by Berta Ruck
CHAPTER VII
PETROL AND THE CHARM
"For your own ladies, and pale-visaged maids, Like Amazons, come tripping after drums; Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Their needles to lances."
Shakespeare.
"I've got a table in the corner over here," said little Mr. Brown toOlwen through the buzz of talk that drowned all but the louder strainsof the band in the tea-room of the Regent Palace Hotel.
It was, as ever on a Sunday afternoon, a welter of khaki and girls. Thewicker chairs could not be seen for shrubberies of furs, coloured forestof millinery; there was scarcely a space on the floor clear of muffs,vanity bags, and feet; big feet in brown boots, little feet inhigh-heeled coloured shoes; swathed feet in hospital wrappings. It tookMr. Brown and Olwen minutes to steer their way through this labyrinth tothe further corner by a window that the little campaigner had markeddown and engaged just after lunch.
"Now, that's better," he said. "Nobody will come and walk over us here,and nobody can hear what I say through this racket, not that I care ifthey do.... Well, it's nice to see you again, Miss Olwen. I've beenfairly bursting to have a good old mag with you, ever since all thishappened.... What? Yes, two teas, please, Miss, if you can call 'emteas. Spelling it with an E at the end is nearer the mark nowadays;sort of reminding you of what once was tea. I've got some sugar here;pinched some out of HER cupboard yesterday--good start, wasn't it? Areyou one of those people who miss lump sugar with every breath they draw,Miss Olwen?"
Olwen smiled into the pink, pug-dog face that looked pinker, morepertinacious than ever; the boy held his head even more assuredly in theair, but his blue, prominent eyes were humble as well as joyous, and thewhole of him radiated amazement at Fortune as well as delight.
"Tell me about 'all this,'" Olwen begged, and little Mr. Brown zestfullydrawing in his chair and letting a pleased grin crumple his cheeks,broke into his story....
Here and there Olwen interposed a question, a "Really," a "Why," a "Whatdid she say to that?" but for the rest she listened mutely as a womanmust, with the widening of her eyes, with a nod, a turn of the attentivehead, while the cheerful boy's voice--a thread in that closely wovenpattern of other voices all about them--ran on and on.
"It was only last Saturday it started. Imagine that! Seems ages ago tome now, so much happening.... However, to begin at the beginning. I'dbeen to my Board in the morning, and the silly old blighters had givenme another three weeks' leave before putting me on light duty. I was ina taxi, coming away from them, because I was in a hurry, promised tomeet a fellow I knew for lunch at the Troc....
"By Jove, I never even rang him up after! I've only just thought of thatfellow who used to be in the Lace Department at that old show of mine,and I hadn't seen him since '14. Too bad. I'll have to write him. AnyhowI can't help it; absolutely everything seems to have gone straight outof my head.
"Well, I was going to lunch with this fellow, and then I thought afterthat I'd ring you up, Miss Olwen, and see what you were doing, and ifyou'd perhaps care to come with me to the Alhambra or something. If Icouldn't get hold of you I was going to look up Ross, I thought, andMrs. Cartwright.... This was where I was mapping out things that camerather different, as it happened!
"We were coming along Piccadilly towards the Circus when my taxi-man (anabsolutely dud driver, as I'd noticed) barged straight into amotor-cycle and side-car that were going along at no end of a lick forKnightsbridge. He only pulled up in the very nick of time; the cycle andthe rider were over and into the mud; a filthy day it was, p'raps you'llremember--drizzling and the streets like a soap-slide.
"Out I nipped, before the crowd had even begun to collect, and picked upthe motor-cyclist with one hand, and started saying what I thought ofthe taxi-driver with the other--he was swearing away like a trooper at'these here so and so and so and so side-cars'; and the little nipperwho had been upset was cursing him to blazes, an octave higher. Thevoice took me by surprise, of course.... The little thing was so coveredin mud that I couldn't have told you off-hand if it were a boy or girlor a retriever dog.
"A girl; yes, it was a girl, of course.
"One of those lady dispatch-riders, they call them. Cap like mine,trench-coat down to her knees, top-boots, riding-breeches ... laughingall over her little splashed face....
"Well, in about two twos I'd pushed his fare at the taxi-driver and senthim off and was assessing the damages to that motor-cycle ofhers--nothing wrong at all luckily! while she wiped her face on a hugekhaki handkerchief and put her cap straight. Short hair, of course,rather sticking out, curly.... I always thought I loathed short hair ona girl. Suits her A1, and it's most awfully soft and jolly to run yourfingers through....
"What? Oh, no, not _then_. Give us a chance. I wasn't allowed a chanceto touch her hair for ages--you'll see.
"All this time I was being all over myself with apologies, and shelaughing and saying it was all part of the day's work, only the taxi-manhad put her back up; taxi-drivers did always seem to be women haters!She told me (standing there by the kerb) that she was just coming offanyway before her three days' leave that she gets in a month, and thatshe was dashing up to Harrod's before they closed, because she was onduty from eight to six ordinarily, and never got any time to do anyshopping for herself.
"(Mind you, that's the only grouse she seems to have at all after doinga man's job day in, day out; no time to get her shopping done!)
"I thought to myself at once, the way one does, 'H'm, here's a nicelittle bit of skirt, if you could see it for mud.' Not that it _wore_ askirt, but still. So I said, pretending to be rather fed, 'I don'tsuppose there's another taxi to be had for love or butter now, so I'lljust push on to Harrods' on my flat feet.'
"'Oh,' she says, 'were you going to Harrods'?'
"'I am,' said I, determined to now, anyway.
"'And you're wounded, too, aren't you,' says she. 'I'll give you a lift.Hop in.'
"In I hopped into that side-car; and off we buzzed to Harrods', and wewere just in time before they closed for her to buy half a dozen pair ofthe best quality brown silk stockings for herself. (I'd seen she was alady, you know, and all that.) She said she hadn't a stocking left toher foot----Tiny feet she's got, Miss Olwen! Reminded me of yours,honest, they did. Same sort of hands, too. Coming out of her greatgauntlets like snowdrops, growing in a drift of brown leaves----No, Ididn't make that up, that's what she told me some ass of an old Colonelthat she used to drive the cars for said to her once. I think it's neck,the way some of those old Johnnies with one foot in the grave go ongiving the Glad to any pretty young girl that's near them....
"Well, after Harrods' shut, we went on to some place where she could geta wash and brush up, and we had a spot of lunch together. She was a realjolly little thing to go about with, I thought. We sat talking--you knowthe way ones does--until it was nearly tea-time.
"Tea we had out, too. She would stand me tea, said it was her shout, andbecause I was wounded. Seemed to think that because a fellow had beenpipped once he was helpless for evermore. Generally I loathe womenfussing over one for that, but she was different.... Struck one as socomic, you know, that tiny little thing with those hands and feet to begot up like any old mechanic, and to do all that hefty work in allweathers----and for her to get frightened that I might be tired!
"Well, so we went to Rumplemayer's.
"Afterwards I went with her to take her bike back to the Park. You knowshe's attached to the Royal Flying Corps there; yes, that's what shedoes now. Carries their letters and messages for them all over the show,to your people at the Honeycomb too, sometimes. Sometimes she drives outofficers to the various training schools for flying, all about. Has toclean her own bike, too! Wouldn't let me give her a hand, said it didn'tlook well. Extraordinary, the lot she gets through!... And I used tohate girls being 'independent,' too.
"I asked her what put it into her head to do all this, and she said itwas because one had to do one's bit somehow, and the harder the better,so
that it sent one to bed tired enough to sleep.
"Dashed sporting little girl I thought her.
"It was dinner-time before I knew, and I asked her if she'd come out. (Ihad got just one pound note left on me!)
"She said, as naturally as if we always fed together, 'Shall I go up tomy rooms and get into respectable clothes, or d'you mind if I came in myuniform?'
"I said, 'Oh, come along!' And we went off to a quiet little place atthe back of the Palace.
"By that time, d'you know, I felt as if I'd known that little girl foryears and years and years.
"She seemed just like the best little pal a man could have. Wetalked--oh, about any old thing. I sort of felt at home with her. So shedid with me. She told me so. But it was me that did most of thetalking. Only, what d'you think? We never bothered to ask each other'snames. That was the funny part. I'd told her all about me being in ashop before the War----Lace, forward----and how I thought of having ashot at in Canada, p'raps, and all that sort of rot. Miles I'd yapped toher; even about my mother dying when I was a nipper....
"I wonder the girl wasn't bored stiff. I can't make out now why shewasn't. However, as I say, they might never have named this child N or Mfor all she was given to hear about _that_.
"Fact was, I clean forgot about names until I took her home----she's gottwo rooms in one of those big old-fashioned houses in a street off BakerStreet. Then, as I said good night to her on the doorstep, I said, 'Oh,by the way, who do I ask for tomorrow?'
"She said, 'Coming tomorrow?'
"I said, 'Well, you told me it was your three days' leave, and I thoughtp'raps you'd come for a walk'----thinking to myself that I might be ableto raise another quid or so for meals from some man at the RegentPalace, which I was.
"'Oh,' she said, with a little sort of laugh. 'Rightoh. And I haven'ttold you, of course, my name's Robinson,' she said as she went into thehouse; big dark hall, it seemed to swallow her up.
"I said, 'Brown's mine,' and off I went----and I couldn't simply get thelittle thing out of my head all night, and what a jolly little chum shewas. Don't laugh at me, Miss Olwen; no, I know you're not reallylaughing, but I am, I can tell you. 'They laugh last who laugh laughs,'as that chap says at the Hippodrome.
"Next morning I was round at that house so early that I hadn't the nerveto ring the bell. I had to patrol the street for another half an hourbefore I rang.
"'Miss Robinson?' says I to the old girl who opened the door, but beforeshe could answer I could hear the little girl herself singing out overthe banisters, 'Hullo, I think I know that voice! Come up, Mr.Brown----'
"I legged it up to the first floor. Her sitting-room door was open;well, in I went, and there I got a nasty one."
Here Mr. Brown stopped to draw a breath, to finish his cooling tea, andto offer a cigarette to Olwen, listening with all her ears. There is noaudience to a love-story so intent and so satisfactory as the girl towhom one has been attracted. Curiosity as to her supplanter burns in thebreast of the woman whether or no she had been attracted to the man;curiosity made of varied elements--sympathy is one, and competition isone, and the undying yearning to compare notes is another....
Little Mr. Brown went on.
"Well, it was a pretty room, full of sun in the morning. Pretty colouredcurtains and cushions about; and lots of flowers and that yellow bobblythingummybob scented stuff--mimosa. And then.... Her in the middle of itall----_all different...._
"I stopped dead and stared at her, never even saying good morning. MissOlwen, I can tell you it was a shock to me.
"Last night, you see, I'd left her looking like a saucy little tomboy inthat khaki working kit of hers with a cap the same as my own on herhead and a black-and-white badge of the R. F. C. on her shoulder, andthose brown riding bags....
"This morning here she stood all in a dead-black frock, with a widow'shat on and a long black veil streaming away from her little face.
"I stared, I tell you. I saw the situation absobloominglutely changed,in one.
"'Good Lord,' I said, 'you've been married?'
"She opened her eyes at me and said, 'Why shouldn't I?'
"I looked at her, such a little woman in her girl's clothes, but tallerthan she seemed in t'other rig-out, and I said, 'I didn't know you weremarried. I thought you were a kid of a girl. A widow. You didn't tellme.'
"'You didn't ask me,' she says. 'You might have seen I wore awedding-ring. Men never do seem to notice rings--or anything else, Ican't think why.'
"I stood there like a silly ass and said, 'I never thought of you beingmarried. I s'pose I only looked at your face----'
"And I suppose I'd been magging so hard all yesterday about myself thatI hadn't given the girl a chance to put her life history across me!
"She told me then, all quickly as I stood there, that she'd been marriedlast year to her cousin, just before he went out. He was in the FlyingCorps. He crashed in France just three months after they'd been married.Then she joined this Women's Legion. (You know they're jolly particularwho they let into it, Miss Olwen: have to have no end of refs. from_padres_ and lawyers and people.) She threw herself into her job....She'd been working like a nigger ever since....
"All I could think to say was 'Well, this knocks me out.'
"She laughed and asked me why it should make any difference, her beingMrs. Robinson instead of Miss? She asked me if I didn't like her inthose things she'd got on? She said, 'Most people think it's ratherbecoming, all this black.'
"It made her little face look like a wild rose coming out of acoal-bucket, but what could I say to her? I tell you I was so flummoxedI stood there like a stuck pig--I don't know what I said next; honest, Idon't.
"So then she offered me cigarettes, and I took one in a sort of dream,and felt all over myself for matches. Couldn't find any.
"Only, then----
"D'you know what I found, Miss Olwen? Blessed if I didn't stick myfingers into my belt pocket here, and feel something soft. I brought itout. It was that little mascot of yours. She asked me quickly what itwas.
"'Oh,' I said, 'something a girl put there once, to bring me luck,' andI stuck it back again.
"'Oh,' she said. I saw her looking at that pocket.
"Then she said, 'What about going for that walk we've heard so muchabout?'
"'Right you are,' I says, pulling myself together. 'I'm ready if youare, Mrs. Robinson.'
"Then she said, 'No; I'm not quite. I shall have to keep you fiveminutes, not longer.'
"She popped through a door at the other end of the room and left megazing at a big photograph in a silver frame on her table with violetsin front of it. 'Yours, JIM,' on it. Him, of course. Fine-looking chapin R. F. C. uniform. I didn't wonder she'd taken him. Anyhow, he'd had ashort life and a merry; a topping time! Marrying _her_, and then gettingshot down in action before he knew he was for it. I was envying him whenthe door opened and in she came again----
"By Jove, she had done a quick change in five minutes and no mistake!
"She'd got out of the widow's weeds again and into khaki the same asyesterday, except that there was nothing on her curls, and she'd put ona short skirt and little brown brogues and a pair of those silkstockings she bought yesterday; and she came straight up to me and saidquietly, 'Now, look here----why were you all upset when you came in?What's put you out? My being a widow?'
"'No,' I said, straight. 'It wasn't just that, but never mind.'
"'Yes, let's have it out,' she said, and I looked at her standing therein her khaki, but somehow I only saw her in a frock again, and I thoughtto myself all in a rush, 'All right, you asked to have it out, and youshall,' and so I just blurted out, 'It was seeing you, and knowing allin a minute how much I wanted you myself--and remembering.'
"'Remembering what?' she says as sharp as a needle.
"And I said, 'My dear, I haven't a _bean_.'
"And I grabbed up my hat and gloves and I think I would have said'Good-bye' and bolted.
"But she just looked at me so that I
couldn't.
"Then she looked away and said, 'If beans are all that matter----!' andthen she picked a couple of violets out of the vase by that photograph,and tucked them into her jacket, and, just like a kid, said, 'Jim alwaysloved me to have a good time. Jim would like me to have everything Iliked, I _know_ he would----'
"And here's where the room seemed to go round and round until itsteadied down with me holding her tight....
"Well, then, Miss Olwen----well, then, there we were; engaged! Orpractically then," amended little Mr. Brown, his pink face deepening inhue. "It was hours after that that I began to grasp how little itmattered about my not having anything but debts to ask any girl to marryme on; why, great Scott, d'you know who she is? Her Uncle, her hubby'sfather, is old Jack Robinson of Robinson and Mott; he's got the biggestaeroplane-body business in the Midlands, and he, this Jim ofhers----well, she's got all he was to have. He arranged it so. She wasto marry again if she liked, and whom she liked. And----Well, she's agirl who might have her pick; apart from the money. Then there's all hermoney as well; and yet----yet----"
He paused for words just as the band at the other end of the tea-roomgot the upper hand of the buzz of talk and sent a lilt of insistentmelody through the air above the parties.
"_Fancy you fancying me_" was the tune.
"Fancy you fancying me, I can fancy anybody fancying you, But fancy you fancying me."
"Incidental music; jolly appropriate," laughed little Mr. Brown,happily. "What that girl could possibly see in your humble beats me. Iexpect most people who meet us thinks she's balmy----"
But Olwen, smiling and interested and sympathetically murmuring, wasthinking again (secretly) of the Charm.