storm? It won't not get wrecked because you're on it. Would you come
home very often? Would you wear sailor clothes? Wonder how you'd look!
Oh, I know--you mean a jersey. Would it have letters across your chest?
Where d'you have to go?"
Sally was so interested that she was even making up Toby's mind for him.
By the time they went in it was decided that he and Jackson were going
to sea, and that Sally should be taken down to visit his ship if it
happened to be at the Docks or at Tilbury. She had dancing visions of
Toby in a navy blue jersey, with "Queen of the Earth" or "La Marguerite"
or "Juanita" across it in white letters. She could see his dark hair
blown by the wind, and the veins in his wrists standing out as he hauled
a rope. It was rather fun! she thought. "My boy's a sailor." She would
be able to touch him for luck. Sailors were lucky. She sang to herself
a song one of the workgirls knew:
"Sailors are lads. Sailors are lads.
Sailors they make you laugh!"
Before night she was wholly reconciled to the idea that Toby would go to
sea. She soon had a dim perception of the fact that it would do him good
to go. It would get him away from the atmosphere of the Works, where
there seemed to be a lot of stupid larking and work-dodging. Now that he
was dismissed she began to realise all this. She was glad he was away
from it. She was glad he was going to sea. It would be a complete
change. It would do him good. He had been fiddling about too long at the
Works, in his overalls and in the grime and oil and general dodginess of
the place. The ship would take him about, and show him the way people
did things. It would open his eyes and his brains. Electrically,
something self-protective within her added the further message: it would
keep him out of the way for a time. Sally breathed deeply. An unreadable
smile was upon her lips, and no smile at all was in her eyes. Afar off
she scented change; but what manner of change she did not as yet
recognise. It was her instinct at work, her instinct for turning life to
her own advantage. It was an infallible instinct, like that of birds for
a coming storm.
v
It was some weeks before Sally again saw Gaga, and this time he came
into the premises of Madame Gala one Saturday morning. Sally had taken
something in to Madam, and was waiting her judgment, when one door
opened and Gaga came in. He was dressed, as usual, in a morning coat and
top hat, and his trousers were creased to an inconceivable point of
accuracy. Besides which, his tailors had been able to do what most
tailors cannot achieve; the creases arrived at the precise centre of
Gaga's fawn spats. Sally was not such an expert in male clothing to
recognise from this that Gaga's tailors were supermen; but she could
tell that he looked like a gentleman of leisure. She was the more
astonished, therefore, to see him carrying a parcel of some size under
his arm. His mother was evidently quite as astonished.
"What on earth's that, Bertie?" she demanded. Gaga looked at her in a
timid way.
"Oh--er--it's ... it's a new fertiliser," he said. "I.... I'm going to
take it on to the office after lunch. Goodmayes is coming back then.
Perrip says it's wonderful stuff, and I want Goodmayes to go into it.
We're going into all that matter--good morning, Miss Minto--this
afternoon. I.... I think we may be able to get through quite a lot. You
see, as it's Saturday, we shan't be interrupted...."
"That will do, Sally," said Madam, gravely and slowly nodding her head
in dismissal.
Sally went with regret. She had been interested in the conversation. She
had taken it for granted that Gaga did nothing for a living. Now he
talked of going to an office, and of two men whose opinions he evidently
valued, and of fertiliser; and although his words and his manner were
still those of a hesitating man he did not speak as an absolute fool.
Sally felt a stir of curiosity. What sort of business was it that he was
in? Fertiliser ... wonderful stuff ... something to do with gardening,
would it be? As she was closing the door, Sally looked back and saw
mother and son standing together. The likeness was remarkable. Both were
tall, grey-faced, and slightly stooping. Gaga was weak-looking for a
man, and Madam had more severity; but there were such lines upon her
face that she looked like an old woman. A sudden realisation shook
Sally. As she went back to Miss Summers with an explanation of Madam's
deferred judgment she had this sharp new knowledge about Madame Gala.
"Well _she_ won't live for ever," thought Sally, definitely.
And then she had recourse to her usual informant, Muriel, and asked her
Gaga's business. Muriel did not know. Sally was therefore left to
conjecture. She forgot all about Madam and Gaga, for Toby was going to
meet her after business on his first leave from the "Florence Drake."
She was dressed in her most destructive raiment, had searched the skies
for rain, and was watching the clock. So fertilisers went the way of all
secondary things, and Toby became her dominating thought. He had become
the more splendid by his absence. She imagined him standing in the
street below, dressed equally in his best clothes, and looking the
finest boy on earth. They were going into Hyde Park and Kensington
Gardens, and he had promised to take her in a boat on the Serpentine, if
one could be hired, and somewhere to tea, and at night to the
Marlborough Theatre in Holloway Road. It was worth while to lose him for
a time in order to recover a Toby more dear, and so much more
extravagant on her behalf. He explained his generosity by the fact that
he would be drawing his wages that day. Good to be a sailor, and have
your money in a lump like that! Sally thought she would not altogether
mind if he remained at sea for a time. He could save, and she could get
on; and then they would both be happy, with a house somewhere, and a
maid, and everything spick and span. No babies. Sally had taken that to
heart, and she appreciated the value of old Perce's advice. A girl who
wanted to get on did not need babies to drag her down. She wanted
freedom.
As the clock slowly crawled to the hour of liberation all the girls
began to put away their things, so that a real busyness was observable
in the room. Sally was apparently no more eager than the others, and yet
she could hardly keep herself from running to the window to see if Toby
was in the street below. Sedately she prepared to leave, walking down
the stairs slowly instead of rushing at them as she wished to do. She
buttoned her little gloves, and set her hat straight, and made herself
appear nonchalant. And that was how it happened that Gaga overtook her
at the front door, and stood with her for a moment upon the doorstep.
"Lovely day it is," Gaga said, agreeably. "You going to get away?"
"Away? Oh, no, I'm going home," Sally said brightly. Then, looking at
him, she saw that there was nothing to disturb the impression that he
was a gentleman of leisure. "Oh Mr. Ga-- Mr. Bertram ... you haven't got
your parcel!" she cried.
He slapped one hand upon the other, with a most dramatic gesture.
"Idiot!" he exclaimed. "Thank you _so_ much, Miss Minto. You've saved my
afternoon." And with that, raising his top hat, he went back up the
stairs, leaving Sally to congratulate herself upon her memory and her
presence of mind. For she knew the rooms would all be locked by Miss
Summers before she left.
She looked round for Toby, and saw him, as fine as a bird, upon the
opposite path. Crossing over, she took his arm with such pride and
delight that Toby, who had been frowning as he greeted her, was almost
appeased. She looked so charming in her very pale green dress with the
artfully-brimmed hat that he also had looked proud and happy at her
first appearance. But Toby had received a shock. Standing there in his
dark tweed suit, with a rakish Trilby hat and a fascinating cane, he had
felt a fit companion for any girl, and as he was shaven, and his square
face was browned with the sun and the sea wind, he had been content. And
then Sally, looking like a princess....
"Who the devil's that silly fop?" he demanded, jerking his head.
Sally gave a jump, and a mischievous peep up into Toby's brown face.
"Jealous?" she asked. "That's right: be a man. They're never happy
unless they're jealous. That's Gaga. And if you want to know who Gaga
is, he's Madam's son. See?"
"Well, he'd better not come fooling around you," growled Toby. "Or he'll
get a thick ear. With his top hat and his kid gloves and all."
"Hark at it!" jeered Sally. "Quite the little man! Don't you think he's
awfully good-looking, Toby? We're all mad about him. All us girls."
"No, I don't," said Toby, deliberately. "But I expect he's the sort the
girls like. Well, he's got a harem there, and no mistake, all fussing
round him. Is he there all the time?"
"No. Toby, what's fertilisers?" Sally's curiosity had been revived.
"Don't you know? Oh, shut up about Gaga. Anybody'd think he was a devil.
He isn't. He's soppy. He wouldn't dare to make love to any of us girls.
If I was to look at him he'd run away."
"Yes," said Toby, grimly. "I see he didn't like you looking at him."
"Well, I'll tell you something else, Toby," added Sally, with a
persuasively dry candour. "If Madam was to see me looking at him I
should get the sack--spiff! See?"
Toby was impressed. More, he was silenced. They spent a happy afternoon
and evening, with no further reference to Gaga. Nor did Sally think of
Gaga during the whole of the weekend. He might have been mixed and
pounded with his own fertiliser for all she cared. For Sally had Toby.
vi
One night Miss Summers and Sally were working late upon a "rush job,"
and Madam was also in her room. The girls had all gone; but Sally had
been chosen by Miss Summers to help her, and Sally was always ready to
do this because it meant a small addition to her weekly money. Madam was
doing her books, and Gaga was helping her. Sally was sewing
busily--beautiful fine work that caused Miss Summers to purr and lick
her lips with relish;--and as they worked they exchanged remarks which
would have been impossible if they had not been alone. Miss Summers
always spoke of the business, which absorbed her, and Sally gleaned
innumerable details in this way, without seeming to be doing such a
thing. She, on her side, gave Miss Summers a low-toned picture of her
own life, concentrating upon domestic circumstances and enhancing Miss
Summers' respect for her bravery and her willingness. When they had been
silent once for a little while, and Sally had finished the first of her
difficult and gratifying tasks, Sally fell into thought, and at last
said to Miss Summers:
"Wish I knew about accounts. I don't know anything. Is it hard to
learn?"
Miss Summers shook her plump face, and rubbed the tip of her nose with
the back of her hand.
"No," she reassuringly said. "It's easy. You know what twice one are?
Well, that's all it is. You put down on one side how much you charged,
and when you get the money you put it down on the other side, and draw a
line to show they balance. And every month or every quarter you go
through your books, and see who hasn't paid; and if it isn't anybody
special you send them a fresh account. And if it's a real lady you don't
worry her. You have to know who's who in a business like this. That's
the chief thing."
"Does Gaga--Mr. Bertram know who's who?"
"No!" Miss Summers's tone was conclusive. "But his mother tells him who
to write to, or who to send an account to, and he knows book-keeping,
and how much is at the bank; and he draws cheques for her to sign, and
that sort of thing. Between you and me, Sally--mind, this is _quite_
between ourselves,--I don't think Mr. Bertram's got a very good head for
figures. You have to be a bit smarter than he is. Of course, he's very
kind and good-looking; but if I wanted good sound common sense I
wouldn't go to him. Not a good head for figures. He's not very sharp.
Now Madam's as sharp as a needle. It's funny how a really sharp woman
sometimes has a son who's--well, not so sharp...."
"Would you say _I_ was sharp?" asked Sally innocently.
"Like a knife," declared Miss Summers, with a quick dart of her feline
eyes.
"Really?" Sally was eager. She gave a little chuckle of pleasure at such
emphatic praise.
"You'd be able to do the books, but you're better where you are. When
you've been here another three months, Sally, you'll be getting more
money. It isn't only that you're a good worker, and quick, but you've
got more sense than the other girls. I oughtn't to say this to you. I
don't generally praise the girls here. But if you want to get on, you've
only got to stay where you are. You'll find Madam appreciates you. And
so do I."
"You've been awfully good to me," murmured Sally, with downcast eyes.
"I'm not just saying that, Miss Summers; I mean it, every word. When I
came here I didn't know anything; and now I don't know a lot; but...."
She gave a small cluck of her tongue, and a smile to show how much she
had learned. It was true. And she was even learning to speak better,
through listening to Madam and Miss Summers and at times a customer; and
she had enough sense to avoid the extravagant refinements of Nosey.
Presently she resumed: "Miss Summers, what does Mr. Bertram do? He's got
a business of his own, hasn't he?"
Miss Summers looked across at the door leading to Madam's room, and
lowered her voice.
"It's only something Madam put him into. It's a business all to do with
farms."
"Farms?" Sally laughed. "Well, _he_ doesn't look much like a farmer."
"No, it isn't exactly farms; but chemical things they use on farms. Now
you see there's the soil." Sally nodded, so deeply interested that she
ceased her work. "Some soil's good for growing things, and some isn't.
Well, when a soil's not good the farmers mix stuff with it, to make it
better."
"I know," cried Sally, joyously. "Fertiliser."
"Yes. And then from the good soil they'll get a crop early in the year,
and then, by using stuff, they'll get another crop later. All that sort
of thing. And if cows have the mange, or the rickets, or whatever it is
cows have, Mr. Bertram's got something to give them. D'you see what I
mean? And all sorts of chemical things. Stuff to kill weeds, stuff to
give chickens to make them have bigger eggs.... He's got an inventor,
and a manager, and others who are interested in the business, and he's
got a share, and he goes to the office and goes about the country
sometimes." Miss Summers screwed up her nose and lips, looking very like
an old pussy, and in a whisper added: "Doesn't really do very much." She
put her finger to her lips at that, and Sally, resuming her work,
reassured her by a glance. "Of course," said Miss Summers, "he's very
agreeable, and good-looking, and he's got plenty of money."
Money! Sally's eyelids flickered. She gave a charming grin.
"Wish I'd got plenty money," she said.
"You will have," answered Miss Summers, confidently. "Don't fret. Your
time's coming. You're young yet, and all sorts of things might happen to
you."
Sally made no response. She fell into silence for a time. She had learnt
with the greatest interest about Gaga's business, and about the books.
She learned a great deal from Miss Summers, whom she had grown to like
very much. She was by no means insensitive to kindness, although she was
not sentimental over it. And, as she thought, she came round again to
the two workers in the next room.
"D'you think Madam will live long?" she unexpectedly asked.
vii
Within half an hour the job was finished, and Miss Summers took it in to
Madam. She closed the door after her, and so Sally could not hear what
was said. She stood up, stretching her arms, and looking down into the
street, for it was barely growing dusk, and she could see a few men and
women walking along in either direction. She yawned slightly, raising
her hand to her mouth, her muscles stiff. And as she stood thus she
heard the door opened and closed again, and, still yawning, said
sleepily:
"Oo, I'm _so_ tired!"
"Are you?" she heard behind her, in a very soft and sympathetic voice.
Sally wheeled.
"I thought it was Miss Summers," she cried.
Gaga stood there smiling shyly, and looking at her with his appealing
eyes. In this light he looked very handsome, and Sally felt almost sorry
to see that he also looked tired. His face was quite grey, and his
movements were those of an exceedingly nervous person who would always
shrink from roughness.
"I'm so sorry you should have had to work so late," he said.
"Oo, it's nothing," cried Sally. "Do me good. If I was at home I should
only be working there," she added, explanatorily. "Work, work, work."
"Don't you ever get any fun?" asked Gaga, timidly. "I mean, go out, or
anything?"
Sally shook her head. She was silhouetted against the light.
"No," she told him. "Not often." It was strange how refined her voice
automatically became when she was talking to Gaga. She was altogether
restrained. "You can't if you've got to earn your own living. And have
to get here early in the morning."
Gaga hesitated, half turned away, came back.
"I'm very sorry," he said, in his gentle, weak way. "Don't you like it?
I mean going out. Or is it just that you don't get the chance? Poor
little girl. Er-- I'm sorry. Er--it's a beautiful night, isn't it?"
"Lovely," agreed Sally. "I'm going to walk home."
He considered that. He did not seem to have anything more to say. Sally
moved to her place, and mechanically put away her scissors and thimble.
She was still in her pinafore, and she could not take that off and roll
it up while Gage was in the room. So they stood there, separated by
several yards. He took out a cigarette case, and lighted a cigarette,
throwing the match under the long table at the side of the room.
"Yes," he said reflectively. "Are you going to have dinner first?"
"Me?" laughed Sally. She shook her head. "When I get home. If I had
dinner in London it would take all my wages, and more, at a single go."
She laughed again, but not woundingly.
Gaga looked at his shoes, again at Sally, again at his shoes.
"Look here," he blurted out, "I wish you'd...."
Sally's ears were pricked; but they heard only the opening of the door
of Madam's room as Miss Summers returned. Both Sally and Gaga turned
away, as if in slight chagrin. Then Gaga backed out of the workroom. The
conversation was over. It was time to go home. Slowly Sally removed her
pinafore and rolled it, thinking rapidly. Miss Summers was so pleased at
Madam's satisfaction with the dress that she was beaming and purring and
rubbing her hands together. She nodded benevolently at Sally.
"Well, you get off, Sally," she said, in a full tone of delight. "It's
quite all right. Madam's very pleased with the dress. Don't hang about
now, but get home to your supper. You've been a very good girl."
Sally put on her hat.
"Good night, Miss Summers." And as she passed the door of Madam's room
she gave a little silent nod towards it, and a little grimace also. She
was out upon the stairs. She was out of doors. And as she walked along
she heard rapid footsteps behind her, shrank a little, and looked up to
see Gaga standing beside her, quite breathless, as if with a hurried
journey.
"Er-- Miss Minto," he panted. "I'm sorry.... I ... will you take these?
Er--good night."
He raised his hat, and went into the building, leaving Sally mutely
clasping a box of chocolates which he had thrust into her hand. She
looked round, but he had disappeared, and she began to march homeward,
still clasping the chocolates. Only when she was in Regent Street with
her treasure did Sally dare to laugh. Then the whole scene came back to
her so vividly that she could control her mirth no longer, but stared,
shaking, into a shop window. He must have hurried out to buy the
chocolates after being interrupted by Miss Summers.
"My!" she whispered to herself. "My!" For a time that was all she could
say; but as she resumed her journey she exclaimed: "Chocolates! He never
gave Rose anything at all. Ee! He was going to ask me to dinner. Wish he
had! He didn't dare! My word, he hasn't half got a crush on me! Old
Gaga!" She was consumed with delighted laughter, that made her break
into smiles at intervals during the whole of the dismal walk which
followed.
viii
"Here, have a chocolate, ma," said Sally. Mrs. Minto was sitting beside
the empty grate reading, with the aid of a magnifying glass, a piece of
newspaper which had been wrapped around Sally's mended shoes. She looked
very frail and meagre, but she was very much better than she had been,
and but for the ugliness of the room and the drabness of her clothes she
would not have appeared miserable. She was, in fact, a pathetic figure;
but thanks to Sally they were no longer starving, or in immediate danger
of it.
"Chocolates!" cried Mrs. Minto. Then, sternly and suspiciously, she said
in her weak voice of warning, "Where did you get _them_ from, Sally?"
"Won 'em in a raffle," declared Sally.
"Oo, gambling!" reproved Mrs. Minto. "It's very wrong of young
girls----"
"Fiddlesticks! They're good chocolates, too," said Sally. "Don't make
yourself sick. It's a nuisance. Besides, I want some myself. I _am_
hungry. I've been working all the evening."
"Working!" grumbled her mother, incredulously.
"Well.... I ... _have_!" asserted Sally. "Perhaps you'd like me to get
Miss Summers to give me a certificate? You'll see. I shall have a bit
more money at the end of the week. Then you'll rub your eyes. You'll
apologise--I don't think! No, I'm a bad girl, wasting my time gadding
about. You never think of that when you get the money, or the money if
I'm late."
"Hush! Hush!" begged her mother. "I never said you was a bad girl.
You're a very good girl. But when you bring home a box of chocolates at
this hour--nine o'clock, and past--and say you won them in a raffle, and
you've been working--well!"
"What's that you're reading?" asked Sally, pointing to the small print.
Mrs. Minto straightened the sheet of newspaper, and held it up to the
light.
"It's an old paper," she said. "A trial."
"Lor! Murder?" Sally almost left her supper. "What's it all about?"
"Well ... oo, he must a been a wicked wretch. He poisoned the old lady.
He'd robbed her before he did it. Took all her money to give her an
annuity, and then he poisoned her."
"Poison! Whew! What sort of poison?"
"Flypapers, it was. Not them sticky ones, but the brown, what you put in
water. Got arsenic in them, they have."
"What's arsenic?"
Mrs. Minto looked over her magnifying glass at Sally in a bewildered
way.
"I don't know. It's poison. I never poisoned anybody. Not that I know
of."
"No," agreed Sally. She thought to herself: "She ought to have poisoned
dad. All of us." Melancholy seized her, a dreadful passing fit of
depression. Suddenly she longed for Toby. Aloud, she proceeded, more
seriously: "If it's in the flypapers, why don't we all get poisoned,
ma?"
"Well, it seems he soaked the papers, and drained off the water, with
the poison in it, and mixed it with her food--beef tea, and that. _She_
never noticed anything. She had awful pains, and diarrhoea, and was
sick; and then she died, poor thing."
"Hn," said Sally, reaching out for the chocolates. "I'll read it. I like
murders."
"Hush!" cried Mrs. Minto, in horror. "Read them--yes; but say you like
murders! What wicked people there are in the world, to be sure. I hope
they hanged him."
"Doesn't it say?" mumbled Sally, dealing with a chocolate with caramel
inside it.
"It's torn across. It's what I got your shoes in, Sally. It's a.... It's
'Stories of Famous Trials,' in the Weekly Something.... I can't see what
it is."
For the next quarter of an hour Sally ate chocolates and read about the
trial of Seddon for murdering Miss Barrow.
"Miss Barrow!" she exclaimed. "Wonder if she was any relation to old
Perce! I'll ask Mrs. Perce about it. Oo--fancy Tollington Park! Quite
near us in Hornsey Road."
Mrs. Minto shuddered, and looked furtively at the clock, longing for
her bedtime. Sally caught the glance, shut up the box of chocolates, and
folded the paper.
"You going to work?" asked her mother.
"Wash my hair."
"You're always washing ... _washing_, you call it!" cried Mrs. Minto.