THE IDYLL OF CORYDON AND PHYLLIS.

Gallantry ordered that the faithful swain and the amorous shepherdess

should drink out of one and the same pot.

''Urry up an' 'ave your whack,' said Corydon, politely handing the

foaming bowl for his fair one to drink from.

Phyllis, without replying, raised it to her lips and drank deep. The

swain watched anxiously.

''Ere, give us a chanst!' he said, as the pot was raised higher and

higher and its contents appeared to be getting less and less.

At this the amorous shepherdess stopped and handed the pot to her

lover.

'Well, I'm dashed!' said Corydon, looking into it; and added: 'I guess

you know a thing or two.' Then with courtly grace putting his own lips

to the place where had been those of his beloved, finished the pint.

'Go' lumme!' remarked the shepherdess, smacking her lips, 'that was

somethin' like!' And she put out her tongue and licked her lips, and

then breathed deeply.

The faithful swain having finished, gave a long sigh, and said:

'Well, I could do with some more!'

'For the matter of thet, I could do with a gargle!'

Thus encouraged, the gallant returned to the bar, and soon brought out

a second pint.

'You 'ave fust pop,' amorously remarked Phyllis, and he took a long

drink and handed the pot to her.

She, with maiden modesty, turned it so as to have a different part to

drink from; but he remarked as he saw her:

'You are bloomin' particular.'

Then, unwilling to grieve him, she turned it back again and applied

her ruby lips to the place where his had been.

'Now we shan't be long!' she remarked, as she handed him back the pot.

The faithful swain took out of his pocket a short clay pipe, blew

through it, filled it, and began to smoke, while Phyllis sighed at the

thought of the cool liquid gliding down her throat, and with the

pleasing recollection gently stroked her stomach. Then Corydon spat,

and immediately his love said:

'I can spit farther than thet.'

'I bet yer yer can't.'

She tried, and did. He collected himself and spat again, further than

before, she followed him, and in this idyllic contest they remained

till the tootling horn warned them to take their places.

* * * * *

At last they reached Chingford, and here the horses were taken out and

the drag, on which they were to lunch, drawn up in a sheltered spot.

They were all rather hungry, but as it was not yet feeding-time, they

scattered to have drinks meanwhile. Liza and Tom, with Sally and her

young man, went off together to the nearest public-house, and as they

drank beer, Harry, who was a great sportsman, gave them a graphic

account of a prize-fight he had seen on the previous Saturday evening,

which had been rendered specially memorable by one man being so hurt

that he had died from the effects. It had evidently been a very fine

affair, and Harry said that several swells from the West End had been

present, and he related their ludicrous efforts to get in without

being seen by anyone, and their terror when someone to frighten them

called out 'Copper!' Then Tom and he entered into a discussion on the

subject of boxing, in which Tom, being a shy and undogmatic sort of

person, was entirely worsted. After this they strolled back to the

brake, and found things being prepared for luncheon; the hampers were

brought out and emptied, and the bottles of beer in great profusion

made many a thirsty mouth thirstier.

'Come along, lidies an' gentlemen--if you are gentlemen,' shouted the

coachman; 'the animals is now goin' ter be fed!'

'Garn awy,' answered somebody, 'we're not hanimals; we don't drink

water.'

'You're too clever,' remarked the coachman; 'I can see you've just

come from the board school.'

As the former speaker was a lady of quite mature appearance, the

remark was not without its little irony. The other man blew his horn

by way of grace, at which Liza called out to him:

'Don't do thet, you'll bust, I know you will, an' if you bust you'll

quite spoil my dinner!'

Then they all set to. Pork-pies, saveloys, sausages, cold potatoes,

hard-boiled eggs, cold bacon, veal, ham, crabs and shrimps, cheese,

butter, cold suet-puddings and treacle, gooseberry-tarts,

cherry-tarts, butter, bread, more sausages, and yet again pork-pies!

They devoured the provisions like ravening beasts, stolidly, silently,

earnestly, in large mouthfuls which they shoved down their throats

unmasticated. The intelligent foreigner seeing them thus dispose of

their food would have understood why England is a great nation. He

would have understood why Britons never, never will be slaves. They

never stopped except to drink, and then at each gulp they emptied

their glass; no heel-taps! And still they ate, and still they

drank--but as all things must cease, they stopped at last, and a long

sigh of content broke from their two-and-thirty throats.

Then the gathering broke up, and the good folk paired themselves and

separated. Harry and his lady strolled off to secluded byways in the

forest, so that they might discourse of their loves and digest their

dinner. Tom had all the morning been waiting for this happy moment; he

had counted on the expansive effect of a full stomach to thaw his

Liza's coldness, and he had pictured himself sitting on the grass with

his back against the trunk of a spreading chestnut-tree, with his arm

round his Liza's waist, and her head resting affectionately on his

manly bosom. Liza, too, had foreseen the separation into couples after

dinner, and had been racking her brains to find a means of getting out

of it.

'I don't want 'im slobberin' abaht me,' she said; 'it gives me the

sick, all this kissin' an' cuddlin'!'

She scarcely knew why she objected to his caresses; but they bored her

and made her cross. But luckily the blessed institution of marriage

came to her rescue, for Jim and his wife naturally had no particular

desire to spend the afternoon together, and Liza, seeing a little

embarrassment on their part, proposed that they should go for a walk

together in the forest.

Jim agreed at once, and with pleasure, but Tom was dreadfully

disappointed. He hadn't the courage to say anything, but he glared at

Blakeston. Jim smiled benignly at him, and Tom began to sulk. Then

they began a funny walk through the woods. Jim tried to go on with

Liza, and Liza was not at all disinclined to this, for she had come to

the conclusion that Jim, notwithstanding his 'cheek', was not ''alf a

bad sort'. But Tom kept walking alongside of them, and as Jim slightly

quickened his pace so as to get Liza on in front, Tom quickened his,

and Mrs. Blakeston, who didn't want to be left behind, had to break

into a little trot to keep up with them. Jim tried also to get Liza

all to himself in the conversation, and let Tom see that he was out in

the cold, but Tom would break in with cross, sulky remarks, just to

make the others uncomfortable. Liza at last got rather vexed with him.

'Strikes me you got aht of bed the wrong way this mornin',' she said

to him.

'Yer didn't think thet when yer said you'd come aht with me.' He

emphasized the 'me'.

Liza shrugged her shoulders.

'You give me the 'ump,' she said. 'If yer wants ter mike a fool of

yerself, you can go elsewhere an' do it.'

'I suppose yer want me ter go awy now,' he said angrily.

'I didn't say I did.'

'Arright, Liza, I won't stay where I'm not wanted.' And turning on

his heel he marched off, striking through the underwood into the midst

of the forest.

He felt extremely unhappy as he wandered on, and there was a choky

feeling in his throat as he thought of Liza: she was very unkind and

ungrateful, and he wished he had never come to Chingford. She might so

easily have come for a walk with him instead of going with that beast

of a Blakeston; she wouldn't ever do anything for him, and he hated

her--but all the same, he was a poor foolish thing in love, and he

began to feel that perhaps he had been a little exacting and a little

forward to take offence. And then he wished he had never said

anything, and he wanted so much to see her and make it up. He made his

way back to Chingford, hoping she would not make him wait too long.

Liza was a little surprised when Tom turned and left them.

'Wot 'as 'e got the needle abaht?' she said.

'Why, 'e's jealous,' answered Jim, with a laugh.

'Tom jealous?'

'Yus; 'e's jealous of me.'

'Well, 'e ain't got no cause ter be jealous of anyone--that 'e ain't!'

said Liza, and continued by telling him all about Tom: how he had

wanted to marry her and she wouldn't have him, and how she had only

agreed to come to Chingford with him on the understanding that she

should preserve her entire freedom. Jim listened sympathetically, but

his wife paid no attention; she was doubtless engaged in thought

respecting her household or her family.

When they got back to Chingford they saw Tom standing in solitude

looking at them. Liza was struck by the woebegone expression on his

face; she felt she had been cruel to him, and leaving the Blakestons

went up to him.

'I say, Tom,' she said, 'don't tike on so; I didn't mean it.'

He was bursting to apologize for his behaviour.

'Yer know, Tom,' she went on, 'I'm rather 'asty, an' I'm sorry I said

wot I did.'

'Oh, Liza, you are good! You ain't cross with me?'

'Me? Na; it's you thet oughter be cross.'

'You are a good sort, Liza!'

'You ain't vexed with me?'

'Give me Liza every time; that's wot I say,' he answered, as his face

lit up. 'Come along an' 'ave tea, an' then we'll go for a

donkey-ride.'

The donkey-ride was a great success. Liza was a little afraid at

first, so Tom walked by her side to take care of her, she screamed the

moment the beast began to trot, and clutched hold of Tom to save

herself from falling, and as he felt her hand on his shoulder, and

heard her appealing cry: 'Oh, do 'old me! I'm fallin'!' he felt that

he had never in his life been so deliciously happy. The whole party

joined in, and it was proposed that they should have races; but in the

first heat, when the donkeys broke into a canter, Liza fell off into

Tom's arms and the donkeys scampered on without her.

'I know wot I'll do,' she said, when the runaway had been recovered.

'I'll ride 'im straddlewyse.'

'Garn!' said Sally, 'yer can't with petticoats.'

'Yus, I can, an' I will too!'

So another donkey was procured, this time with a man's saddle, and

putting her foot in the stirrup, she cocked her leg over and took her

seat triumphantly. Neither modesty nor bashfulness was to be reckoned

among Liza's faults, and in this position she felt quite at ease.

'I'll git along arright now, Tom,' she said; 'you garn and

git yerself a moke, and come an' jine in.'

The next race was perfectly uproarious. Liza kicked and beat her

donkey with all her might, shrieking and laughing the white, and

finally came in winner by a length. After that they felt rather warm

and dry, and repaired to the public-house to restore themselves and

talk over the excitements of the racecourse.

When they had drunk several pints of beer Liza and Sally, with their

respective adorers and the Blakestons, walked round to find other

means of amusing themselves; they were arrested by a coconut-shy.

'Oh, let's 'ave a shy!' said Liza, excitedly, at which the unlucky men

had to pull out their coppers, while Sally and Liza made ludicrously

bad shots at the coconuts.

'It looks so bloomin' easy,' said Liza, brushing up her hair, 'but I

can't 'it the blasted thing. You 'ave a shot, Tom.'

He and Harry were equally unskilful, but Jim got three coconuts

running, and the proprietors of the show began to look on him with

some concern.

'You are a dab at it,' said Liza, in admiration.

They tried to induce Mrs. Blakeston to try her luck, but she stoutly

refused.

'I don't old with such foolishness. It's wiste of money ter me,' she

said.

'Na then, don't crack on, old tart,' remarked her husband, 'let's go

an' eat the coconuts.'

There was one for each couple, and after the ladies had sucked the

juice they divided them and added their respective shares to their

dinners and teas. Supper came next. Again they fell to sausage-rolls,

boiled eggs, and saveloys, and countless bottles of beer were added to

those already drunk.

'I dunno 'ow many bottles of beer I've drunk--I've lost count,' said

Liza; whereat there was a general laugh.

They still had an hour before the brake was to start back, and it was

then the concertinas came in useful. They sat down on the grass, and

the concert was begun by Harry, who played a solo; then there was a

call for a song, and Jim stood up and sang that ancient ditty, 'O dem

Golden Kippers, O'. There was no shyness in the company, and Liza,

almost without being asked, gave another popular comic song. Then

there was more concertina playing, and another demand for a song. Liza

turned to Tom, who was sitting quietly by her side.

'Give us a song, old cock,' she said.

'I can't,' he answered. 'I'm not a singin' sort.' At which Blakeston

got up and offered to sing again.

'Tom is rather a soft,' said Liza to herself, 'not like that cove

Blakeston.'

They repaired to the public-house to have a few last drinks before the

brake started, and when the horn blew to warn them, rather unsteadily,

they proceeded to take their places.

Liza, as she scrambled up the steps, said: 'Well, I believe I'm

boozed.'

The coachman had arrived at the melancholy stage of intoxication, and

was sitting on his box holding his reins, with his head bent on his

chest. He was thinking sadly of the long-lost days of his youth, and

wishing he had been a better man.

Liza had no respect for such holy emotions, and she brought down her

fist on the crown of his hat, and bashed it over his eyes.

'Na then, old jellybelly,' she said, 'wot's the good of 'avin' a fice

as long as a kite?'

He turned round and smote her.

'Jellybelly yerself!' said he.

'Puddin' fice!' she cried.

'Kite fice!'

'Boss eye!'

She was tremendously excited, laughing and singing, keeping the whole

company in an uproar. In her jollity she had changed hats with Tom,

and he in her big feathers made her shriek with laughter. When they

started they began to sing 'For 'e's a jolly good feller', making the

night resound with their noisy voices.

Liza and Tom and the Blakestons had got a seat together, Liza being

between the two men. Tom was perfectly happy, and only wished that

they might go on so for ever. Gradually as they drove along they

became quieter, their singing ceased, and they talked in undertones.

Some of them slept; Sally and her young man were leaning up against

one another, slumbering quite peacefully. The night was beautiful, the

sky still blue, very dark, scattered over with countless brilliant

stars, and Liza, as she looked up at the heavens, felt a certain

emotion, as if she wished to be taken in someone's arms, or feel some

strong man's caress; and there was in her heart a strange sensation as

though it were growing big. She stopped speaking, and all four were

silent. Then slowly she felt Tom's arm steal round her waist,

cautiously, as though it were afraid of being there; this time both

she and Tom were happy. But suddenly there was a movement on the other

side of her, a hand was advanced along her leg, and her hand was

grasped and gently pressed. It was Jim Blakeston. She started a little

and began trembling so that Tom noticed it, and whispered:

'You're cold, Liza.'

'Na, I'm not, Tom; it's only a sort of shiver thet went through me.'

His arm gave her waist a squeeze, and at the same time the big rough

hand pressed her little one. And so she sat between them till they

reached the 'Red Lion' in the Westminster Bridge Road, and Tom said to

himself: 'I believe she does care for me after all.'

When they got down they all said good night, and Sally and Liza, with

their respective slaves and the Blakestons, marched off homewards. At

the corner of Vere Street Harry said to Tom and Blakeston:

'I say, you blokes, let's go an' 'ave another drink before closin'

time.'

'I don't mind,' said Tom, 'after we've took the gals 'ome.'

'Then we shan't 'ave time, it's just on closin' time now.' answered

Harry.

'Well, we can't leave 'em 'ere.'

'Yus, you can,' said Sally. 'No one'll run awy with us.'

Tom did not want to part from Liza, but she broke in with:

'Yus, go on, Tom. Sally an' me'll git along arright, an' you ain't got

too much time.'

'Yus, good night, 'Arry,' said Sally to settle the matter.

'Good night, old gal,' he answered, 'give us another slobber.'

And she, not at all unwilling, surrendered herself to him, while he

imprinted two sounding kisses on her cheeks.

'Good night, Tom,' said Liza, holding out her hand.

'Good night, Liza,' he answered, taking it, but looking very wistfully

at her.

She understood, and with a kindly smile lifted up her face to him. He

bent down and, taking her in his arms, kissed her passionately.

'You do kiss nice, Liza,' he said, making the others laugh.

'Thanks for tikin' me aht, old man,' she said as they parted.

'Arright, Liza,' he answered, and added, almost to himself: 'God bless

yer!'

''Ulloa, Blakeston, ain't you comin'?' said Harry, seeing that Jim was

walking off with his wife instead of joining him and Tom.

'Na,' he answered, 'I'm goin' 'ome. I've got ter be up at five

ter-morrer.'

'You are a chap!' said Harry, disgustedly, strolling off with Tom to

the pub, while the others made their way down the sleeping street.

The house where Sally lived came first, and she left them; then,

walking a few yards more, they came to the Blakestons', and after a

little talk at the door Liza bade the couple good night, and was left

to walk the rest of the way home. The street was perfectly silent, and

the lamp-posts, far apart, threw a dim light which only served to make

Lisa realize her solitude. There was such a difference between the

street at midday, with its swarms of people, and now, when there was

neither sound nor soul besides herself, that even she was struck by

it. The regular line of houses on either side, with the even pavements

and straight, cemented road, seemed to her like some desert place, as

if everyone were dead, or a fire had raged and left it all desolate.

Suddenly she heard a footstep, she started and looked back. It was a

man hurrying behind her, and in a moment she had recognized Jim. He

beckoned to her, and in a low voice called:

'Liza!'

She stopped till he had come up to her.

'Wot 'ave yer come aht again for?' she said.

'I've come aht ter say good night to you, Liza,' he answered.

'But yer said good night a moment ago.'

'I wanted to say it again--properly.'

'Where's yer missus?'

'Oh, she's gone in. I said I was dry and was goin' ter 'ave a drink

after all.'

'But she'll know yer didn't go ter the pub.'

'Na, she won't, she's gone straight upstairs to see after the kid. I

wanted ter see yer alone, Liza.'

'Why?'

He didn't answer, but tried to take hold of her hand. She drew it away

quickly. They walked in silence till they came to Liza's house.

'Good night,' said Liza.

'Won't you come for a little walk, Liza?'

'Tike care no one 'ears you,' she added, in a whisper, though why she

whispered she did not know.

'Will yer?' he asked again.

'Na--you've got to get up at five.'

'Oh, I only said thet not ter go inter the pub with them.'

'So as yer might come 'ere with me?' asked Liza.

'Yus!'

'No, I'm not comin'. Good night.'

'Well, say good night nicely.'

'Wot d'yer mean?'

'Tom said you did kiss nice.'

She looked at him without speaking, and in a moment he had clasped his

arms round her, almost lifting her off her feet, and kissed her. She

turned her face away.

'Give us yer lips, Liza,' he whispered--'give us yer lips.'

He turned her face without resistance and kissed her on the mouth.

At last she tore herself from him, and opening the door slid away into

the house.

6

Next morning on her way to the factory Liza came up with Sally. They

were both of them rather stale and bedraggled after the day's outing;

their fringes were ragged and untidily straying over their foreheads,

their back hair, carelessly tied in a loose knot, fell over their

necks and threatened completely to come down. Liza had not had time to

put her hat on, and was holding it in her hand. Sally's was pinned on

sideways, and she had to bash it down on her head every now and then

to prevent its coming off. Cinderella herself was not more transformed

than they were; but Cinderella even in her rags was virtuously tidy

and patched up, while Sally had a great tear in her shabby dress, and

Liza's stockings were falling over her boots.

'Wot cheer, Sal!' said Liza, when she caught her up.

'Oh, I 'ave got sich a 'ead on me this mornin'!' she remarked, turning

round a pale face: heavily lined under the eyes.

'I don't feel too chirpy neither,' said Liza, sympathetically.

'I wish I 'adn't drunk so much beer,' added Sally, as a pang shot

through her head.

'Oh, you'll be arright in a bit,' said Liza. Just then they heard the

clock strike eight, and they began to run so that they might not miss

getting their tokens and thereby their day's pay; they turned into the

street at the end of which was the factory, and saw half a hundred

women running like themselves to get in before it was too late.

All the morning Liza worked in a dead-and-alive sort of fashion, her

head like a piece of lead with electric shocks going through it when

she moved, and her tongue and mouth hot and dry. At last lunch-time

came.

'Come on, Sal,' said Liza, 'I'm goin' to 'ave a glass o' bitter. I

can't stand this no longer.'

So they entered the public-house opposite, and in one draught finished

their pots. Liza gave a long sigh of relief.

'That bucks you up, don't it?'

'I was dry! I ain't told yer yet, Liza, 'ave I? 'E got it aht last

night.'

'Who d'yer mean?'

'Why, 'Arry. 'E spit it aht at last.'

'Arst yer ter nime the day?' said Liza, smiling.

'Thet's it.'

'And did yer?'

'Didn't I jest!' answered Sally, with some emphasis. 'I always told

yer I'd git off before you.'

'Yus!' said Liza, thinking.

'Yer know, Liza, you'd better tike Tom; 'e ain't a bad sort.' She was

quite patronizing.

'I'm goin' ter tike 'oo I like; an' it ain't nobody's business but

mine.'

'Arright, Liza, don't get shirty over it; I don't mean no offence.'

'What d'yer say it for then?'

'Well, I thought as seeing as yer'd gone aht with 'im yesterday thet

yer meant ter after all.'

''E wanted ter tike me; I didn't arsk 'im.'

'Well, I didn't arsk my 'Arry, either.'

'I never said yer did,' replied Liza.

'Oh, you've got the 'ump, you 'ave!' finished Sally, rather angrily.

The beer had restored Liza: she went back to work without a headache,

and, except for a slight languor, feeling no worse for the previous

day's debauch. As she worked on she began going over in her mind the

events of the preceding day, and she found entwined in all her

thoughts the burly person of Jim Blakeston. She saw him walking by her

side in the Forest, presiding over the meals, playing the concertina,

singing, joking, and finally, on the drive back, she felt the heavy

form by her side, and the big, rough hand holding hers, while Tom's

arm was round her waist. Tom! That was the first time he had entered

her mind, and he sank into a shadow beside the other. Last of all she

remembered the walk home from the pub, the good nights, and the rapid

footsteps as Jim caught her up, and the kiss. She blushed and looked

up quickly to see whether any of the girls were looking at her; she

could not help thinking of that moment when he took her in his arms;

she still felt the roughness of his beard pressing on her mouth. Her

heart seemed to grow larger in her breast, and she caught for breath

as she threw back her head as if to receive his lips again. A shudder

ran through her from the vividness of the thought.

'Wot are you shiverin' for, Liza?' asked one of the girls. 'You ain't

cold.'

'Not much,' answered Liza, blushing awkwardly on her meditations being

broken into. 'Why, I'm sweatin' so--I'm drippin' wet.'

'I expect yer caught cold in the Faurest yesterday.'

'I see your mash as I was comin' along this mornin'.'

Liza stared a little.

'I ain't got one, 'oo d'yer mean, ay?'

'Yer only Tom, of course. 'E did look washed aht. Wot was yer doin'

with 'im yesterday?'

''E ain't got nothin' ter do with me, 'e ain't.'

'Garn, don't you tell me!'

The bell rang, and, throwing over their work, the girls trooped off,

and after chattering in groups outside the factory gates for a while,

made their way in different directions to their respective homes. Liza

and Sally went along together.

'I sy, we are comin' aht!' cried Sally, seeing the advertisement of a

play being acted at the neighbouring theatre.

'I should like ter see thet!' said Liza, as they stood arm-in-arm in

front of the flaring poster. It represented two rooms and a passage in

between; in one room a dead man was lying on the floor, while two

others were standing horror-stricken, listening to a youth who was in

the passage, knocking at the door.

'You see, they've 'killed im,' said Sally, excitedly.

'Yus, any fool can see thet! an' the one ahtside, wot's 'e doin' of?'

'Ain't 'e beautiful? I'll git my 'Arry ter tike me, I will. I should

like ter see it. 'E said 'e'd tike me to the ply.'

They strolled on again, and Liza, leaving Sally, made her way to her

mother's. She knew she must pass Jim's house, and wondered whether she

would see him. But as she walked along the street she saw Tom coming

the opposite way; with a sudden impulse she turned back so as not to

meet him, and began walking the way she had come. Then thinking

herself a fool for what she had done, she turned again and walked

towards him. She wondered if she had seen her or noticed her movement,

but when she looked down the street he was nowhere to be seen; he had

not caught sight of her, and had evidently gone in to see a mate in

one or other of the houses. She quickened her step, and passing the

house where lived Jim, could not help looking up; he was standing at

the door watching her, with a smile on his lips.

'I didn't see yer, Mr. Blakeston,' she said, as he came up to her.

'Didn't yer? Well, I knew yer would; an' I was witin' for yer ter look

up. I see yer before ter-day.'

'Na, when?'

'I passed be'ind yer as you an' thet other girl was lookin' at the

advertisement of thet ply.'

'I never see yer.'

'Na, I know yer didn't. I 'ear yer say, you says: "I should like to

see thet."'

'Yus, an' I should too.'

'Well, I'll tike yer.'

'You?'

'Yus; why not?'

'I like thet; wot would yer missus sy?'

'She wouldn't know.'

'But the neighbours would!'

'No they wouldn't, no one 'd see us.'

He was speaking in a low voice so that people could not hear.

'You could meet me ahtside the theatre,' he went on.

'Na, I couldn't go with you; you're a married man.'

'Garn! wot's the matter--jest ter go ter the ply? An' besides, my

missus can't come if she wanted, she's got the kids ter look after.'

'I should like ter see it,' said Liza meditatively.

They had reached her house, and Jim said:

'Well, come aht this evenin' and tell me if yer will--eh, Liza?'

'Na, I'm not comin' aht this evening.'

'Thet won't 'urt yer. I shall wite for yer.'

''Tain't a bit of good your witing', 'cause I shan't come.'

'Well, then, look 'ere, Liza; next Saturday night's the last night,

an' I shall go to the theatre, any'ow. An' if you'll come, you just

come to the door at 'alf-past six, an' you'll find me there. See?'

'Na, I don't,' said Liza, firmly.

'Well, I shall expect yer.'

'I shan't come, so you needn't expect.' And with that she walked into

the house and slammed the door behind her.

Her mother had not come in from her day's charing, and Liza set about

getting her tea. She thought it would be rather lonely eating it

alone, so pouring out a cup of tea and putting a little condensed milk

into it, she cut a huge piece of bread-and-butter, and sat herself

down outside on the doorstep. Another woman came downstairs, and

seeing Liza, sat down by her side and began to talk.

'Why, Mrs. Stanley, wot 'ave yer done to your 'ead?' asked Liza,

noticing a bandage round her forehead.

'I 'ad an accident last night,' answered the woman, blushing uneasily.

'Oh, I am sorry! Wot did yer do to yerself?'

'I fell against the coal-scuttle and cut my 'ead open.'

'Well, I never!'

'To tell yer the truth, I 'ad a few words with my old man. But one

doesn't like them things to get abaht; yer won't tell anyone, will

yer?'

'Not me!' answered Liza. 'I didn't know yer husband was like thet.'

'Oh, 'e's as gentle as a lamb when 'e's sober,' said Mrs. Stanley,

apologetically. 'But, Lor' bless yer, when 'e's 'ad a drop too much

'e's a demond, an' there's no two ways abaht it.'

'An' you ain't been married long neither?' said Liza.

'Na, not above eighteen months; ain't it disgriceful? Thet's wot the

doctor at the 'orspital says ter me. I 'ad ter go ter the 'orspital.

You should have seen 'ow it bled!--it bled all dahn' my fice, and went

streamin' like a bust waterpipe. Well, it fair frightened my old man,

an' I says ter 'im, "I'll charge yer," an' although I was bleedin'

like a bloomin' pig I shook my fist at 'im, an' I says, "I'll charge

ye--see if I don't!" An' 'e says, "Na," says 'e, "don't do thet, for

God's sike, Kitie, I'll git three months." "An' serve yer damn well

right!" says I, an' I went aht an' left 'im. But, Lor' bless yer, I

wouldn't charge 'im! I know 'e don't mean it; 'e's as gentle as a lamb

when 'e's sober.' She smiled quite affectionately as she said this.

'Wot did yer do, then?' asked Liza.

'Well, as I wos tellin' yer, I went to the 'orspital, an' the doctor

'e says to me, "My good woman," says 'e, "you might have been very

seriously injured." An' me not been married eighteen months! An' as I

was tellin' the doctor all about it, "Missus," 'e says ter me, lookin'

at me straight in the eyeball. "Missus," says 'e, "'ave you been

drinkin'?" "Drinkin'?" says I; "no! I've 'ad a little drop, but as for

drinkin'! Mind," says I, "I don't say I'm a teetotaller--I'm not, I

'ave my glass of beer, and I like it. I couldn't do withaht it, wot

with the work I 'ave, I must 'ave somethin' ter keep me tergether. But

as for drinkin' 'eavily! Well! I can say this, there ain't a soberer

woman than myself in all London. Why, my first 'usband never touched a

drop. Ah, my first 'usband, 'e was a beauty, 'e was."'

She stopped the repetition of her conversation and addressed herself

to Liza.

''E was thet different ter this one. 'E was a man as 'ad seen better

days. 'E was a gentleman!' She mouthed the word and emphasized it with

an expressive nod.

''E was a gentleman and a Christian. 'E'd been in good circumstances

in 'is time; an' 'e was a man of education and a teetotaller, for

twenty-two years.'

At that moment Liza's mother appeared on the scene.

'Good evenin', Mrs. Stanley,' she said, politely.

'The sime ter you, Mrs. Kemp.' replied that lady, with equal courtesy.

'An' 'ow is your poor 'ead?' asked Liza's mother, with sympathy.

'Oh, it's been achin' cruel. I've hardly known wot ter do with

myself.'

'I'm sure 'e ought ter be ashimed of 'imself for treatin' yer like

thet.'

'Oh, it wasn't 'is blows I minded so much, Mrs. Kemp,' replied Mrs.

Stanley, 'an' don't you think it. It was wot 'e said ter me. I can

stand a blow as well as any woman. I don't mind thet, an' when 'e

don't tike a mean advantage of me I can stand up for myself an' give

as good as I tike; an' many's the time I give my fust husband a black

eye. But the language 'e used, an' the things 'e called me! It made me

blush to the roots of my 'air; I'm not used ter bein' spoken ter like

thet. I was in good circumstances when my fust 'usband was alive, 'e

earned between two an' three pound a week, 'e did. As I said to 'im

this mornin', "'Ow a gentleman can use sich language, I dunno."'

''Usbands is cautions, 'owever good they are,' said Mrs. Kemp,

aphoristically. 'But I mustn't stay aht 'ere in the night air.'

''As yer rheumatism been troublin' yer litely?' asked Mrs. Stanley.

'Oh, cruel. Liza rubs me with embrocation every night, but it torments

me cruel.'

Mrs. Kemp then went into the house, and Liza remained talking to Mrs.

Stanley, she, too, had to go in, and Liza was left alone. Some while

she spent thinking of nothing, staring vacantly in front of her,

enjoying the cool and quiet of the evening. But Liza could not be left

alone long, several boys came along with a bat and a ball, and fixed

upon the road just in front of her for their pitch. Taking off their

coats they piled them up at the two ends, and were ready to begin.

'I say, old gal,' said one of them to Liza, 'come an' have a gime of

cricket, will yer?'

'Na, Bob, I'm tired.'

'Come on!'

'Na, I tell you I won't.'

'She was on the booze yesterday, an' she ain't got over it,' cried

another boy.

'I'll swipe yer over the snitch!' replied Liza to him, and then on

being asked again, said:

'Leave me alone, won't yer?'

'Liza's got the needle ter-night, thet's flat,' commented a third

member of the team.

'I wouldn't drink if I was you, Liza,' added another, with mock

gravity. 'It's a bad 'abit ter git into,' and he began rolling and

swaying about like a drunken man.

If Liza had been 'in form' she would have gone straight away and given

the whole lot of them a sample of her strength; but she was only

rather bored and vexed that they should disturb her quietness, so she

let them talk. They saw she was not to be drawn, and leaving her, set

to their game. She watched them for some time, but her thoughts

gradually lost themselves, and insensibly her mind was filled with a

burly form, and she was again thinking of Jim.

''E is a good sort ter want ter tike me ter the ply,' she said to

herself. 'Tom never arst me!'

Jim had said he would come out in the evening; he ought to be here

soon, she thought. Of course she wasn't going to the theatre with him,

but she didn't mind talking to him; she rather enjoyed being asked to

do a thing and refusing, and she would have liked another opportunity

of doing so. But he didn't come and he had said he would!

'I say, Bill,' she said at last to one of the boys who was fielding

close beside her, 'that there Blakeston--d'you know 'im?'

'Yes, rather; why, he works at the sime plice as me.'

'Wot's 'e do with 'isself in the evening; I never see 'im abaht?'

'I dunno. I see 'im this evenin' go into the "Red Lion". I suppose

'e's there, but I dunno.'

Then he wasn't coming. Of course she had told him she was going to

stay indoors, but he might have come all the same--just to see.

'I know Tom 'ud 'ave come,' she said to herself, rather sulkily.

'Liza! Liza!' she heard her mother's voice calling her.

'Arright, I'm comin',' said Liza.

'I've been witin' for you this last 'alf-hour ter rub me.'

'Why didn't yer call?' asked Liza.

'I did call. I've been callin' this last I dunno 'ow long; it's give

me quite a sore throat.'

'I never 'eard yer.'

'Na, yer didn't want ter 'ear me, did yer? Yer don't mind if I dies

with rheumatics, do yer? I know.'

Liza did not answer, but took the bottle, and, pouring some of the

liniment on her hand, began to rub it into Mrs. Kemp's rheumatic

joints, while the invalid kept complaining and grumbling at everything

Liza did.

'Don't rub so 'ard, Liza, you'll rub all the skin off.'

Then when Liza did it as gently as she could, she grumbled again.

'If yer do it like thet, it won't do no good at all. You want ter sive

yerself trouble--I know yer. When I was young girls didn't mind a

little bit of 'ard work--but, law bless yer, you don't care abaht my

rheumatics, do yer?'

At last she finished, and Liza went to bed by her mother's side.

7

Two days passed, and it was Friday morning. Liza had got up early and

strolled off to her work in good time, but she did not meet her

faithful Sally on the way, nor find her at the factory when she

herself arrived. The bell rang and all the girls trooped in, but still

Sally did not come. Liza could not make it out, and was thinking she

would be shut out, when just as the man who gave out the tokens for

the day's work was pulling down the shutter in front of his window,

Sally arrived, breathless and perspiring.

'Whew! Go' lumme, I am 'ot!' she said, wiping her face with her apron.

'I thought you wasn't comin',' said Liza.

'Well, I only just did it; I overslep' myself. I was aht lite last

night.'

'Were yer?'

'Me an' 'Arry went ter see the ply. Oh, Liza, it's simply spiffin'!

I've never see sich a good ply in my life. Lor'! Why, it mikes yer

blood run cold: they 'ang a man on the stige; oh, it mide me creep all

over!'

And then she began telling Liza all about it--the blood and thunder,

the shooting, the railway train, the murder, the bomb, the hero, the

funny man--jumbling everything up in her excitement, repeating little

scraps of dialogue--all wrong--gesticulating, getting excited and red

in the face at the recollection. Liza listened rather crossly, feeling

bored at the detail into which Sally was going: the piece really

didn't much interest her.

'One 'ud think yer'd never been to a theatre in your life before,' she

said.

'I never seen anything so good, I can tell yer. You tike my tip, and

git Tom ter tike yer.'

'I don't want ter go; an' if I did I'd py for myself an' go alone.'

'Cheese it! That ain't 'alf so good. Me an' 'Arry, we set together,

'im with 'is arm round my wiste and me oldin' 'is 'and. It was jam, I

can tell yer!'

'Well, I don't want anyone sprawlin' me abaht, thet ain't my mark!'

'But I do like 'Arry; you dunno the little ways 'e 'as; an' we're

goin' ter be married in three weeks now. 'Arry said, well, 'e says,

"I'll git a licence." "Na," says I, "'ave the banns read aht in

church: it seems more reg'lar like to 'ave banns; so they're goin' ter

be read aht next Sunday. You'll come with me 'an 'ear them, won't yer,

Liza?"'

'Yus, I don't mind.'

On the way home Sally insisted on stopping in front of the poster and

explaining to Liza all about the scene represented.

'Oh, you give me the sick with your "Fital Card", you do! I'm goin'

'ome.' And she left Sally in the midst of her explanation.

'I dunno wot's up with Liza,' remarked Sally to a mutual friend.

'She's always got the needle, some'ow.'

'Oh, she's barmy,' answered the friend.

'Well, I do think she's a bit dotty sometimes--I do really,' rejoined

Sally.

Liza walked homewards, thinking of the play; at length she tossed her

head impatiently.

'I don't want ter see the blasted thing; an' if I see that there Jim

I'll tell 'im so; swop me bob, I will.'

She did see him; he was leaning with his back against the wall of his

house, smoking. Liza knew he had seen her, and as she walked by

pretended not to have noticed him. To her disgust, he let her pass,

and she was thinking he hadn't seen her after all, when she heard him

call her name.

'Liza!'

She turned round and started with surprise very well imitated. 'I

didn't see you was there!' she said.

'Why did yer pretend not ter notice me, as yer went past--eh, Liza?'

'Why, I didn't see yer.'

'Garn! But you ain't shirty with me?'

'Wot 'ave I got to be shirty abaht?'

He tried to take her hand, but she drew it away quickly. She was

getting used to the movement. They went on talking, but Jim did not

mention the theatre; Liza was surprised, and wondered whether he had

forgotten.

'Er--Sally went to the ply last night,' she said, at last.

'Oh!' he said, and that was all.

She got impatient.

'Well, I'm off!' she said.

'Na, don't go yet; I want ter talk ter yer,' he replied.

'Wot abaht? anythin' in partickler?' She would drag it out of him if

she possibly could.

'Not thet I knows on,' he said, smiling.

'Good night!' she said, abruptly, turning away from him.

'Well, I'm damned if 'e ain't forgotten!' she said to herself,

sulkily, as she marched home.

The following evening about six o'clock, it suddenly struck her that

it was the last night of the 'New and Sensational Drama'.

'I do like thet Jim Blakeston,' she said to herself; 'fancy treatin'

me like thet! You wouldn't catch Tom doin' sich a thing. Bli'me if I

speak to 'im again, the ----. Now I shan't see it at all. I've a good

mind ter go on my own 'ook. Fancy 'is forgettin' all abaht it, like

thet!'

She was really quite indignant; though, as she had distinctly refused

Jim's offer, it was rather hard to see why.

''E said 'e'd wite for me ahtside the doors; I wonder if 'e's there.

I'll go an' see if 'e is, see if I don't--an' then if 'e's there, I'll

go in on my own 'ook, jist ter spite 'im!'

She dressed herself in her best, and, so that the neighbours shouldn't

see her, went up a passage between some model lodging-house buildings,

and in this roundabout way got into the Westminster Bridge Road, and

soon found herself in front of the theatre.

'I've been witin' for yer this 'alf-hour.'

She turned round and saw Jim standing just behind her.

''Oo are you talkin' to? I'm not goin' to the ply with you. Wot d'yer

tike me for, eh?'

''Oo are yer goin' with, then?'

'I'm goin' alone.'

'Garn! don't be a bloomin' jackass!'

Liza was feeling very injured.

'Thet's 'ow you treat me! I shall go 'ome. Why didn't you come aht the

other night?'

'Yer told me not ter.'

She snorted at the ridiculous ineptitude of the reply.

'Why didn't you say nothin' abaht it yesterday?'

'Why, I thought you'd come if I didn't talk on it.'

'Well, I think you're a ---- brute!' She felt very much inclined to

cry.

'Come on, Liza, don't tike on; I didn't mean no offence.' And he put

his arm round her waist and led her to take their places at the

gallery door. Two tears escaped from the corners of her eyes and ran

down her nose, but she felt very relieved and happy, and let him lead

her where he would.

There was a long string of people waiting at the door, and Liza was

delighted to see a couple of niggers who were helping them to while

away the time of waiting. The niggers sang and danced, and made faces,

while the people looked on with appreciative gravity, like royalty

listening to de Reské, and they were very generous of applause and

halfpence at the end of the performance. Then, when the niggers moved

to the pit doors, paper boys came along offering _Tit-Bits_ and 'extra

specials'; after that three little girls came round and sang

sentimental songs and collected more halfpence. At last a movement ran

through the serpent-like string of people, sounds were heard behind

the door, everyone closed up, the men told the women to keep close and

hold tight; there was a great unbarring and unbolting, the doors were

thrown open, and, like a bursting river, the people surged in.

Half an hour more and the curtain went up. The play was indeed

thrilling. Liza quite forgot her companion, and was intent on the

scene; she watched the incidents breathlessly, trembling with

excitement, almost beside herself at the celebrated hanging incident.

When the curtain fell on the first act she sighed and mopped her face.

'See 'ow 'ot I am.' she said to Jim, giving him her hand.

'Yus, you are!' he remarked, taking it.

'Leave go!' she said, trying to withdraw it from him.

'Not much,' he answered, quite boldly.

'Garn! Leave go!' But he didn't, and she really did not struggle very

violently.

The second act came, and she shrieked over the comic man; and her

laughter rang higher than anyone else's, so that people turned to look

at her, and said:

'She is enjoyin' 'erself.'

Then when the murder came she bit her nails and the sweat stood on her

forehead in great drops; in her excitement she even called out as loud

as she could to the victim, 'Look aht!' It caused a laugh and

slackened the tension, for the whole house was holding its breath as

it looked at the villains listening at the door, creeping silently

forward, crawling like tigers to their prey.

Liza trembling all over, and in her terror threw herself against Jim,

who put both his arms round her, and said:

'Don't be afride, Liza; it's all right.'

At last the men sprang, there was a scuffle, and the wretch was

killed, then came the scene depicted on the posters--the victim's son

knocking at the door, on the inside of which were the murderers and

the murdered man. At last the curtain came down, and the house in

relief burst forth into cheers and cheers; the handsome hero in his

top hat was greeted thunderously; the murdered man, with his clothes

still all disarranged, was hailed with sympathy; and the villains--the

house yelled and hissed and booed, while the poor brutes bowed and

tried to look as if they liked it.

'I am enjoyin' myself,' said Liza, pressing herself quite close to

Jim; 'you are a good sort ter tike me--Jim.'

He gave her a little hug, and it struck her that she was sitting just

as Sally had done, and, like Sally, she found it 'jam'.

The _entr'actes_ were short and the curtain was soon up again, and the

comic man raised customary laughter by undressing and exposing his

nether garments to the public view; then more tragedy, and the final

act with its darkened room, its casting lots, and its explosion.

When it was all over and they had got outside Jim smacked his lips and

said:

'I could do with a gargle; let's go onto thet pub there.'

'I'm as dry as bone,' said Liza; and so they went.

When they got in they discovered they were hungry, and seeing some

appetising sausage-rolls, ate of them, and washed them down with a

couple of pots of beer; then Jim lit his pipe and they strolled off.

They had got quite near the Westminster Bridge Road when Jim suggested

that they should go and have one more drink before closing time.

'I shall be tight,' said Liza.

'Thet don't matter,' answered Jim, laughing. 'You ain't got ter go ter

work in the mornin' an' you can sleep it aht.'

'Arright, I don't mind if I do then, in for a penny, in for a pound.'

At the pub door she drew back.

'I say, guv'ner,' she said, 'there'll be some of the coves from dahn

our street, and they'll see us.'

'Na, there won't be nobody there, don't yer 'ave no fear.'

'I don't like ter go in for fear of it.'

'Well, we ain't doin' no 'arm if they does see us, an' we can go into

the private bar, an' you bet your boots there won't be no one there.'

She yielded, and they went in.

'Two pints of bitter, please, miss,' ordered Jim.

'I say, 'old 'ard. I can't drink more than 'alf a pint,' said Liza.

'Cheese it,' answered Jim. 'You can do with all you can get, I know.'

At closing time they left and walked down the broad road which led

homewards.

'Let's 'ave a little sit dahn,' said Jim, pointing to an empty bench

between two trees.

'Na, it's gettin' lite; I want ter be 'ome.'

'It's such a fine night, it's a pity ter go in already;' and he drew

her unresisting towards the seat. He put his arm round her waist.

'Un'and me, villin!' she said, in apt misquotation of the melodrama,

but Jim only laughed, and she made no effort to disengage herself.

They sat there for a long while in silence; the beer had got to Liza's

head, and the warm night air filled her with a double intoxication.

She felt the arm round her waist, and the big, heavy form pressing

against her side; she experienced again the curious sensation as if

her heart were about to burst, and it choked her--a feeling so

oppressive and painful it almost made her feel sick. Her hands began

to tremble, and her breathing grew rapid, as though she were

suffocating. Almost fainting, she swayed over towards the man, and a

cold shiver ran through her from top to toe. Jim bent over her, and,

taking her in both arms, he pressed his lips to hers in a long,

passionate kiss. At last, panting for breath, she turned her head away

and groaned.

Then they again sat for a long while in silence, Liza full of a

strange happiness, feeling as if she could laugh aloud hysterically,

but restrained by the calm and silence of the night. Close behind

struck a church clock--one.

'Bless my soul!' said Liza, starting, 'there's one o'clock. I must get

'ome.'

'It's so nice out 'ere; do sty, Liza.' He pressed her closer to him.

'Yer know, Liza, I love yer--fit ter kill.'

'Na, I can't stay; come on.' She got up from the seat, and pulled him

up too. 'Come on,' she said.

Without speaking they went along, and there was no one to be seen

either in front or behind them. He had not got his arm round her now,

and they were walking side by side, slightly separated. It was Liza

who spoke first.

'You'd better go dahn the Road and by the church an' git into Vere

Street the other end, an' I'll go through the passage, so thet no one

shouldn't see us comin' together,' she spoke almost in a whisper.

'Arright, Liza,' he answered, 'I'll do just as you tell me.'

They came to the passage of which Liza spoke; it was a narrow way

between blank walls, the backs of factories, and it led into the upper

end of Vere Street. The entrance to it was guarded by two iron posts

in the middle so that horses or barrows should not be taken through.

They had just got to it when a man came out into the open road. Liza

quickly turned her head away.

'I wonder if 'e see us,' she said, when he had passed out of earshot.

''E's lookin' back,' she added.

'Why, 'oo is it?' asked Jim.

'It's a man aht of our street,' she answered. 'I dunno 'im, but I know

where 'e lodges. D'yer think 'e sees us?'

'Na, 'e wouldn't know 'oo it was in the dark.'

'But he looked round; all the street'll know it if he see us.'

'Well, we ain't doin' no 'arm.'

She stretched out her hand to say good night.

'I'll come a wy with yer along the passage,' said Jim.

'Na, you mustn't; you go straight round.'

'But it's so dark; p'raps summat'll 'appen to yer.'

'Not it! You go on 'ome an' leave me,' she replied, and entering the

passage, stood facing him with one of the iron pillars between them.

'Good night, old cock,' she said, stretching out her hand. He took it,

and said:

'I wish yer wasn't goin' ter leave me, Liza.'

'Garn! I must!' She tried to get her hand away from his, but he held

it firm, resting it on the top of the pillar.

'Leave go my 'and,' she said. He made no movement, but looked into her

eyes steadily, so that it made her uneasy. She repented having come

out with him. 'Leave go my 'and.' And she beat down on his with her

closed fist.

'Liza!' he said, at last.

'Well, wot is it?' she answered, still thumping down on his hand with

her fist.

'Liza,' he said a whisper, 'will yer?'

'Will I wot?' she said, looking down.

'You know, Liza. Sy, will yer?'

'Na,' she said.