第43章

"Oh, it's only what's known all over the neighbourhood," continued the girl. "She's had a pretty rough time with him. Twice I've found her getting ready to go to sleep for the night by sitting on the bare floor with her back against the wall. Had sold every stick in the place and gone off. But she'd always some excuse for him. It was sure to be half her fault and the other half he couldn't help. Now she's got her 'reward' according to her own account. Heard he was dying in a doss-house, and must fetch him home and nurse him back to life. Seems he's getting fonder of her every day. Now that he can't do anything else.""It doesn't seem to depress her spirits," mused Joan.

"Oh, she! She's all right," agreed the girl. "Having the time of her life: someone to look after for twenty-four hours a day that can't help themselves."She examined Joan awhile in silence. "Are you on the stage?" she asked.

"No," answered Joan. "But my mother was. Are you?""Thought you looked a bit like it," said the girl. "I'm in the chorus. It's better than being in service or in a shop: that's all you can say for it.""But you'll get out of that," suggested Joan. "You've got the actress face."The girl flushed with pleasure. It was a striking face, with intelligent eyes and a mobile, sensitive mouth. "Oh, yes," she said, "I could act all right. I feel it. But you don't get out of the chorus. Except at a price."Joan looked at her. "I thought that sort of thing was dying out,"she said.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Not in my shop," she answered.

"Anyhow, it was the only chance I ever had. Wish sometimes I'd taken it. It was quite a good part.""They must have felt sure you could act," said Joan. "Next time it will be a clean offer."The girl shook her head. "There's no next time," she said; "once you're put down as one of the stand-offs. Plenty of others to take your place.""Oh, I don't blame them," she added. "It isn't a thing to be dismissed with a toss of your head. I thought it all out. Don't know now what decided me. Something inside me, I suppose."Joan found herself poking the fire. "Have you known Mary Stopperton long?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," answered the girl. "Ever since I've been on my own.""Did you talk it over with her?" asked Joan.

"No," answered the girl. "I may have just told her. She isn't the sort that gives advice.""I'm glad you didn't do it," said Joan: "that you put up a fight for all women."The girl gave a short laugh. "Afraid I wasn't thinking much about that," she said.

"No," said Joan. "But perhaps that's the way the best fights are fought--without thinking."Mary peeped round the door. She had been lucky enough to find the doctor in. She disappeared again, and they talked about themselves. The girl was a Miss Ensor. She lived by herself in a room in Lawrence Street.

"I'm not good at getting on with people," she explained.

Mary joined them, and went straight to Miss Ensor's bag and opened it. She shook her head at the contents, which consisted of a small, flabby-looking meat pie in a tin dish, and two pale, flat mince tarts.

"It doesn't nourish you, dearie," complained Mary. "You could have bought yourself a nice bit of meat with the same money.""And you would have had all the trouble of cooking it," answered the girl. "That only wants warming up.""But I like cooking, you know, dearie," grumbled Mary. "There's no interest in warming things up."The girl laughed. "You don't have to go far for your fun," she said. "I'll bring a sole next time; and you shall do it au gratin."Mary put the indigestible-looking pasties into the oven, and almost banged the door. Miss Ensor proceeded to lay the table. "How many, do you think?" she asked. Mary was doubtful. She hoped that, it being Christmas Day, they would have somewhere better to go.

"I passed old 'Bubble and Squeak,' just now, spouting away to three men and a dog outside the World's End. I expect he'll turn up,"thought Miss Ensor. She laid for four, leaving space for more if need be. "I call it the 'Cadger's Arms,'" she explained, turning to Joan. "We bring our own victuals, and Mary cooks them for us and waits on us; and the more of us the merrier. You look forward to your Sunday evening parties, don't you?" she asked of Mary.

Mary laughed. She was busy in a corner with basins and a saucepan.

"Of course I do, dearie," she answered. "I've always been fond of company."There came another opening of the door. A little hairy man entered. He wore spectacles and was dressed in black. He carried a paper parcel which he laid upon the table. He looked a little doubtful at Joan. Mary introduced them. His name was Julius Simson. He shook hands as if under protest.

"As friends of Mary Stopperton," he said, "we meet on neutral ground. But in all matters of moment I expect we are as far asunder as the poles. I stand for the People.""We ought to be comrades," answered Joan, with a smile. "I, too, am trying to help the People.""You and your class," said Mr. Simson, "are friends enough to the People, so long as they remember that they are the People, and keep their proper place--at the bottom. I am for putting the People at the top.""Then they will be the Upper Classes," suggested Joan. "And I may still have to go on fighting for the rights of the lower orders.""In this world," explained Mr. Simson, "someone has got to be Master. The only question is who."Mary had unwrapped the paper parcel. It contained half a sheep's head. "How would you like it done?" she whispered.

Mr. Simson considered. There came a softer look into his eyes.

"How did you do it last time?" he asked. "It came up brown, Iremember, with thick gravy."

"Braised," suggested Mary.

"That's the word," agreed Mr. Simson. "Braised." He watched while Mary took things needful from the cupboard, and commenced to peel an onion.

"That's the sort that makes me despair of the People," said Mr.

Simson. Joan could not be sure whether he was addressing her individually or imaginary thousands. "Likes working for nothing.