Part 11 (1/2)

”Well, it ain't no business of mine, my girl,” returned the woman, not unkindly, ”but I think it's only right I should have some idea where you spend your nights. As long as you live in my house, I'm responsible for you, in a way.”

”I don't want any one to be responsible for me, Mrs. Ogle.”

”Maybe not, my girl. But young people ain't always the best judges of what's good for them, and what isn't. I don't think your cousin 'ud approve of your being out so late. I shall sit up for you, and you mustn't be after twelve.”

It was said very decidedly. Harriet made no reply, but speedily dressed and went out. She took an omnibus eastward, and sought a neighbourhood which most decently dressed people would have been chary of entering after nightfall, or indeed at any other time, unless compelled to do so. The girl found the object of her walk in a dirty little public-house at the corner of two foul and narrow by-ways. She entered by a private door, and pa.s.sed into a parlour, which was behind the bar.

A woman was sitting in the room, beguiling her leisure with a Sunday paper. She was dressed with vulgar showiness, and made a lavish display of jewellery, more or less valuable. Eight years ago she was a servant in Mr. Smales's house, and her name was Sarah. She had married in the meanwhile, and become Mrs. Sprowl.

She welcomed her visitor with a friendly nod, but did not rise.

”I thought it likely you'd look in, as you missed larst week. How's things goin' in your part o' the world?”

”Very badly,” returned Harriet, throwing off her hat and cloak, and going to warm her hands and feet at the fire. ”It won't last much longer, that's the truth of it.”

”Eh well, it's all in a life; we all has our little trials an'

troubles, as the sayin' is.”

”How's the baby?” asked Harriet looking towards a bundle of wrappers which lay on a sofa.

”I doubt it's too good for this world,” returned the mother, grinning in a way which made her ugly face peculiarly revolting. ”Dessay it'll join its little brother an' sister before long. Mike put it in the club yes'day.”

The burial-club, Mrs. Sprowl meant, and Harriet evidently understood the allusion.

”Have you walked?” went on the woman, doubling up her paper, and then throwing it aside. ”Dessay you could do with somethin' to take the cold orff yer chest.--Liz,” she called out to some one behind the bar, with which the parlour communicated by an open door; ”two Iris.h.!.+”

The liquor was brought. Presently some one called to Mrs. Sprowl, who went out. Leaning on the counter, in one of the compartments, was something which a philanthropist might perhaps have had the courage to claim as a human being; a very tall creature, with bent shoulders, and head seeming to grow straight out of its chest; thick, grizzled hair hiding almost every vestige of feature, with the exception of one dreadful red eye, its fellow being dead and sightless. He had laid on the counter, with palms downward as if concealing something, two huge hairy paws. Mrs. Sprowl seemed familiar with the appearance of this monster; she addressed him rather bad-temperedly, but otherwise much as she would have spoken to any other customer.

”No, you don't, Slimy! No, you don't! What you have in this house you pay for in coppers, so you know. Next time I catch you tryin' to ring the changes, I'll have you run in, and then you'll get a warm bath, which you wouldn't partic'lar care for.”

The creature spoke, in hoa.r.s.e, jumbled words, not easy to catch unless you listened closely.

”If you've any accusion to make agin me, Mrs. Sprowl, p'r'aps you'll wait till you can prove it. I want change for arf a suvrin: ain't that straight, now?”

”Straight or not, you won't get no change over this counter, so there you've the straight tip. Now sling yer 'ook, Slimy, an' get it somewhere else.”

”If you've any accusion to make--”

”Hold yer noise!--What's he ordered, Liz?”

”Pot o' old six,” answered the girl.

”Got sixpence, Slimy?”

”No, I ain't, Mrs. Sprowl,” muttered the creature. ”I've got arf a suvrin.”

”Then go an' get change for it. Now, once more, sling yer 'ook.”

The man moved away, sending back a horrible glare from his one fiery eyeball.

Mrs. Sprowl re-entered the parlour.