_It is later in the evening of the same day, and this is such a
street as harbours London’s poor. The windows are so close to us
that we could tap on the only one which shows a light. It is on the
ground floor, and makes a gallant attempt to shroud this light with
articles of apparel suspended within. Seen as shadows through the
blind, these are somehow very like Miss Thing, and almost suggest
that she has been hanging herself in several places in one of her
bouts of energy. The street is in darkness, save for the meagre
glow from a street lamp, whose glass is painted red in obedience to
war regulations. It is winter time, and there is a sprinkling of
snow on the ground._
_Our_ POLICEMAN _appears in the street, not perhaps for the first
time this evening, and flashes his lantern on the suspect’s window,
whose signboard (boards again!) we now see bears this odd device_,
_Celeste et Cie_. ———— _The Penny Friend._
_Not perhaps for the first time this evening he scratches his
head at it. Then he pounds off in pursuit of some client who
has just emerged with a pennyworth. We may imagine the two of
them in conversation in the next street, the law putting leading
questions. Meanwhile the ‘fourth’ wall of the establishment of
Celeste dissolves, but otherwise the street is as it was, and we
are now in the position of privileged persons looking in at her
window. It is a tiny room in which you could just swing a cat, and
here_ CINDERELLA _swings cats all and every evening. The chief
pieces of furniture are a table and a bench, both of which have a
suspicious appearance of having been made out of boards by some
handy character. There is a penny in the slot fireplace which has
evidently been lately fed, there is a piece of carpet that has been
beaten into nothingness, but is still a carpet, there is a hearth
rug of brilliant rags that is probably gratified when your toes
catch in it and you are hurled against the wall. Two pictures—one
of them partly framed—strike a patriotic note, but they may be
there purposely to deceive. The room is lit by a lamp, and at first
sight presents no sinister aspect unless it comes from four boxes
nailed against the walls some five or six feet from the floor. In
appearance they are not dissimilar to large grocery boxes, but it
is disquieting to note that one of them has been mended with the
board we saw lately in_ MR. BODIE’S _studio. When our_ POLICEMAN
_comes, as come we may be sure he will, the test of his acumen will
be his box action._
_The persons in the room at present have either no acumen or
are familiar with the boxes. There are four of them, besides_
CINDERELLA, _whom we catch in the act of adding to her means of
livelihood. Celeste et Cie., a name that has caught her delicate
fancy while she dashed through fashionable quarters, is the Penny
Friend because here everything is dispensed for that romantic coin.
It is evident that the fame of the emporium has spread. Three
would be customers sit on the bench awaiting their turn listlessly
and as genteelly unconscious of each other as society in a
dentist’s dining-room, while in the centre is_ CINDERELLA _fitting
an elderly gentleman with a new coat. There are pins in her mouth
and white threads in the coat, suggesting that this is not her
first struggle with it, and one of the difficulties with which she
has to contend is that it has already evidently been the coat of a
larger man_. CINDERELLA _is far too astute a performer to let it be
seen that she has difficulties, however. She twists and twirls her
patron with careless aptitude, kneads him if need be, and has him
in a condition of pulp while she mutters for her own encouragement
and his intimidation the cryptic remarks employed by tailors, as
to the exact meaning of which she has already probed_ MR. BODIE.
CINDERELLA (_wandering over her client with a tape_). 35—14. (_She
consults a paper on the table._) Yes, it’s 35—14.
(_She pulls him out, contracts him and takes his elbows
measure._)
28—7; 41—12; 15—19. (_There is something wrong, and she has to
justify her handiwork._) You was longer when you came on Monday.
GENTLEMAN (_very moved by the importance of the occasion_). Don’t
be saying that, Missy.
CINDERELLA (_pinning up the tails of his coat_). Keep still.
GENTLEMAN (_with unexpected spirit_). I warns you, Missy, I won’t
have it cut.
CINDERELLA (_an artist_). I’ll give you the bits.
GENTLEMAN. I prefers to wear them.
(_She compares the coat with the picture of an elegant dummy._)
Were you going to make me like that picture?
CINDERELLA. I had just set my heart on copying this one. It’s the
Volupty.
GENTLEMAN (_faint-hearted_). I’m thinkin’ I couldn’t stand like
that man.
CINDERELLA (_eagerly_). Fine you could—with just a little practice.
I’ll let you see the effect.
(_She bends one of his knees, extends an arm and curves the
other till he looks like a graceful teapot. She puts his
stick in one hand and his hat in the other, and he is now
coquettishly saluting a lady._)
GENTLEMAN (_carried away as he looks at himself in a glass_). By
Gosh! Cut away, Missy!
CINDERELLA. I’ll need one more try-on. (_Suddenly._) That’s to say
if I’m here.
GENTLEMAN (_little understanding the poignancy of the remark_). If
it would be convenient to you to have the penny now—
CINDERELLA. No, not till I’ve earned it. It’s my rule. Good night
to you, Mr. Jennings.
GENTLEMAN. Good night, Missy.
(_We see him go out by the door and disappear up the street._)
CINDERELLA (_sharply_). Next.
(_An old woman comes to the table and_ CINDERELLA _politely
pretends not to have seen her sitting there_.)
It’s Mrs. Maloney!
MRS. M. Cinders, I have a pain. It’s like a jag of a needle down my
side.
CINDERELLA (_with a sinking, for she is secretly afraid of medical
cases_). Wait till I pop the therm-mo-mometer in. It’s a real one.
(_She says this with legitimate pride. She removes the instrument
from_ MRS. MALONEY’S _mouth after a prudent interval, and is not
certain what to do next._)
Take a deep breath.... Again.... Say 99. (_Her ear is against the
patient’s chest._)