Part 132 (2/2)
”Why?” said Bessie, faintly. She remembered--indeed had never for long forgotten--an affair connected with a newly finished picture.
”Because he has asked me to do so, and because he's most particular blind.”
”Drunk?”
”No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's him over there.”
d.i.c.k was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed him out--a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty magenta-coloured neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was nothing to fear from such an one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, he could not follow far.
She crossed over, and d.i.c.k's face lighted up. It was long since a woman of any kind had taken the trouble to speak to him.
”I hope you're well, Mr. Heldar?” said Bessie, a little puzzled. Mr.
Beeton stood by with the air of an amba.s.sador and breathed responsibly.
”I'm very well indeed, and, by Jove! I'm glad to see--hear you, I mean, Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up and see us again after you got your money. I don't know why you should. Are you going anywhere in particular just now?”
”I was going for a walk,” said Bessie.
”Not the old business?” d.i.c.k spoke under his breath.
”Lor, no! I paid my premium”--Bessie was very proud of that word--”for a barmaid, sleeping in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed I am.”
Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a certain uneasiness; but so long as d.i.c.k appeared to be ignorant of the harm that had been done to him...
”It's hard work pulling the beer-handles,” she went on, ”and they've got one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by a penny at the end of the day--but then I don't believe the machinery is right. Do you?”
”I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.”
”He's gone.
”I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I'll make it worth your while. You see.” The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie saw.
”It isn't taking you out of your way?” he said hesitatingly. ”I can ask a policeman if it is.”
”Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.”
”Good G.o.d!--but I'm on all the time. I wish I had some work to do too.
Let's go home, Bess.”
He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an oath. Bessie took his arm and said nothing--as she had said nothing when he had ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They walked for some time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through the crowd.
”And where's--where's Mr. Torpenhow?” she inquired at last.
”He has gone away to the desert.”
”Where's that?”
d.i.c.k pointed to the right. ”East--out of the mouth of the river,” said he.
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