Her eyes had not deceived her. Two figures which had emerged from the
upper staircase window of Mr. Rumbold's and had got after a perilous
paddle in his cistern, on to the fire station, were now slowly but
resolutely clambering up the outhouse roof towards the back of the
main premises of Messrs. Mantell and Throbson's. They clambered slowly
and one urged and helped the other, slipping and pausing ever and
again, amidst a constant trickle of fragments of broken tile.
One was Mr. Polly, with his hair wildly disordered, his face covered
with black smudges and streaked with perspiration, and his trouser
legs scorched and blackened; the other was an elderly lady, quietly
but becomingly dressed in black, with small white frills at her neck
and wrists and a Sunday cap of ecru lace enlivened with a black velvet
bow. Her hair was brushed back from her wrinkled brow and plastered
down tightly, meeting in a small knob behind; her wrinkled mouth bore
that expression of supreme resolution common with the toothless aged.
She was shaky, not with fear, but with the vibrations natural to her
years, and she spoke with the slow quavering firmness of the very
aged.
"I don't mind scrambling," she said with piping inflexibility, "but I
can't jump and I _wunt_ jump."
"Scramble, old lady, then--scramble!" said Mr. Polly, pulling her arm.
"It's one up and two down on these blessed tiles."
"It's not what I'm used to," she said.
"Stick to it!" said Mr. Polly, "live and learn," and got to the ridge
and grasped at her arm to pull her after him.
"I can't jump, mind ye," she repeated, pressing her lips together.
"And old ladies like me mustn't be hurried."
"Well, let's get as high as possible anyhow!" said Mr. Polly, urging
her gently upward. "Shinning up a water-spout in your line? Near as
you'll get to Heaven."
"I _can't_ jump," she said. "I can do anything but jump."
"Hold on!" said Mr. Polly, "while I give you a boost.
That's--wonderful."
"So long as it isn't jumping...."
The old lady grasped the parapet above, and there was a moment of
intense struggle.
"Urup!" said Mr. Polly. "Hold on! Gollys! where's she gone to?..."
Then an ill-mended, wavering, yet very reassuring spring side boot
appeared for an instant.
"Thought perhaps there wasn't any roof there!" he explained,
scrambling up over the parapet beside her.
"I've never been out on a roof before," said the old lady. "I'm all
disconnected. It's very bumpy. Especially that last bit. Can't we sit
here for a bit and rest? I'm not the girl I use to be."
"You sit here ten minutes," shouted Mr. Polly, "and you'll pop like a
roast chestnut. Don't understand me? _Roast chestnut!_ Roast chestnut!
POP! There ought to be a limit to deafness. Come on round to the
front and see if we can find an attic window. Look at this smoke!"
"Nasty!" said the old lady, her eyes following his gesture, puckering
her face into an expression of great distaste.
"Come on!"
"Can't hear a word you say."