Part 14 (1/2)
No answer.
”Carn't yer answer a civil question? I'd soon knock the sulks out of yer if I was yer father.”
”My name's Arvie; you know that.”
”Arvie what?”
”Arvie Aspinall.”
Bill c.o.c.ked his eye at the roof and thought a while and whistled; then he said suddenly:
”Say, Balmy, where d'yer live?”
”Jones' Alley.”
”What?”
”Jones' Alley.”
A short, low whistle from Bill. ”What house?”
”Number Eight.”
”Garn! What yer giv'nus?”
”I'm telling the truth. What's there funny about it? What do I want to tell you a lie for?”
”Why, we lived there once, Balmy. Old folks livin'?”
”Mother is; father's dead.”
Bill scratched the back of his head, protruded his under lip, and reflected.
”I say, Arvie, what did yer father die of?”
”Heart disease. He dropped down dead at his work.”
Long, low, intense whistle from Bill. He wrinkled his forehead and stared up at the beams as if he expected to see something unusual there.
After a while he said, very impressively: ”So did mine.”
The coincidence hadn't done striking him yet; he wrestled with it for nearly a minute longer. Then he said:
”I suppose yer mother goes out was.h.i.+n'?”
”Yes.”
”'N' cleans offices?”