"POULTER'S"
When, a few moments later, Mr Poulter came into the room, his
appearance surprised Mavis. She expected and braced herself to
interview a person with greasy, flowing locks and theatrical manners;
instead, she saw a well-preserved old man with one of the finest faces
she had ever seen. He had a ruddy complexion, soft, kindly blue eyes,
and a noble head covered with snow-white hair. His presence seemed to
infect the coarsely scented air of the room with an atmosphere of
refinement and unaffected kindliness. He was shabbily dressed. Directly
Mavis saw him, she longed to throw her arms about his neck, to kiss him
on the forehead.
He bowed to Mavis before saying:
"Have you 'ad your tea?"
"Yes, thank you," she replied.
"Miss Nippett has told me of your errand."
"She has also heard me play."
"It is now only a question of terms," said Mr Poulter gently.
"Quite so."
"The last wish of 'Poulter's' is to appear ungenerous, but, with
remorseless competition in the Bush," here Mr Poulter's kindly face
hardened, "everyone suffers."
"The Bush?" queried Mavis.
"Shepherd's Bush," explained Poulter. "Many of 'Poulter's' clients, who
are behindhand with their cheques for family tuition, have made payment
with the commodities which they happen to retail," remarked Poulter.
"Assuming that you were willing, you might care to take whole or part
payment in some of these."
Mavis was sorry, but money was a necessity to her.
"I quite understand," said Poulter sympathetically. "On 'Ordinary
Days,' 'Poulter's' would require you from eleven in the morning till--"
Here he turned inquiringly to Miss Nippett.
"Carriages at ten thirty," put in Miss Nippett promptly.
"Yes, carriages at ten thirty," repeated Mr Poulter, who took a simple
enjoyment in the reference to the association of vehicles, however
imaginary, with the academy.
"And on 'Third Saturdays'?" said Poulter, as he again turned to Miss
Nippett, as if seeking information.
"Special and Select Assembly at the Athenaeum, including the Godolphin
String Band and light refreshments," declared Miss Nippett.
"Ah! carriages at twelve," said Mr Poulter with relish. "That means
your getting home very late."
"I don't mind. I don't live far from here. I can walk."
It was ultimately arranged that Mavis should be supplied with dinner,
tea, and supper, and receive a shilling a day for five days of the
week; on Saturdays, in consideration of her staying late, she was to
get an extra shilling.
Mention was made with some pride of infrequent "Long Nights," which
were also held at the Athenaeum, when dancing was kept up till three in
the morning; but, as Miss Nippett's chilblains would probably be cured
long before the date fixed for the next Terpsichorean Festival, as
these special dances were called, no arrangement was made in respect of
these.
"It is usual for 'Poulter's' to ask for references," declared Mr
Poulter. "But needless to say that one who has pioneered 'Poulter's'
into the forefront of such institutions can read character at a glance."
Mavis thanked him for his confidence, but said that she could supply
him with testimonials from her last two employers. Mr Poulter would not
dream of troubling her, and asked Mavis if she could commence her
duties on that evening. Upon Mavis saying that she could, Mr Poulter
looked at his watch and said:
"It still wants an hour till 'Poulter's' evening classes commence. As
you've joined 'Poulter's' staff, it might be as well if you shared one
of the privileges of your position."
This particular privilege consisted of Mavis's being taken downstairs
to Mr Poulter's private sitting-room. This was a homely apartment
furnished with much-worn horsehair furniture, together with many framed
and unframed flashlight photographs of various "Terpsichorean
Festivals," in all of which, conspicuous in the foreground, was Mr
Poulter, wearing a big white rosette on the lapel of his evening coat.
"Smoke if you want to, won't you?" said Mavis.
"Thank you," replied Mr Poulter, "but I only smoke after 'Poulter's' is
closed. It might give 'Poulter's' a bad reputation if the young lady
pupils went 'ome smelling of smoke."
"'E thinks of everything," declared Miss Nippett admiringly.
"'Poulter's' is not deficient in worldly wisdom," remarked the
dancing-master with subdued pride.
"I'm sure of that," said Mavis hypocritically, as she looked at the
simple face of the kindly old man.
"Suppose we have a game of cards," suggested Mr Poulter presently.
"Promise you won't cheat," said Mavis.
Mr Poulter laughed uneasily before saying:
"'Poulter's' would not occupy its present position if it were not for
its straightforward dealing. What shall we play?"
Mavis, feeling light-hearted, was on the point of saying "Snap," but
feared that the fact of her suggesting such a frivolous game might set
her down as an improper person in the eyes of "Poulter's."
"Do you know 'Casino'?" asked Mr Poulter.
"I'm afraid I don't," replied Mavis.
"A grand old game; we must teach you another time. What do you say to
'Old Maid'?"
They played "Old Maid" deliberately, solemnly. After a time, Mavis had
a strong suspicion that Miss Nippett was cheating in order that Mr
Poulter might win; also, that Mr Poulter was manoeuvring the cards so
that Mavis might not be declared "old maid."
This belief was strengthened when Mavis heard Miss Nippett say to Mr
Poulter, at the close of the game:
"She ought to 'ave been 'old maid.'"
"I know, I know," replied Mr Poulter. "But I want her first evening at
'Poulter's' to be quite 'appy and 'omelike."
"Did you easily find 'Poulter's'?" asked Mr Poulter presently of Mavis.
"I had no number, so I had to ask," she replied.
"Then, of course, you were directed at once," suggested Mr Poulter
eagerly.
Mavis's consideration for the old man's feelings was such that she
thought a fib was justified.
"Yes," she said.
Mr Poulter's eyes lit with happiness.
"That's the advantage of being connected with 'Poulter's,'" he said.
"You'll find it a great help to you as you make your way in the world."
"I'm sure of it," remarked Mavis, with all the conviction she could
muster. After a few moments' silence, she said:
"There's another dancing academy on the other side of the road."
Mavis was surprised to see Mr Poulter's gentle expression at once
change to a look of intense anger.
"Gellybrand's! Gellybrand's! The scoundrel!" cried Mr Poulter, as he
thumped his fist upon the table.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know," said Mavis.
"What? You haven't heard of the rivalry between mushroom Gellybrand's
and old-established 'Poulter's'?" exclaimed Mr Poulter.
Mavis did not know what to say.
"Some people is ignorant!" commented Miss Nippett at her silence.
"Gellybrand is the greatest scoundrel and blackleg in the history of
dancing," continued Poulter. Then, as if to clinch the matter, he
added, "Poulter's 'Special and Select' is two shillings, with carriages
at eleven. Gellybrand's is one and six, with carriages at eleven
thirty."
"Disgraceful!" commented Mavis, who was anxious to soothe Poulter's
ruffled sensibilities.
"That is not all. Poulter's oranges, when light refreshments are
supplied, are cut in eights; Gellybrand's"--here the old man's voice
quivered with indignation--"oranges are cut in sixes."
"An unfair advantage," remarked Mavis.
"That's not all. Gellybrand once declared that I had actually stooped
so low as to kiss a married pupil."
"Disgraceful!" said Mavis gravely.
"Of course, the statement carried its own refutation, as no gentleman
could ever demean himself so much as to kiss another gentleman's wife."
"That's what I say," cried Miss Nippett.
"But Gellybrand foully libelled me," cried Mr Poulter, with another
outburst of anger, "when he stated that I only paid one and fourpence a
pound for my tea."
This last recollection so troubled Mr Poulter that Miss Nippett
suggested that it was time for him to go and dress. As he left the
room, he said to Mavis:
"Pray never mention Gellybrand's name in my presence. If I weren't an
artiste, I wouldn't mind; as it is, I'm all of a tremble."
Mavis promised that she would not, at which the old man's face wore its
usual kindly expression. When he was gone, Miss Nippett exclaimed:
"Oh, why ever did you?"
"How was I to know?" Mavis asked.
"I thought everyone knew. Don't, whatever you do, don't again. It makes
him angrier than he was when once the band eat up all the light
refreshments."
"He's a very charming man," remarked Mavis.
"But his brains! It's his brains that fetches me."
"Really!"
"In addition to 'Poulter's Patent Floor Wax,' he's invented the
'Clacton Schottische,' the 'Ramsgate Galop,' and the 'Coronation
Quadrilles.'"
"He must be clever."
"Of course; he's on the grand council of the 'B.A.T.D.'"
"What is that?"
"What? You don't know what 'B.A.T.D.' is?" cried Miss Nippett in
astonishment.
"I'm afraid I don't," replied Mavis.
"You'll be saying you don't know the Old Bailey next."
"I don't. But I know a lot of people who should."
"Don't send 'em to 'Poulter's,'" said Miss Nippett. "There's enough
already who're be'ind with their accounts."
A few minutes later, Mr Poulter entered the room, wearing evening
dress, dancing pumps, and a tawdry-looking insignia in his coat.
"That's the 'B.A.T.D.,' Grand Council Badge," Miss Nippett informed
Mavis.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Mavis, who felt that her hypocrisy was justified
by the pleasure it gave kindly Mr Poulter.
"Say we enjoy a whiff of fresh air before commencing our labours,"
suggested Mr Poulter.
Upon Mavis and Miss Nippett rising as if to fall in with his
suggestion, Mr Poulter went before them, up the stairs, past the
"Ladies' Cloak Room," along the passage to the front door.
As Miss Nippett and Mavis followed the dancing-master, the former said,
referring to Mr Poulter:
"'E once took the 'Olborn Town 'all for an 'All Night,' didn't you, Mr
Poulter?"
"The night the 'Clacton Schottische' was danced for the first time,"
replied Poulter.
"And what do you think the refreshments was contracted at a 'ead?"
asked Miss Nippett.
"Give it up," replied Mavis.
"Why, no less than three shillin's, wasn't it, Mr Poulter?"
"True enough," replied Mr Poulter. "But I must admit the attendants did
look 'old-fashioned' at you, if you 'ad two glasses of claret-cup
running."
By this time, they were outside of the front door, where Mr Poulter
paused, as if designing not to go any further into the night air,
which, for the time of year, was close and warm.
"I don't want to give the 'Bush' the chance of saying Poulter never
shows himself outside the walls of the academy," remarked the
dancing-master complacently.
"There's so much jealousy of fame in the 'Bush,'" added Miss Nippett.
As they stood on the steps, Mavis could not help noticing that whereas
Miss Nippett had only eyes for Mr Poulter, the latter's attention was
fixed on the plaster figure of "Turpsichor" to the exclusion of
everything else.
"A classic figure"--(he pronounced it "clarsic")--"gives a distinction
to an academy, which is denied to mongrel and mushroom imitations," he
presently remarked.
"Quite so," assented Mavis.
"She has been with 'Poulter's' fifteen years."
"Almost as long as I have," put in Miss Nippett.
"The figure?" asked Mavis.
"The statue 'Turpsichor,'" corrected Mr Poulter.
"Turpsichor," in common with other down-at-heel people, had something
of a history. She was originally the plaster cast model of a marble
statue ordered by a sorrowing widow to grace the last resting-place of
the dear departed, a widow, whose first transports of grief were as
extravagant as the order she gave to the monumental mason. But when the
time came for the statue to be carved, and a further deposit to be
paid, the widow had been fascinated by a man whom she had met in a
'bus, when on her way to visit the cemetery where her husband was
interred. She was now loth to bear the cost of the statue and, as she
had changed her address, she took no notice of the mason's repeated
applications. "Turpsichor" had then been sold cheap to a man who had
started a tea-garden, in the vain hope of reviving the glories of those
forgotten institutions; when he had drifted into bankruptcy, she had
been knocked down for a song to a second-hand shop, where she had been
bought for next to nothing by Mr Poulter as "the very thing." Now she
stood in the entrance hall of the academy, where, it can truthfully be
said, that no heathen goddess received so much adoration and admiration
as was bestowed on "Turpsichor" by Mr Poulter and Miss Nippett. To
these simple souls, it was the finest work of art to be found anywhere
in the world, while the younger amongst the pupils regarded the forlorn
statue with considerable awe.
When a move was made to the ballroom, Miss Nippett whispered to Mavis:
"If Mr Poulter wins the great cotillion prize competition 'e's goin' in
for, I 'ope to stand 'Turpsichor' a clean, and a new coat of paint."
When all three had waited in the ballroom some minutes, the pupils for
the night classes straggled in, the "gentlemen" bringing their dancing
shoes in their overcoat pockets, the "ladies" theirs, either in
net-bags or wrapped in odd pieces of brown paper. These "ladies" were
much of a type, being either shop-girls or lady clerks, with a
sprinkling of maid-servants and board school teachers. They were
pale-faced, hard-working, over-dressed young women who read Marie
Corelli, and considered her "deep"; who had one adjective with which to
express appreciation of things, this "artistic"; anything they
condemned was spoken of as "awful"; one and all liked to be considered
what they called "up-to-date." Marriage they desired more than anything
else in the world, not so much that they wished to live in an
atmosphere of affection, but because they believed that state promised
something of a respite from their never-ending, poorly recompensed
toil. The "gentlemen" were mostly shopmen or weekly paid clerks with
social aspirations; they carried silver cigarette cases, which they
exhibited on the least provocation.
Mavis played, whilst Mr Poulter put the pupils through their steps. She
had no eyes for the dancers, these not interesting her; her attention,
of which she had plenty to spare, was fixed upon the kindly, beaming
face and the agile limbs of Mr Poulter. It was a pleasure to watch him,
he so thoroughly enjoyed his work; he could not take enough pains to
instruct his pupils in the steps that they should take. Miss Nippett
sat beside Mavis. Presently, in a few minutes' interval between the
dances, the former said:
"Don't you ever be a fool an' teach dancing."
"Why 'a fool'?" asked Mavis.
"Look at me an' the way I 'obble; it's all the fault of teaching the
'gentlemen.'"
"Indeed!"
"The 'gentlemen' is such clumsy fellers; they always tread on my right
foot. I tried wearing flannel, but they come down on it jess the same,
'arder if anything."
Soon after nine, Miss Meakin came in, having travelled from "Dawes'"
with all dispatch by the "Tube." She warmly greeted Mavis,
congratulated her on getting employment at "Poulter's," and told her
that, after she (Mavis) had left "Dawes'," the partners had made every
inquiry into her habit of life. Miss Meakin had been summoned to one of
the partner's rooms to say what she knew of the subject, and had sat
near a table on which was lying Mavis's letter; she had made a note of
the address, to write to her directly she was able to do so.
"We must have a long talk, dear; but not to-night."
"Why not to-night?"
"Mr Napper, my 'boy,' will be waiting for me outside."
"Bring him in and introduce me."
"He'd never forgive me if I did. He's all brains, dear, and would never
overlook it, if I insisted on his entering a dancing academy."
"What is he?"
"He's a lawyer. But his cleverness is altogether outside of that."
"A barrister?"
"Scarcely."
"A solicitor?"
"Not yet. He works for one."
After the pupils had gone, Mavis, pressed by Mr Poulter, stayed to a
supper that consisted of bread, cheese, and cocoa.
When this was over, Mr Poulter said:
"I don't know of what religious persuasion you may be, but would you be
offended if I asked you to stay for family prayers?"
"I like you for asking me," declared Mavis.
"I am overjoyed at a real young lady like you caring to stay," replied
Poulter.
Mr Poulter read a chapter from the Bible. He then offered up a brief
extempore prayer. He prayed for Miss Nippett, for Mavis, for past and
present pupils, the world at large. The Lord's Prayer, in which the two
women joined, ended the devotions.
When Miss Nippett had put on her goloshes, bonnet, and cloak, and Mavis
her things, Mr Poulter accompanied them to the door.
"I live in the 'Bush': where do you?" asked Miss Nippett of Mavis.
"Kiva Road, Hammersmith."
"Then we go different ways. Good night, Mr Poulter; good night, Miss
Keeves."
Mavis wished her and Mr Poulter good night. The two women walked
together to the gate, when Miss Nippett hobbled off to the left.
As Mavis turned to the right, she glanced at Mr Poulter, who was still
standing on the steps; he was gazing raptly at "Turpsichor." A few
minutes later, when she encountered the insolent glances of the painted
foreign women who flock in the Goldhawk Road, Mavis found it hard to
believe that they and Mr Poulter inhabited the same world.