Somewhere in the register was written the name Elizabeth Hunt; but
seventeen years after the entry the spoken name was Lizerunt. Lizerunt
worked at a pickle factory, and appeared abroad in an elaborate and
shabby costume, usually supplemented by a white apron. Withal she was
something of a beauty. That is to say, her cheeks were very red, her
teeth were very large and white, her nose was small and snub, and her
fringe was long and shiny; while her face, new-washed, was susceptible
of a high polish. Many such girls are married at sixteen, but Lizerunt
was belated, and had never a bloke at all.
Billy Chope was a year older than Lizerunt. He wore a billycock with a
thin brim and a permanent dent in the crown; he had a bobtail coat, with
the collar turned up at one side and down at the other, as an expression
of independence; between his meals he carried his hands in his breeches
pockets; and he lived with his mother, who mangled. His conversation
with Lizerunt consisted long of perfunctory nods; but great things
happened this especial Thursday evening, as Lizerunt, making for home,
followed the fading red beyond the furthermost end of Commercial Road.
For Billy Chope, slouching in the opposite direction, lurched across the
pavement as they met, and, taking the nearer hand from his pocket,
caught and twisted her arm, bumping her against the wall.
"Garn," said Lizerunt, greatly pleased: "le' go!" For she knew that this
was love.
"Where yer auf to, Lizer?"
"'Ome, o' course, cheeky. Le' go;" and she snatched--in vain--at Billy's
hat.
Billy let go, and capered in front of her. She feigned to dodge by him,
careful not to be too quick, because affairs were developing.
"I say, Lizer," said Billy, stopping his dance and becoming
business-like, "goin' anywhere Monday?"
"Not along o' you, cheeky; you go 'long o' Beller Dawson, like wot you
did Easter."
"Blow Beller Dawson; _she_ ain't no good. I'm goin' on the Flats. Come?"
Lizerunt, delighted but derisive, ended with a promise to "see." The
bloke had come at last, and she walked home with the feeling of having
taken her degree. She had half assured herself of it two days before,
when Sam Cardew threw an orange peel at her, but went away after a
little prancing on the pavement. Sam was a smarter fellow than Billy,
and earned his own living; probably his attentions were serious; but one
must prefer the bird in hand. As for Billy Chope, he went his way,
resolved himself to take home what mangling he should find his mother
had finished, and stick to the money; also, to get all he could from her
by blandishing and bullying, that the jaunt to Wanstead Flats might be
adequately done.
There is no other fair like Whit Monday's on Wanstead Flats. Here is a
square mile and more of open land where you may howl at large; here is
no danger of losing yourself, as in Epping Forest; the public houses are
always with you; shows, shies, swings, merry-go-rounds, fried fish
stalls, donkeys, are packed closer than on Hampstead Heath; the ladies'
tormentors are larger, and their contents smell worse, than at any other
fair. Also, you may be drunk and disorderly without being locked
up,--for the stations won't hold everybody,--and when all else has
palled, you may set fire to the turf. Hereinto Billy and Lizerunt
projected themselves from the doors of the Holly Tree on Whit Monday
morning. But through hours on hours of fried fish and half-pints both
were conscious of a deficiency. For the hat of Lizerunt was brown and
old; plush it was not, and its feather was a mere foot long, and of a
very rusty black. Now, it is not decent for a factory girl from
Limehouse to go bank-holidaying under any but a hat of plush, very high
in the crown, of a wild blue or a wilder green, and carrying withal an
ostrich feather, pink or scarlet or what not; a feather that springs
from the fore part, climbs the crown, and drops as far down the
shoulders as may be. Lizerunt knew this, and, had she had no bloke,
would have stayed at home. But a chance is a chance. As it was, only
another such hapless girl could measure her bitter envy of the feathers
about her, or would so joyfully have given an ear for the proper
splendor. Billy, too, had a vague impression, muddled by but not drowned
in half-pints, that some degree of plush was condign to the occasion and
to his own expenditure. Still, there was no quarrel; and the pair walked
and ran with arms about each other's necks; and Lizerunt thumped her
bloke on the back at proper intervals; so that the affair went regularly
on the whole: although, in view of Lizerunt's shortcomings, Billy did
not insist on the customary exchange of hats. Everything, I say, went
well and well enough until Billy bought a ladies' tormentor and began to
squirt it at Lizerunt. For then Lizerunt went scampering madly, with
piercing shrieks, until her bloke was left some little way behind, and
Sam Cardew, turning up at that moment and seeing her running alone in
the crowd, threw his arms about her waist and swung her round him again
and again, as he floundered gallantly this way and that, among the shies
and the hokey-pokey barrows.
"'Ulloo, Lizer! Where _are_ y' a-comin' to? If I 'adn't laid 'old o'
ye--!" But here Billy Chope arrived to demand what the 'ell Sam Cardew
was doing with his gal. Now Sam was ever readier for a fight than Billy
was; but the sum of Billy's half-pints was large: wherefore the fight
began. On the skirt of an hilarious ring Lizerunt, after some small
outcry, triumphed aloud. Four days before, she had no bloke; and here
she stood with two, and those two fighting for her! Here in the public
gaze, on the Flats! For almost five minutes she was Helen of Troy.
And in much less time Billy tasted repentance. The haze of half-pints
was dispelled, and some teeth went with it. Presently, whimpering and
with a bloody muzzle, he rose and made a running kick at the other.
Then, being thwarted in a bolt, he flung himself down; and it was like
to go hard with him at the hands of the crowd. Punch you may on Wanstead
Flats, but execration and worse is your portion if you kick anybody
except your wife. But, as the ring closed, the helmets of two policemen
were seen to be working in over the surrounding heads, and Sam Cardew,
quickly assuming his coat, turned away with such an air of blamelessness
as is practicable with a damaged eye; while Billy went off unheeded in
an opposite direction.
Lizerunt and her new bloke went the routine of half-pints and
merry-go-rounds, and were soon on right thumping terms; and Lizerunt was
as well satisfied with the issue as she was proud of the adventure.
Billy was all very well; but Sam was better. She resolved to draw him
for a feathered hat before next bank holiday. So the sun went down on
her and her bloke hanging on each other's necks and straggling toward
the Romford Road with shouts and choruses. The rest was tram-car, Bow
Music Hall, half-pints, and darkness.
Billy took home his wounds, and his mother, having moved his wrath by
asking their origin, sought refuge with a neighbor. He accomplished his
revenge in two instalments. Two nights later Lizerunt was going with a
jug of beer; when somebody sprang from a dark corner, landed her under
the ear, knocked her sprawling, and made off to the sound of her
lamentations. She did not see who it was, but she knew; and next day Sam
Cardew was swearing he'd break Billy's back. He did not, however, for
that same evening a gang of seven or eight fell on him with sticks and
belts. (They were Causeway chaps, while Sam was a Brady's Laner, which
would have been reason enough by itself, even if Billy Chope had not
been one of them.) Sam did his best for a burst through and a run, but
they pulled and battered him down; and they kicked him about the head,
and they kicked him about the belly; and they took to their heels when
he was speechless and still.
He lay at home for near four weeks, and when he stood up again it was in
many bandages. Lizerunt came often to his bedside, and twice she brought
an orange. On these occasions there was much talk of vengeance. But the
weeks went on. It was a month since Sam had left his bed; and Lizerunt
was getting a little tired of bandages. Also, she had begun to doubt and
to consider bank holiday--scarce a fortnight off. For Sam was
stone-broke, and a plush hat was further away than ever. And all
through the later of these weeks Billy Chope was harder than ever on his
mother, and she, well knowing that if he helped her by taking home he
would pocket the money at the other end, had taken to finishing and
delivering in his absence, and, threats failing to get at the money,
Billy Chope was impelled to punch her head and gripe her by the throat.
There was a milliner's window, with a show of nothing but fashionable
plush-and-feather hats, and Lizerunt was lingering hereabouts one
evening, when some one took her by the waist, and some one said, "Which
d'yer like, Lizer?--The yuller un?"
Lizerunt turned and saw that it was Billy. She pulled herself away, and
backed off, sullen and distrustful. "Garn," she said.
"Straight," said Billy, "I'll sport yer one.--No kid, I will."
"Garn," said Lizerunt once more. "Wot yer gittin' at now?"
But presently, being convinced that bashing wasn't in it, she approached
less guardedly; and she went away with a paper bag and the reddest of
all the plushes and the bluest of all the feathers; a hat that
challenged all the Flats the next bank holiday, a hat for which no girl
need have hesitated to sell her soul. As for Billy, why, he was as good
as another; and you can't have everything; and Sam Cardew, with his
bandages and his grunts and groans, was no great catch after all.
This was the wooing of Lizerunt: for in a few months she and Billy
married under the blessing of a benignant rector, who periodically set
aside a day for free weddings, and, on principle, encouraged early
matrimony. And they lived with Billy's mother.