full; a great many young
men, well-dressed, and even gentlemanly-looking in outward appearance at
least; the majority were smoking. The women present were mostly
young--many of them mere girls, and there was a great deal of talking
and bantering going on between them and the young men.
Those in the gallery were evidently of the poorer class, and they
accompanied the chorus of the song with a vigorous stamping of feet and
whistling accompaniment. When Mademoiselle Frivol had concluded her
performance with a little dance which brought down the house, there was
a short interval, and presently some young men sauntered up to the three
girls, and bade them good-evening in an easy, familiar way, which made
the colour leap to the cheek of Gladys, though she did not know why. She
knew nothing about young men, and had no experience to enable her to
discern the fine shades of their demeanour towards women; but that
innate delicacy which is the safeguard and the unfailing monitor of
every woman until she wilfully throws it away for ever, told the
pure-minded girl that something was amiss, and that it was no place for
her.
'Who's your chum, old girl?' asked a gorgeous youth, who wore an
imitation diamond breastpin and finger-ring. 'Give us an introduction,
Miss Hepburn.'
He did not remove his cigar, but looked down upon the pale face of
Gladys with a kind of familiar approval which hurt her, and made her
long to flee from the place.
'No; shut up, an' let her a-be,' answered Liz tartly. 'Hae ye a
programme?'
'Yes, but you don't deserve it for being so shabby,' said the gorgeous
youth, putting on a double eyeglass, and still honouring Gladys with his
attention.
'I hope you will enjoy the performance, miss,' he added. 'Did you hear
Frivol's song? It was very clever, quite the hit of the evening.'
Gladys never opened her mouth. When she afterwards looked back on that
experience, she wondered how she had been able to preserve her calm,
cold unconcern, which very soon convinced the youth that his advances
were not welcome. Liz looked round at her, and, noting the proud,
contemptuous curl of the girl's sweet lips, laughed up in his face.
'It's no go, Mr. Sinclair. Let's see that programme, an' dinna be mean.'
But the discomfited Mr. Sinclair, in no little chagrin, departed as
rudely as he came.
'Ye dinna want a gentleman lover, Gladys,' whispered Liz. 'He's struck,
onybody can see that, an' he's in business for himsel'. I'm sure he's
masher enough for you. Wull I gie him the hint to come back?'
'I'm going home, Liz. This is no place for me, nor for any of us, I know
that,' said Gladys, quite hotly for her.
'Oh no, you're no'. We must hae oor sixpenceworth. Bide or nine, onyhoo.
That's just twenty meenits. Here's the acrobats; ye'll like that.'
The acrobatic performance fascinated Gladys even while it horrified and
almost made her sick. She watched every contortion of the bodies with
the most morbid and intense interest, though feeling it to be hideous
all the time. It excited her very much, and her cheeks flushed, her eyes
shone with unwonted brilliance. When it was over, she rose to her feet.
'I'm going out, Liz. This is a bad place; I know it is. I'm going home.'
Liz looked up, with annoyance, at the clock.
'It's too bad; aichteenpence awa' for naething, but I suppose we maun
gang. I've to leave mysel', onyway, at nine. Ye'll bide, Teen, yersel'?'
'No' me. There's no' much the nicht, onyway,' answered Teen; and her
weird black eyes wandered restlessly through the hall, as if looking in
vain for an absent face. So the three quitted the place in less than
half an hour after they had entered it.
One of the audience watched their movements, and left the hall
immediately behind them by another door. As they moved along the busy
street some one touched Liz on the shoulder, and Gladys felt her hand
tremble as it lay on her arm.
'I maun say guid-nicht here, Gladys,' she said hurriedly, and her cheeks
were aflame. 'I'm vexed ye didna like the play. I meant it weel. Ye'll
see her hame, Teen?'
'Ay,' answered Teen, and next moment Liz was gone.
Gladys, glancing back, saw her cross the street beside a tall,
broad-shouldered, handsome-looking man, though she could not see his
face.
'That's her bean,' said Teen, with a nod. 'He's a swell; that's what for
she has her best claes on. They're awa' for a walk noo. He was in the
hall, but I didna see him.'
'Is she going to be married to him?' inquired Gladys, with interest.
'She hopes sae; but--but--I wadna like to sweer by it. He's a slippery
customer, an' aye was. I ken a lassie in Dennistoun he carried on as far
as Liz, but I'm no' feared for Liz. She can watch hersel'.'
A strange feeling of weariness and vague terror came over Gladys. Day by
day more of life was revealed to her, and added to her great perplexity.
She did not like the phase with which she had that night made
acquaintance. Conversation did not flourish between them, and they were
glad to part at the corner of the Lane. Gladys ran up to the house,
feeling almost as if somebody pursued her, and she was out of breath
when she reached the door. Walter had returned from his first evening
lesson, and great had been his disappointment to find Gladys out. He was
quick to note, when she entered the kitchen, certain signs of nervous
excitement, which made him wonder where she had been.
'It's nearly half-past nine,' said the old man crossly; 'too late for
you to be in the streets. Get to bed now, and be up to work in the
morning.'
'Yes, uncle,' said Gladys meekly, and retired to her own room
thankfully, to lay off her bonnet and cloak.
Walter hung about by the dying fire after the old man went up to take
his nightly survey of the premises, and at last Gladys came back.
'Did you have a good lesson, Walter?' she asked, with a slight smile.
'Oh, splendid. What a thing it is to learn! I feel as if I could do
anything now I have begun,' he cried enthusiastically. 'Mr. Robertson
was so kind. He will give me Euclid as well for the same money. He says
he sees I am in earnest. Life is a fine thing after all, sometimes.'
'Yes.' Gladys looked upon his face, flushed with the fine enthusiasm of
youth, with a slight feeling of envy. She felt very old and tired and
sad.
'And you've been out with Liz?' he said then, seeing that for some
unexplained reason she was not so interested as usual in his pursuits.
'Where did she take you?'
'To a music hall--not a nice place, Walter,' said Gladys almost
shamefacedly.
His colour, the flush of quick anger, leaped in his cheek.
'A music hall! I should just say it isn't a nice place. How dared she? I
see Liz needs me to talk to her plainly, and I will next time I see
her,' he began hotly; but just then the old man returned, and they kept
silence. But the evening's 'ploy' disturbed them both all night, though
in a different way.
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