The Lost Girl

by D. H. Lawrence

  CHAPTER VI

  HOUGHTON'S LAST ENDEAVOUR

  The trouble with her ship was that it would _not_ sail. It rodewater-logged in the rotting port of home. All very well to havewild, reckless moods of irony and independence, if you have to payfor them by withering dustily on the shelf.

  Alvina fell again into humility and fear: she began to show symptomsof her mother's heart trouble. For day followed day, month followedmonth, season after season went by, and she grubbed away like ahousemaid in Manchester House, she hurried round doing the shopping,she sang in the choir on Sundays, she attended the various chapelevents, she went out to visit friends, and laughed and talked andplayed games. But all the time, what was there actually in her life?Not much. She was withering towards old-maiddom. Already in hertwenty-eighth year, she spent her days grubbing in the house, whilsther father became an elderly, frail man still too lively in mind andspirit. Miss Pinnegar began to grow grey and elderly too, moneybecame scarcer and scarcer, there was a black day ahead when herfather would die and the home be broken up, and she would have totackle life as a worker.

  There lay the only alternative: in work. She might slave her daysaway teaching the piano, as Miss Frost had done: she might find asubordinate post as nurse: she might sit in the cash-desk of someshop. Some work of some sort would be found for her. And she wouldsink into the routine of her job, as did so many women, and grow oldand die, chattering and fluttering. She would have what is calledher independence. But, seriously faced with that treasure, andwithout the option of refusing it, strange how hideous she found it.

  Work!--a job! More even than she rebelled against the Withams didshe rebel against a job. Albert Witham was distasteful to her--orrather, he was not exactly distasteful, he was chiefly incongruous.She could never get over the feeling that he was mouthing andsmiling at her through the glass wall of an aquarium, he being onthe watery side. Whether she would ever be able to take to hisstrange and dishuman element, who knows? Anyway it would be somesort of an adventure: better than a job. She rebelled with all herbackbone against the word _job_. Even the substitutes, _employment_or _work_, were detestable, unbearable. Emphatically, she did notwant to work for a wage. It was too humiliating. Could anything bemore _infra dig_ than the performing of a set of special actions dayin day out, for a life-time, in order to receive some shillingsevery seventh day. Shameful! A condition of shame. The most vulgar,sordid and humiliating of all forms of slavery: so mechanical. Farbetter be a slave outright, in contact with all the whims andimpulses of a human being, than serve some mechanical routine ofmodern work.

  She trembled with anger, impotence, and fear. For months, thethought of Albert was a torment to her. She might have married him.He would have been strange, a strange fish. But were it not betterto take the strange leap, over into his element, than to condemnoneself to the routine of a job? He would have been curious anddishuman. But after all, it would have been an experience. In a way,she liked him. There was something odd and integral about him, whichshe liked. He was not a liar. In his own line, he was honest anddirect. Then he would take her to South Africa: a whole new_milieu_. And perhaps she would have children. She shivered alittle. No, not his children! He seemed so curiously cold-blooded.And yet, why not? Why not his curious, pale, half cold-bloodedchildren, like little fishes of her own? Why not? Everything waspossible: and even desirable, once one could see the strangeness ofit. Once she could plunge through the wall of the aquarium! Once shecould kiss him!

  Therefore Miss Pinnegar's quiet harping on the string wasunbearable.

  "I can't understand that you disliked Mr. Witham so much?" said MissPinnegar.

  "We never can understand those things," said Alvina. "I can'tunderstand why I dislike tapioca and arrowroot--but I do."

  "That's different," said Miss Pinnegar shortly.

  "It's no more easy to understand," said Alvina.

  "Because there's no need to understand it," said Miss Pinnegar.

  "And is there need to understand the other?"

  "Certainly. I can see nothing wrong with him," said Miss Pinnegar.

  Alvina went away in silence. This was in the first months after shehad given Albert his dismissal. He was at Oxford again--would notreturn to Woodhouse till Christmas. Between her and the WoodhouseWithams there was a decided coldness. They never looked at hernow--nor she at them.

  None the less, as Christmas drew near Alvina worked up her feelings.Perhaps she would be reconciled to him. She would slip across andsmile to him. She would take the plunge, once and for all--and kisshim and marry him and bear the little half-fishes, his children. Sheworked herself into quite a fever of anticipation.

  But when she saw him, the first evening, sitting stiff and staringflatly in front of him in Chapel, staring away from everything inthe world, at heaven knows what--just as fishes stare--then hisdishumanness came over her again like an arrest, and arrested allher flights of fancy. He stared flatly in front of him, and flatlyset a wall of oblivion between him and her. She trembled and let be.

  After Christmas, however, she had nothing at all to think forwardto. And it was then she seemed to shrink: she seemed positively toshrink.

  "You never spoke to Mr. Witham?" Miss Pinnegar asked.

  "He never spoke to me," replied Alvina.

  "He raised his hat to me."

  "_You_ ought to have married him, Miss Pinnegar," said Alvina. "Hewould have been right for you." And she laughed rather mockingly.

  "There is no need to make provision for me," said Miss Pinnegar.

  And after this, she was a long time before she forgave Alvina, andwas really friendly again. Perhaps she would never have forgiven herif she had not found her weeping rather bitterly in her mother'sabandoned sitting-room.

  Now so far, the story of Alvina is commonplace enough. It is more orless the story of thousands of girls. They all find work. It is theordinary solution of everything. And if we were dealing with anordinary girl we should have to carry on mildly and dully down thelong years of employment; or, at the best, marriage with some dullschool-teacher or office-clerk.

  But we protest that Alvina is not ordinary. Ordinary people,ordinary fates. But extraordinary people, extraordinary fates. Orelse no fate at all. The all-to-one-pattern modern system is toomuch for most extraordinary individuals. It just kills them off orthrows them disused aside.

  There have been enough stories about ordinary people. I should thinkthe Duke of Clarence must even have found malmsey nauseating, whenhe choked and went purple and was really asphyxiated in a butt ofit. And ordinary people are no malmsey. Just ordinary tap-water. Andwe have been drenched and deluged and so nearly drowned in perpetualfloods of ordinariness, that tap-water tends to become a reallyhateful fluid to us. We loathe its out-of-the-tap tastelessness. Wedetest ordinary people. We are in peril of our lives from them: andin peril of our souls too, for they would damn us one and all to theordinary. Every individual should, by nature, have his extraordinarypoints. But nowadays you may look for them with a microscope, theyare so worn-down by the regular machine-friction of our average andmechanical days.

  There was no hope for Alvina in the ordinary. If help came, it wouldhave to come from the extraordinary. Hence the extreme peril of hercase. Hence the bitter fear and humiliation she felt as she drudgedshabbily on in Manchester House, hiding herself as much as possiblefrom public view. Men can suck the heady juice of exaltedself-importance from the bitter weed of failure--failures areusually the most conceited of men: even as was James Houghton. Butto a woman, failure is another matter. For her it means failure tolive, failure to establish her own life on the face of the earth.And this is humiliating, the ultimate humiliation.

  And so the slow years crept round, and the completed coil of eachone was a further heavy, strangling noose. Alvina had passed hertwenty-sixth, twenty-seventh, twenty-eighth and even hertwenty-ninth year. She was in her thirtieth. It ought to be alaughing matter. But it isn't.

  Ach, schon zwanzig Ach, scho
n zwanzig Immer noch durch's Leben tanz' ich

  Jeder, Jeder will mich kuessen Mir das Leben zu versuessen.

  Ach, schon dreissig Ach, schon dreissig Immer Maedchen, Maedchen heiss' ich. In dem Zopf schon graue Haerchen Ach, wie schnell vergehn die Jaehrchen.

  Ach, schon vierzig Ach, schon vierzig Und noch immer Keiner find 'sich. Im gesicht schon graue Flecken Ach, das muss im Spiegel stecken.

  Ach, schon fuenfzig Ach, schon fuenfzig Und noch immer Keiner will 'mich; Soll ich mich mit Baenden zieren Soll ich einen Schleier fuehren? Dann heisst's, die Alte putzt sich, Sie ist fu'fzig, sie ist fu'fzig.

  True enough, in Alvina's pig-tail of soft brown the grey hairs werealready showing. True enough, she still preferred to be thought ofas a girl. And the slow-footed years, so heavy in passing, were soimperceptibly numerous in their accumulation.

  But we are not going to follow our song to its fatal and drearyconclusion. Presumably, the _ordinary_ old-maid heroine nowadays isdestined to die in her fifties, she is not allowed to be thelong-liver of the by-gone novels. Let the song suffice her.

  James Houghton had still another kick in him. He had one last schemeup his sleeve. Looking out on a changing world, it was the popularnovelties which had the last fascination for him. The Skating Rink,like another Charybdis, had all but entangled him in its swirl as hepushed painfully off from the rocks of Throttle-Ha'penny. But he hadescaped, and for almost three years had lain obscurely in port, likea frail and finished bark, selling the last of his bits and bobs,and making little splashes in warehouse-oddments. Miss Pinnegarthought he had really gone quiet.

  But alas, at that degenerated and shabby, down-at-heel club he metanother tempter: a plump man who had been in the music-hall line asa sort of agent. This man had catered for the little shows oflittle towns. He had been in America, out West, doing shows there.He had trailed his way back to England, where he had left his wifeand daughter. But he did not resume his family life. Wherever hewas, his wife was a hundred miles away. Now he found himself more orless stranded in Woodhouse. He had _nearly_ fixed himself up with amusic-hall in the Potteries--as manager: he had all-but got suchanother place at Ickley, in Derbyshire: he had forced his waythrough the industrial and mining townlets, prospecting for any sortof music-hall or show from which he could get a picking. And now, invery low water, he found himself at Woodhouse.

  Woodhouse had a cinema already: a famous Empire run-up by Jordan,the sly builder and decorator who had got on so surprisingly. InJames's younger days, Jordan was an obscure and illiterate nobody.And now he had a motor car, and looked at the tottering James withsardonic contempt, from under his heavy, heavy-lidded dark eyes. Hewas rather stout, frail in health, but silent and insuperable, wasA. W. Jordan.

  "I missed a chance there," said James, fluttering. "I missed a rarechance there. I ought to have been first with a cinema."

  He admitted as much to Mr. May, the stranger who was looking forsome sort of "managing" job. Mr. May, who also was plump and whocould hold his tongue, but whose pink, fat face and light-blue eyeshad a loud look, for all that, put the speech in his pipe and smokedit. Not that he smoked a pipe: always cigarettes. But he seized onJames's admission, as something to be made the most of.

  Now Mr. May's mind, though quick, was pedestrian, not winged. He hadcome to Woodhouse not to look at Jordan's "Empire," but at thetemporary wooden structure that stood in the old CattleMarket--"Wright's Cinematograph and Variety Theatre." Wright's wasnot a superior show, like the Woodhouse Empire. Yet it was alwayspacked with colliers and work-lasses. But unfortunately there was nochance of Mr. May's getting a finger in the Cattle Market pie.Wright's was a family affair. Mr. and Mrs. Wright and a son and twodaughters with their husbands: a tight old lock-up family concern.Yet it was the kind of show that appealed to Mr. May: picturesbetween the turns. The cinematograph was but an item in the program,amidst the more thrilling incidents--to Mr. May--of conjurors,popular songs, five-minute farces, performing birds, and comics. Mr.May was too human to believe that a show should consist entirely ofthe dithering eye-ache of a film.

  He was becoming really depressed by his failure to find any opening.He had his family to keep--and though his honesty was of the varietysort, he had a heavy conscience in the direction of his wife anddaughter. Having been so long in America, he had acquired Americanqualities, one of which was this heavy sort of private innocence,coupled with complacent and natural unscrupulousness in "matters ofbusiness." A man of some odd sensitiveness in material things, heliked to have his clothes neat and spick, his linen immaculate, hisface clean-shaved like a cherub. But alas, his clothes were nowold-fashioned, so that their rather expensive smartness wasdetrimental to his chances, in spite of their scrupulous look ofhaving come almost new out of the bandbox that morning. His rathersmall felt hats still curved jauntily over his full pink face. Buthis eyes looked lugubrious, as if he felt he had not deserved somuch bad luck, and there were bilious lines beneath them.

  So Mr. May, in his room in the Moon and Stars, which was the best innin Woodhouse--he must have a good hotel--lugubriously considered hisposition. Woodhouse offered little or nothing. He must go to Alfreton.And would he find anything there? Ah, where, where in this hatefulworld was there refuge for a man saddled with responsibilities, whowanted to do his best and was given no opportunity? Mr. May hadtravelled in his Pullman car and gone straight to the best hotel in thetown, like any other American with money--in America. He had done itsmart, too. And now, in this grubby penny-picking England, he saw hisboots being worn-down at the heel, and was afraid of being strandedwithout cash even for a railway ticket. If he had to clear out withoutpaying his hotel bill--well, that was the world's fault. He had tolive. But he must perforce keep enough in hand for a ticket toBirmingham. He always said his wife was in London. And he always walkeddown to Lumley to post his letters. He was full of evasions.

  So again he walked down to Lumley to post his letters. And he lookedat Lumley. And he found it a damn god-forsaken hell of a hole. Itwas a long straggle of a dusty road down in the valley, with apale-grey dust and spatter from the pottery, and big chimneysbellying forth black smoke right by the road. Then there was a shortcross-way, up which one saw the iron foundry, a black and rustyplace. A little further on was the railway junction, and beyondthat, more houses stretching to Hathersedge, where the stockingfactories were busy. Compared with Lumley, Woodhouse, whose churchcould be seen sticking up proudly and vulgarly on an eminence, abovetrees and meadow-slopes, was an idyllic heaven.

  Mr. May turned in to the Derby Hotel to have a small whiskey. And ofcourse he entered into conversation.

  "You seem somewhat quiet at Lumley," he said, in his odd,refined-showman's voice. "Have you _nothing at all_ in the way ofamusement?"

  "They all go up to Woodhouse, else to Hathersedge."

  "But couldn't you support some place of your own--some _rival_ toWright's Variety?"

  "Ay--'appen--if somebody started it."

  And so it was that James was inoculated with the idea of starting acinema on the virgin soil of Lumley. To the women he said not aword. But on the very first morning that Mr. May broached thesubject, he became a new man. He fluttered like a boy, he flutteredas if he had just grown wings.

  "Let us go down," said Mr. May, "and look at a site. You pledgeyourself to nothing--you don't compromise yourself. You merely havea site in your mind."

  And so it came to pass that, next morning, this oddly assortedcouple went down to Lumley together. James was very shabby, in hisblack coat and dark grey trousers, and his cheap grey cap. He bentforward as he walked, and still nipped along hurriedly, as ifpursued by fate. His face was thin and still handsome. Odd that hischeap cap, by incongruity, made him look more a gentleman. But itdid. As he walked he glanced alertly hither and thither, and salutedeverybody.

  By his side, somewhat tight and tubby, with his c
hest out and hishead back, went the prim figure of Mr. May, reminding one of aconsequential bird of the smaller species. His plumbago-grey suitfitted exactly--save that it was perhaps a little tight. The jacketand waistcoat were bound with silk braid of exactly the same shadeas the cloth. His soft collar, immaculately fresh, had a dark stripelike his shirt. His boots were black, with grey suede uppers: but a_little_ down at heel. His dark-grey hat was jaunty. Altogether helooked very spruce, though a _little_ behind the fashions: very pinkfaced, though his blue eyes were bilious beneath: very much on thespot, although the spot was the wrong one.

  They discoursed amiably as they went, James bending forward, Mr. Maybending back. Mr. May took the refined man-of-the-world tone.

  "Of course," he said--he used the two words very often, andpronounced the second, rather mincingly, to rhyme with _sauce_: "Ofcourse," said Mr. May, "it's a disgusting place--_disgusting_! Inever was in a worse, in all the _cauce_ of my travels. But_then_--that isn't the point--"

  He spread his plump hands from his immaculate shirt-cuffs.

  "No, it isn't. Decidedly it isn't. That's beside the pointaltogether. What we want--" began James.

  "Is an audience--of _cauce_--! And we have it--! Virgin soil--!

  "Yes, decidedly. Untouched! An unspoiled market."

  "An unspoiled market!" reiterated Mr. May, in full confirmation,though with a faint flicker of a smile. "How very _fortunate_ forus."

  "Properly handled," said James. "Properly handled."

  "Why yes--of _cauce_! Why _shouldn't_ we handle it properly!"

  "Oh, we shall manage that, we shall manage that," came the quick,slightly husky voice of James.

  "Of _cauce_ we shall! Why bless my life, if we can't manage anaudience in Lumley, what _can_ we do."

  "We have a guide in the matter of their taste," said James. "We cansee what Wright's are doing--and Jordan's--and we can go toHathersedge and Knarborough and Alfreton--beforehand, that is--"

  "Why certainly--if you think it's _necessary_. I'll do all that foryou. _And_ I'll interview the managers and the performersthemselves--as if I were a journalist, don't you see. I've done afair amount of journalism, and nothing easier than to get cards fromvarious newspapers."

  "Yes, that's a good suggestion," said James. "As if you were goingto write an account in the newspapers--excellent."

  "And so simple! You pick up just _all_ the information you require."

  "Decidedly--decidedly!" said James.

  And so behold our two heroes sniffing round the sordid backs andwasted meadows and marshy places of Lumley. They found one barrenpatch where two caravans were standing. A woman was peelingpotatoes, sitting on the bottom step of her caravan. A half-castegirl came up with a large pale-blue enamelled jug of water. In thebackground were two booths covered up with coloured canvas.Hammering was heard inside.

  "Good-morning!" said Mr. May, stopping before the woman. "'Tisn'tfair time, is it?"

  "No, it's no fair," said the woman.

  "I see. You're just on your own. Getting on all right?"

  "Fair," said the woman.

  "Only fair! Sorry. Good-morning."

  Mr. May's quick eye, roving round, had seen a negro stoop from underthe canvas that covered one booth. The negro was thin, and lookedyoung but rather frail, and limped. His face was very like that ofthe young negro in Watteau's drawing--pathetic, wistful,north-bitten. In an instant Mr. May had taken all in: the man wasthe woman's husband--they were acclimatized in these regions: thebooth where he had been hammering was a Hoop-La. The other would bea cocoanut-shy. Feeling the instant American dislike for thepresence of a negro, Mr. May moved off with James.

  They found out that the woman was a Lumley woman, that she had twochildren, that the negro was a most quiet and respectable chap, butthat the family kept to itself, and didn't mix up with Lumley.

  "I should think so," said Mr. May, a little disgusted even at thesuggestion.

  Then he proceeded to find out how long they had stood on thisground--three months--how long they would remain--only another week,then they were moving off to Alfreton fair--who was the owner of thepitch--Mr. Bows, the butcher. Ah! And what was the ground used for?Oh, it was building land. But the foundation wasn't very good.

  "The very thing! Aren't we _fortunate_!" cried Mr. May, perking upthe moment they were in the street. But this cheerfulness and briskperkiness was a great strain on him. He missed his eleven o'clockwhiskey terribly--terribly--his pick-me-up! And he daren't confessit to James, who, he knew, was T-T. So he dragged his weary andhollow way up to Woodhouse, and sank with a long "Oh!" of nervousexhaustion in the private bar of the Moon and Stars. He wrinkled hisshort nose. The smell of the place was distasteful to him. The_disgusting_ beer that the colliers drank. Oh!--he _was_ so tired.He sank back with his whiskey and stared blankly, dismally in frontof him. Beneath his eyes he looked more bilious still. He feltthoroughly out of luck, and petulant.

  None the less he sallied out with all his old bright perkiness, thenext time he had to meet James. He hadn't yet broached the questionof costs. When would he be able to get an advance from James? He_must_ hurry the matter forward. He brushed his crisp, curly brownhair carefully before the mirror. How grey he was at the temples! Nowonder, dear me, with such a life! He was in his shirt-sleeves. Hiswaistcoat, with its grey satin back, fitted him tightly. He hadfilled out--but he hadn't developed a corporation. Not at all. Helooked at himself sideways, and feared dismally he was thinner. Hewas one of those men who carry themselves in a birdie fashion, sothat their tail sticks out a little behind, jauntily. Howwonderfully the satin of his waistcoat had worn! He looked at hisshirt-cuffs. They were going. Luckily, when he had had the shirtsmade he had secured enough material for the renewing of cuffs andneckbands. He put on his coat, from which he had flicked thefaintest suspicion of dust, and again settled himself to go out andmeet James on the question of an advance. He simply must have anadvance.

  He didn't get it that day, none the less. The next morning he wasringing for his tea at six o'clock. And before ten he had alreadyflitted to Lumley and back, he had already had a word with Mr. Bows,about that pitch, and, overcoming all his repugnance, a word withthe quiet, frail, sad negro, about Alfreton fair, and the chance ofbuying some sort of collapsible building, for his cinematograph.

  With all this news he met James--not at the shabby club, but in thedeserted reading-room of the so-called Artizans Hall--where never anartizan entered, but only men of James's class. Here they took thechessboard and pretended to start a game. But their conversationwas rapid and secretive.

  Mr. May disclosed all his discoveries. And then he said,tentatively:

  "Hadn't we better think about the financial part now? If we're goingto look round for an erection"--curious that he always called it anerection--"we shall have to know what we are going to spend."

  "Yes--yes. Well--" said James vaguely, nervously, giving a glance atMr. May. Whilst Mr. May abstractedly fingered his black knight.

  "You see at the moment," said Mr. May, "I have no funds that I canrepresent in cash. I have no doubt a little _later_--if we needit--I can find a few hundreds. Many things are _due_--numbers ofthings. But it is so difficult to _collect_ one's dues, particularlyfrom America." He lifted his blue eyes to James Houghton. "Of coursewe can _delay_ for some time, until I get my supplies. Or I can actjust as your manager--you can _employ_ me--"

  He watched James's face. James looked down at the chessboard. He wasfluttering with excitement. He did not want a partner. He wanted tobe in this all by himself. He hated partners.

  "You will agree to be manager, at a fixed salary?" said Jameshurriedly and huskily, his fine fingers slowly rubbing each other,along the sides.

  "Why yes, willingly, if you'll give me the option of becoming yourpartner upon terms of mutual agreement, later on."

  James did not quite like this.

  "What terms are you thinking of?" he asked.

  "Well, it doesn't matter for the moment. Suppose for the m
oment Ienter an engagement as your manager, at a salary, let us say, of--ofwhat, do you think?"

  "So much a week?" said James pointedly.

  "Hadn't we better make it monthly?"

  The two men looked at one another.

  "With a month's notice on either hand?" continued Mr. May.

  "How much?" said James, avaricious.

  Mr. May studied his own nicely kept hands.

  "Well, I don't see how I can do it under twenty pounds a month. Ofcourse it's ridiculously low. In America I _never_ accepted lessthan three hundred dollars a month, and that was my poorest andlowest. But of _cauce_, England's not America--more's the pity."

  But James was shaking his head in a vibrating movement.

  "Impossible!" he replied shrewdly. "Impossible! Twenty pounds amonth? Impossible. I couldn't do it. I couldn't think of it."

  "Then name a figure. Say what you _can_ think of," retorted Mr. May,rather annoyed by this shrewd, shaking head of a dodderingprovincial, and by his own sudden collapse into mean subordination.

  "I can't make it more than ten pounds a month," said James sharply.

  "What!" screamed Mr. May. "What am I to live on? What is my wife tolive on?"

  "I've got to make it pay," said James. "If I've got to make it pay,I must keep down expenses at the beginning."

  "No,--on the contrary. You must be prepared to spend something atthe beginning. If you go in a pinch-and-scrape fashion in thebeginning, you will get nowhere at all. Ten pounds a month! Why it'simpossible! Ten pounds a month! But how am I to _live_?"

  James's head still vibrated in a negative fashion. And the two mencame to no agreement _that_ morning. Mr. May went home more sick andweary than ever, and took his whiskey more biliously. But James waslit with the light of battle.

  Poor Mr. May had to gather together his wits and his sprightlinessfor his next meeting. He had decided he must make a percentage inother ways. He schemed in all known ways. He would accept the tenpounds--but really, did ever you hear of anything so ridiculous inyour life, _ten pounds!_--dirty old screw, dirty, screwing oldwoman! He would accept the ten pounds; but he would get his ownback.

  He flitted down once more to the negro, to ask him of a certainwooden show-house, with section sides and roof, an old travellingtheatre which stood closed on Selverhay Common, and might probablybe sold. He pressed across once more to Mr. Bows. He wrote variousletters and drew up certain notes. And the next morning, by eighto'clock, he was on his way to Selverhay: walking, poor man, the longand uninteresting seven miles on his small and rather tight-shodfeet, through country that had been once beautiful but was nowscrubbled all over with mining villages, on and on up heavy hillsand down others, asking his way from uncouth clowns, till at last hecame to the Common, which wasn't a Common at all, but a sort ofvillage more depressing than usual: naked, high, exposed to heavenand to full barren view.

  There he saw the theatre-booth. It was old and sordid-looking, painteddark-red and dishevelled with narrow, tattered announcements. Thegrass was growing high up the wooden sides. If only it wasn't rotten?He crouched and probed and pierced with his pen-knife, till acountry-policeman in a high helmet like a jug saw him, got off hisbicycle and came stealthily across the grass wheeling the same bicycle,and startled poor Mr. May almost into apoplexy by demanding behind him,in a loud voice:

  "What're you after?"

  Mr. May rose up with flushed face and swollen neck-veins, holdinghis pen-knife in his hand.

  "Oh," he said, "good-morning." He settled his waistcoat and glancedover the tall, lanky constable and the glittering bicycle. "I wastaking a look at this old erection, with a view to buying it. I'mafraid it's going rotten from the bottom."

  "Shouldn't wonder," said the policeman suspiciously, watching Mr.May shut the pocket knife.

  "I'm afraid that makes it useless for my purpose," said Mr. May.

  The policeman did not deign to answer.

  "Could you tell me where I can find out about it, anyway?" Mr. Mayused his most affable, man of the world manner. But the policemancontinued to stare him up and down, as if he were some marvellousspecimen unknown on the normal, honest earth.

  "What, find out?" said the constable.

  "About being able to buy it," said Mr. May, a little testily. It waswith great difficulty he preserved his man-to-man openness andbrightness.

  "They aren't here," said the constable.

  "Oh indeed! Where _are_ they? And _who_ are they?"

  The policeman eyed him more suspiciously than ever.

  "Cowlard's their name. An' they live in Offerton when they aren'ttravelling."

  "Cowlard--thank you." Mr. May took out his pocket-book."C-o-w-l-a-r-d--is that right? And the address, please?"

  "I dunno th' street. But you can find out from the Three Bells.That's Missis' sister."

  "The Three Bells--thank you. Offerton did you say?"

  "Yes."

  "Offerton!--where's that?"

  "About eight mile."

  "Really--and how do you get there?"

  "You can walk--or go by train."

  "Oh, there is a station?"

  "Station!" The policeman looked at him as if he were either acriminal or a fool.

  "Yes. There _is_ a station there?"

  "Ay--biggest next to Chesterfield--"

  Suddenly it dawned on Mr. May.

  "Oh-h!" he said. "You mean _Alfreton_--"

  "Alfreton, yes." The policeman was now convinced the man was awrong-'un. But fortunately he was not a pushing constable, he didnot want to rise in the police-scale: thought himself safest at thebottom.

  "And which is the way to the station here?" asked Mr. May.

  "Do yer want Pinxon or Bull'ill?"

  "Pinxon or Bull'ill?"

  "There's two," said the policeman.

  "For Selverhay?" asked Mr. May.

  "Yes, them's the two."

  "And which is the best?"

  "Depends what trains is runnin'. Sometimes yer have to wait an houror two--"

  "You don't know the trains, do you--?"

  "There's one in th' afternoon--but I don't know if it'd be gone bythe time you get down."

  "To where?"

  "Bull'ill."

  "Oh Bull'ill! Well, perhaps I'll try. Could you tell me the way?"

  When, after an hour's painful walk, Mr. May came to Bullwell Stationand found there was no train till six in the evening, he felt hewas earning every penny he would ever get from Mr. Houghton.

  The first intelligence which Miss Pinnegar and Alvina gathered ofthe coming adventure was given them when James announced that he hadlet the shop to Marsden, the grocer next door. Marsden had agreed totake over James's premises at the same rent as that of the premiseshe already occupied, and moreover to do all alterations and put inall fixtures himself. This was a grand scoop for James: not a pennywas it going to cost him, and the rent was clear profit.

  "But when?" cried Miss Pinnegar.

  "He takes possession on the first of October."

  "Well--it's a good idea. The shop isn't worth while," said MissPinnegar.

  "Certainly it isn't," said James, rubbing his hands: a sign that hewas rarely excited and pleased.

  "And you'll just retire, and live quietly," said Miss Pinnegar.

  "I shall see," said James. And with those fatal words he wafted awayto find Mr. May.

  James was now nearly seventy years old. Yet he nipped about like aleaf in the wind. Only, it was a frail leaf.

  "Father's got something going," said Alvina, in a warning voice.

  "I believe he has," said Miss Pinnegar pensively. "I wonder what itis, now."

  "I can't imagine," laughed Alvina. "But I'll bet it's somethingawful--else he'd have told us."

  "Yes," said Miss Pinnegar slowly. "Most likely he would. I wonderwhat it can be."

  "I haven't an idea," said Alvina.

  Both women were so retired, they had heard nothing of James's littletrips down to Lumley. So they watched like cats for their ma
n'sreturn, at dinner-time.

  Miss Pinnegar saw him coming along talking excitedly to Mr. May,who, all in grey, with his chest perkily stuck out like a robin, waslooking rather pinker than usual. Having come to an agreement, hehad ventured on whiskey and soda in honour, and James had actuallytaken a glass of port.

  "Alvina!" Miss Pinnegar called discreetly down the shop. "Alvina!Quick!"

  Alvina flew down to peep round the corner of the shop window. Therestood the two men, Mr. May like a perky, pink-faced grey birdstanding cocking his head in attention to James Houghton, andoccasionally catching James by the lapel of his coat, in a vaindesire to get a word in, whilst James's head nodded and his facesimply wagged with excited speech, as he skipped from foot to foot,and shifted round his listener.

  "Who _ever_ can that common-looking man be?" said Miss Pinnegar, herheart going down to her boots.

  "I can't imagine," said Alvina, laughing at the comic sight.

  "Don't you think he's dreadful?" said the poor elderly woman.

  "Perfectly impossible. Did ever you see such a pink face?"

  "_And_ the braid binding!" said Miss Pinnegar in indignation.

  "Father might almost have sold him the suit," said Alvina.

  "Let us hope he hasn't sold your father, that's all," said MissPinnegar.

  The two men had moved a few steps further towards home, and thewomen prepared to flee indoors. Of course it was frightfully wrongto be standing peeping in the high street at all. But who couldconsider the proprieties now?

  "They've stopped again," said Miss Pinnegar, recalling Alvina.

  The two men were having a few more excited words, their voices justaudible.

  "I do wonder who he can be," murmured Miss Pinnegar miserably.

  "In the theatrical line, I'm sure," declared Alvina.

  "Do you think so?" said Miss Pinnegar. "Can't be! Can't be!"

  "He couldn't be anything else, don't you think?"

  "Oh I _can't_ believe it, I can't."

  But now Mr. May had laid his detaining hand on James's arm. And nowhe was shaking his employer by the hand. And now James, in his cheaplittle cap, was smiling a formal farewell. And Mr. May, with agraceful wave of his grey-suede-gloved hand, was turning back to theMoon and Stars, strutting, whilst James was running home ontip-toe, in his natural hurry.

  Alvina hastily retreated, but Miss Pinnegar stood it out. Jamesstarted as he nipped into the shop entrance, and found herconfronting him.

  "Oh--Miss Pinnegar!" he said, and made to slip by her.

  "Who was that man?" she asked sharply, as if James were a child whomshe could endure no more.

  "Eh? I beg your pardon?" said James, starting back.

  "Who was that man?"

  "Eh? Which man?"

  James was a little deaf, and a little husky.

  "The man--" Miss Pinnegar turned to the door. "There! That man!"

  James also came to the door, and peered out as if he expected to seea sight. The sight of Mr. May's tight and perky back, the jauntylittle hat and the grey suede hands retreating quite surprised him.He was angry at being introduced to the sight.

  "Oh," he said. "That's my manager." And he turned hastily down theshop, asking for his dinner.

  Miss Pinnegar stood for some moments in pure oblivion in the shopentrance. Her consciousness left her. When she recovered, she feltshe was on the brink of hysteria and collapse. But she hardenedherself once more, though the effort cost her a year of her life.She had never collapsed, she had never fallen into hysteria.

  She gathered herself together, though bent a little as from a blow,and, closing the shop door, followed James to the living room, likethe inevitable. He was eating his dinner, and seemed oblivious ofher entry. There was a smell of Irish stew.

  "What manager?" said Miss Pinnegar, short, silent, and inevitable inthe doorway.

  But James was in one of his abstractions, his trances.

  "What manager?" persisted Miss Pinnegar.

  But he still bent unknowing over his plate and gobbled his Irishstew.

  "Mr. Houghton!" said Miss Pinnegar, in a sudden changed voice. Shehad gone a livid yellow colour. And she gave a queer, sharp littlerap on the table with her hand.

  James started. He looked up bewildered, as one startled out ofsleep.

  "Eh?" he said, gaping. "Eh?"

  "Answer me," said Miss Pinnegar. "What manager?"

  "Manager? Eh? Manager? What manager?"

  She advanced a little nearer, menacing in her black dress. Jamesshrank.

  "What manager?" he re-echoed. "My manager. The manager of mycinema."

  Miss Pinnegar looked at him, and looked at him, and did not speak.In that moment all the anger which was due to him from all womanhoodwas silently discharged at him, like a black bolt of silentelectricity. But Miss Pinnegar, the engine of wrath, felt she wouldburst.

  "Cinema! Cinema! Do you mean to tell me--" but she was reallysuffocated, the vessels of her heart and breast were bursting. Shehad to lean her hand on the table.

  It was a terrible moment. She looked ghastly and terrible, with hermask-like face and her stony eyes and her bluish lips. Some fearfulthunderbolt seemed to fall. James withered, and was still. There wassilence for minutes, a suspension.

  And in those minutes, she finished with him. She finished with himfor ever. When she had sufficiently recovered, she went to herchair, and sat down before her plate. And in a while she began toeat, as if she were alone.

  Poor Alvina, for whom this had been a dreadful and uncalled-formoment, had looked from one to another, and had also dropped herhead to her plate. James too, with bent head, had forgotten to eat.Miss Pinnegar ate very slowly, alone.

  "Don't you want your dinner, Alvina?" she said at length.

  "Not as much as I did," said Alvina.

  "Why not?" said Miss Pinnegar. She sounded short, almost like MissFrost. Oddly like Miss Frost.

  Alvina took up her fork and began to eat automatically.

  "I always think," said Miss Pinnegar, "Irish stew is more tasty witha bit of Swede in it."

  "So do I, really," said Alvina. "But Swedes aren't come yet."

  "Oh! Didn't we have some on Tuesday?"

  "No, they were yellow turnips--but they weren't Swedes."

  "Well then, yellow turnip. I like a little yellow turnip," said MissPinnegar.

  "I might have put some in, if I'd known," said Alvina.

  "Yes. We will another time," said Miss Pinnegar.

  Not another word about the cinema: not another breath. As soon asJames had eaten his plum tart, he ran away.

  "What can he have been doing?" said Alvina when he had gone.

  "Buying a cinema show--and that man we saw is his manager. It'squite simple."

  "But what are we going to do with a cinema show?" said Alvina.

  "It's what is _he_ going to do. It doesn't concern me. It's noconcern of mine. I shall not lend him anything, I shall not thinkabout it, it will be the same to me as if there _were_ no cinema.Which is all I have to say," announced Miss Pinnegar.

  "But he's gone and done it," said Alvina.

  "Then let him go through with it. It's no affair of mine. After all,your father's affairs don't concern me. It would be impertinent ofme to introduce myself into them."

  "They don't concern _me_ very much," said Alvina.

  "You're different. You're his daughter. He's no connection of mine,I'm glad to say. I pity your mother."

  "Oh, but he was always alike," said Alvina.

  "That's where it is," said Miss Pinnegar.

  There was something fatal about her feelings. Once they had gonecold, they would never warm up again. As well try to warm up afrozen mouse. It only putrifies.

  But poor Miss Pinnegar after this looked older, and seemed to get alittle round-backed. And the things she said reminded Alvina sooften of Miss Frost.

  James fluttered into conversation with his daughter the nextevening, after Miss Pinnegar had retired.

  "I told you I ha
d bought a cinematograph building," said James. "Weare negotiating for the machinery now: the dynamo and so on."

  "But where is it to be?" asked Alvina.

  "Down at Lumley. I'll take you and show you the site tomorrow. Thebuilding--it is a frame-section travelling theatre--will arrive onThursday--next Thursday."

  "But who is in with you, father?"

  "I am quite alone--quite alone," said James Houghton. "I have foundan excellent manager, who knows the whole business thoroughly--a Mr.May. Very nice man. Very nice man."

  "Rather short and dressed in grey?"

  "Yes. And I have been thinking--if Miss Pinnegar will take the cashand issue tickets: if she will take over the ticket-office: and youwill play the piano: and if Mr. May learns the control of themachine--he is having lessons now--: and if I am the indoorsattendant, we shan't need any more staff."

  "Miss Pinnegar won't take the cash, father."

  "Why not? Why not?"

  "I can't say why not. But she won't do anything--and if I were you Iwouldn't ask her."

  There was a pause.

  "Oh, well," said James, huffy. "She isn't indispensable."

  And Alvina was to play the piano! Here was a blow for her! Shehurried off to her bedroom to laugh and cry at once. She just sawherself at that piano, banging off the _Merry Widow Waltz_, and, intender moments, _The Rosary_. Time after time, _The Rosary_. Whilethe pictures flickered and the audience gave shouts and some grubbyboy called "Chot-let, penny a bar! Chot-let, penny a bar! Chot-let,penny a bar!" away she banged at another tune.

  What a sight for the gods! She burst out laughing. And at the sametime, she thought of her mother and Miss Frost, and she cried as ifher heart would break. And then all kinds of comic and incongruoustunes came into her head. She imagined herself dressing up with mostpriceless variations. _Linger Longer Lucy_, for example. She beganto spin imaginary harmonies and variations in her head, upon thetheme of _Linger Longer Lucy_.

  "Linger longer Lucy, linger longer Loo. How I love to linger longer linger long o' you. Listen while I sing, love, promise you'll be true, And linger longer longer linger linger longer Loo."

  All the tunes that used to make Miss Frost so angry. All the DreamWaltzes and Maiden's Prayers, and the awful songs.

  "For in Spooney-ooney Island Is there any one cares for me? In Spooney-ooney Island Why surely there ought to be--"

  Poor Miss Frost! Alvina imagined herself leading a chorus ofcollier louts, in a bad atmosphere of "Woodbines" and oranges,during the intervals when the pictures had collapsed.

  "How'd you like to spoon with me? How'd you like to spoon with me? (_Why ra-ther!_)

  Underneath the oak-tree nice and shady Calling me your tootsey-wootsey lady? How'd you like to hug and squeeze, (_Just try me!_)

  Dandle me upon your knee, Calling me your little lovey-dovey-- How'd you like to spoon with me? (_Oh-h--Go on!_)"

  Alvina worked herself into quite a fever, with her imaginings.

  In the morning she told Miss Pinnegar.

  "Yes," said Miss Pinnegar, "you see me issuing tickets, don't you?Yes--well. I'm afraid he will have to do that part himself. Andyou're going to play the piano. It's a disgrace! It's a disgrace!It's a disgrace! It's a mercy Miss Frost and your mother are dead.He's lost every bit of shame--every bit--if he ever had any--which Idoubt very much. Well, all I can say, I'm glad I am not concerned.And I'm sorry for you, for being his daughter. I'm heart sorry foryou, I am. Well, well--no sense of shame--no sense of shame--"

  And Miss Pinnegar padded out of the room.

  Alvina walked down to Lumley and was shown the site and wasintroduced to Mr. May. He bowed to her in his best American fashion,and treated her with admirable American deference.

  "Don't you think," he said to her, "it's an admirable scheme?"

  "Wonderful," she replied.

  "Of cauce," he said, "the erection will be a merely temporary one.Of cauce it won't be anything to _look_ at: just an old woodentravelling theatre. But _then_--all we need is to make a start."

  "And you are going to work the film?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said with pride, "I spend every evening with the operatorat Marsh's in Knarborough. Very interesting I find it--veryinteresting indeed. And _you_ are going to play the piano?" he said,perking his head on one side and looking at her archly.

  "So father says," she answered.

  "But what do _you_ say?" queried Mr. May.

  "I suppose I don't have any say."

  "Oh but _surely_. Surely you won't do it if you don't wish to. Thatwould never do. Can't we hire some young fellow--?" And he turned toMr. Houghton with a note of query.

  "Alvina can play as well as anybody in Woodhouse," said James. "Wemustn't add to our expenses. And wages in particular--"

  "But surely Miss Houghton will have her wage. The labourer is worthyof his hire. Surely! Even of _her_ hire, to put it in the feminine.And for the same wage you could get some unimportant fellow withstrong wrists. I'm afraid it will tire Miss Houghton to death--"

  "I don't think so," said James. "I don't think so. Many of the turnsshe will not need to accompany--"

  "Well, if it comes to that," said Mr. May, "I can accompany some ofthem myself, when I'm not operating the film. I'm not an expertpianist--but I can play a little, you know--" And he trilled hisfingers up and down an imaginary keyboard in front of Alvina,cocking his eye at her smiling a little archly.

  "I'm sure," he continued, "I can accompany anything except a manjuggling dinner-plates--and then I'd be afraid of making him dropthe plates. But songs--oh, songs! _Con molto espressione!_"

  And again he trilled the imaginary keyboard, and smiled his ratherfat cheeks at Alvina.

  She began to like him. There was something a little dainty abouthim, when you knew him better--really rather fastidious. A showman,true enough! Blatant too. But fastidiously so.

  He came fairly frequently to Manchester House after this. MissPinnegar was rather stiff with him and he did not like her. But hewas very happy sitting chatting tete-a-tete with Alvina.

  "Where is your wife?" said Alvina to him.

  "My wife! Oh, don't speak of _her_," he said comically. "She's inLondon."

  "Why not speak of her?" asked Alvina.

  "Oh, every reason for not speaking of her. We don't get on at _all_well, she and I."

  "What a pity," said Alvina.

  "Dreadful pity! But what are you to do?" He laughed comically. Thenhe became grave. "No," he said. "She's an impossible person."

  "I see," said Alvina.

  "I'm sure you _don't_ see," said Mr. May. "Don't--" and here he laidhis hand on Alvina's arm--"don't run away with the idea that she's_immoral_! You'd never make a greater mistake. Oh dear me, no.Morality's her strongest point. Live on three lettuce leaves, andgive the rest to the char. That's her. Oh, dreadful times we had inthose first years. We only lived together for three years. But dear_me_! how awful it was!"

  "Why?"

  "There was no pleasing the woman. She wouldn't eat. If I said to her'What shall we have for supper, Grace?' as sure as anything she'danswer 'Oh, I shall take a bath when I go to bed--that will be mysupper.' She was one of these advanced vegetarian women, don't youknow."

  "How extraordinary!" said Alvina.

  "Extraordinary! I should think so. Extraordinary hard lines on _me_.And she wouldn't let _me_ eat either. She followed me to the kitchen ina _fury_ while I cooked for myself. Why imagine! I prepared a dish ofchampignons: oh, most _beautiful_ champignons, beautiful--and I putthem on the stove to fry in butter: beautiful young champignons. I'mhanged if she didn't go into the kitchen while my back was turned, andpour a pint of old carrot-water into the pan. I was _furious_.Imagine!--beautiful fresh young champignons--"

  "Fresh mushrooms," said Alvina. />
  "Mushrooms--most beautiful things in the world. Oh! don't you thinkso?" And he rolled his eyes oddly to heaven.

  "They _are_ good," said Alvina.

  "I should say so. And swamped--_swamped_ with her dirty old carrotwater. Oh I was so angry. And all she could say was, 'Well, Ididn't want to waste it!' Didn't want to waste her old carrot water,and so _ruined_ my champignons. _Can_ you imagine such a person?"

  "It must have been trying."

  "I should think it was. I lost weight. I lost I don't know how manypounds, the first year I was married to that woman. She hated me toeat. Why, one of her great accusations against me, at the last, waswhen she said: 'I've looked round the larder,' she said to me, 'andseen it was quite empty, and I thought to myself: _Now_ he _can't_cook a supper! And _then_ you did!' There! What do you think ofthat? The spite of it! 'And _then_ you did!'"

  "What did she expect you to live on?" asked Alvina.

  "Nibble a lettuce leaf with her, and drink water from the tap--andthen elevate myself with a Bernard Shaw pamphlet. That was the sortof woman she was. All it gave _me_ was gas in the stomach."

  "So overbearing!" said Alvina.

  "Oh!" he turned his eyes to heaven, and spread his hands. "I didn'tbelieve my senses. I didn't know such people existed. And herfriends! Oh the dreadful friends she had--these Fabians! Oh, theireugenics. They wanted to examine my private morals, for eugenicreasons. Oh, you can't imagine such a state. Worse than the SpanishInquisition. And I stood it for three years. _How_ I stood it, Idon't know--"

  "Now don't you see her?"

  "Never! I never let her know where I am! But I _support_ her, ofcauce."

  "And your daughter?"

  "Oh, she's the dearest child in the world. I saw her at a friend'swhen I came back from America. Dearest little thing in the world.But of _cauce_ suspicious of me. Treats me as if she didn't _know_me--"

  "What a pity!"

  "Oh--unbearable!" He spread his plump, manicured hands, on onefinger of which was a green intaglio ring.

  "How old is your daughter?"

  "Fourteen."

  "What is her name?"

  "Gemma. She was born in Rome, where I was managing for Miss MaudCallum, the _danseuse_."

  Curious the intimacy Mr. May established with Alvina at once. Butit was all purely verbal, descriptive. He made no physical advances.On the contrary, he was like a dove-grey, disconsolate bird peckingthe crumbs of Alvina's sympathy, and cocking his eye all the time towatch that she did not advance one step towards him. If he had seenthe least sign of coming-on-ness in her, he would have fluttered offin a great dither. Nothing _horrified_ him more than a woman who wascoming-on towards him. It horrified him, it exasperated him, it madehim hate the whole tribe of women: horrific two-legged cats withoutwhiskers. If he had been a bird, his innate horror of a cat wouldhave been such. He liked the _angel_, and particularly theangel-mother in woman. Oh!--that he worshipped. But coming-on-ness!

  So he never wanted to be seen out-of-doors with Alvina; if he mether in the street he bowed and passed on: bowed very deep andreverential, indeed, but passed on, with his little back a littlemore strutty and assertive than ever. Decidedly he turned his backon her in public.

  But Miss Pinnegar, a regular old, grey, dangerous she-puss, eyed himfrom the corner of her pale eye, as he turned tail.

  "So unmanly!" she murmured. "In his dress, in his way, ineverything--so unmanly."

  "If I was you, Alvina," she said, "I shouldn't see so much of Mr.May, in the drawing-room. People will talk."

  "I should almost feel flattered," laughed Alvina.

  "What do you mean?" snapped Miss Pinnegar.

  None the less, Mr. May was dependable in matters of business. He wasup at half-past five in the morning, and by seven was well on hisway. He sailed like a stiff little ship before a steady breeze,hither and thither, out of Woodhouse and back again, and across fromside to side. Sharp and snappy, he was, on the spot. He trussedhimself up, when he was angry or displeased, and sharp, snip-snapcame his words, rather like scissors.

  "But how is it--" he attacked Arthur Witham--"that the gas isn'tconnected with the main yet? It was to be ready yesterday."

  "We've had to wait for the fixings for them brackets," said Arthur.

  "_Had_ to _wait_ for _fixings_! But didn't you know a fortnight agothat you'd want the fixings?"

  "I thought we should have some as would do."

  "Oh! you thought so! Really! Kind of you to think so. And have youjust thought about those that are coming, or have you made sure?"

  Arthur looked at him sullenly. He hated him. But Mr. May's sharptouch was not to be foiled.

  "I hope you'll go further than _thinking_," said Mr. May. "Thinkingseems such a slow process. And when do you expect the fittings--?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "What! Another day! Another day _still!_ But you're strangelyindifferent to time, in your line of business. Oh! _Tomorrow!_Imagine it! Two days late already, and then _tomorrow!_ Well I hopeby tomorrow you mean _Wednesday_, and not tomorrow's tomorrow, orsome other absurd and fanciful date that you've just _thoughtabout_. But now, _do_ have the thing finished by tomorrow--" here helaid his hand cajoling on Arthur's arm. "You promise me it will allbe ready by tomorrow, don't you?"

  "Yes, I'll do it if anybody could do it."

  "Don't say 'if anybody could do it.' Say it shall be done."

  "It shall if I can possibly manage it--"

  "Oh--very well then. Mind you manage it--and thank you _very_ much.I shall be _most_ obliged, if it _is_ done."

  Arthur was annoyed, but he was kept to the scratch. And so, early inOctober the place was ready, and Woodhouse was plastered withplacards announcing "Houghton's Pleasure Palace." Poor Mr. May couldnot but see an irony in the Palace part of the phrase. "We canguarantee the _pleasure_," he said. "But personally, I feel I can'ttake the responsibility for the palace."

  But James, to use the vulgar expression, was in his eye-holes.

  "Oh, father's in his eye-holes," said Alvina to Mr. May.

  "Oh!" said Mr. May, puzzled and concerned.

  But it merely meant that James was having the time of his life. Hewas drawing out announcements. First was a batch of vermilionstrips, with the mystic script, in big black letters: Houghton'sPicture Palace, underneath which, quite small: Opens at Lumley onOctober 7th, at 6:30 P.M. Everywhere you went, these vermilion andblack bars sprang from the wall at you. Then there were othernotices, in delicate pale-blue and pale red, like a genuine theatrenotice, giving full programs. And beneath these a broad-letternotice announced, in green letters on a yellow ground: "Final andUltimate Clearance Sale at Houghton's, Knarborough Road, on Friday,September 30th. Come and Buy Without Price."

  James was in his eye-holes. He collected all his odds and ends fromevery corner of Manchester House. He sorted them in heaps, andmarked the heaps in his own mind. And then he let go. He pasted upnotices all over the window and all over the shop: "Take what youwant and Pay what you Like."

  He and Miss Pinnegar kept shop. The women flocked in. They turnedthings over. It nearly killed James to take the prices they offered.But take them he did. But he exacted that they should buy onearticle at a time. "One piece at a time, if you don't mind," hesaid, when they came up with their three-a-penny handfuls. It wasnot till later in the evening that he relaxed this rule.

  Well, by eleven o'clock he had cleared out a good deal--really, avery great deal--and many women had bought what they didn't want, attheir own figure. Feverish but content, James shut the shop for thelast time. Next day, by eleven, he had removed all his belongings,the door that connected the house with the shop was screwed up fast,the grocer strolled in and looked round his bare extension, took thekey from James, and immediately set his boy to paste a new notice inthe window, tearing down all James's announcements. Poor James hadto run round, down Knarborough Road, and down Wellington Street asfar as the Livery Stable, then down long narrow passages, before hecould get into his own house, from his
own shop.

  But he did not mind. Every hour brought the first performance of hisPleasure Palace nearer. He was satisfied with Mr. May: he had toadmit that he was satisfied with Mr. May. The Palace stood firm atlast--oh, it was so ricketty when it arrived!--and it glowed with anew coat, all over, of dark-red paint, like ox-blood. It wastittivated up with a touch of lavender and yellow round the door andround the decorated wooden eaving. It had a new wooden slope up tothe doors--and inside, a new wooden floor, with red-velvet seats infront, before the curtain, and old chapel-pews behind. The collieryouths recognized the pews.

  "Hey! These 'ere's the pews out of the old Primitive Chapel."

  "Sorry ah! We'n come ter hear t' parson."

  Theme for endless jokes. And the Pleasure Palace was christened, insome lucky stroke, Houghton's Endeavour, a reference to thatparticular Chapel effort called the Christian Endeavour, whereAlvina and Miss Pinnegar both figured.

  "Wheer art off, Sorry?"

  "Lumley."

  "Houghton's Endeavour?"

  "Ah."

  "Rotten."

  So, when one laconic young collier accosted another. But weanticipate.

  Mr. May had worked hard to get a program for the first week. Hispictures were: "The Human Bird," which turned out to be a ski-ingfilm from Norway, purely descriptive; "The Pancake," a humorousfilm: and then his grand serial: "The Silent Grip." And then, forTurns, his first item was Miss Poppy Traherne, a lady in innumerablepetticoats, who could whirl herself into anything you like, from anarum lily in green stockings to a rainbow and a Catherine wheel anda cup-and-saucer: marvellous, was Miss Poppy Traherne. The next turnwas The Baxter Brothers, who ran up and down each other's backs andup and down each other's front, and stood on each other's heads andon their own heads, and perched for a moment on each other'sshoulders, as if each of them was a flight of stairs with a landing,and the three of them were three flights, three storeys up, the topflight continually running down and becoming the bottom flight,while the middle flight collapsed and became a horizontal corridor.

  Alvina had to open the performance by playing an overture called"Welcome All": a ridiculous piece. She was excited and unhappy. Onthe Monday morning there was a rehearsal, Mr. May conducting. Sheplayed "Welcome All," and then took the thumbed sheets which MissPoppy Traherne carried with her. Miss Poppy was rather exacting. Asshe whirled her skirts she kept saying: "A little faster,please"--"A little slower"--in a rather haughty, official voice thatwas somewhat muffled by the swim of her drapery. "Can you give it_expression_?" she cried, as she got the arum lily in full blow, andthere was a sound of real ecstasy in her tones. But why she shouldhave called "Stronger! Stronger!" as she came into being as a cupand saucer, Alvina could not imagine: unless Miss Poppy was fancyingherself a strong cup of tea.

  However, she subsided into her mere self, panted frantically, andthen, in a hoarse voice, demanded if she was in the bare front ofthe show. She scorned to count "Welcome All." Mr. May said Yes. Shewas the first item. Whereupon she began to raise a dust. Mr.Houghton said, hurriedly interposing, that he meant to make a littleopening speech. Miss Poppy eyed him as if he were a cuckoo-clock,and she had to wait till he'd finished cuckooing. Then she said:

  "That's not every night. There's six nights to a week." James wasproperly snubbed. It ended by Mr. May metamorphizing himself into apug dog: he said he had got the "costoom" in his bag: and doing alump-of-sugar scene with one of the Baxter Brothers, as a brieffirst item. Miss Poppy's professional virginity was thus saved fromoutrage.

  At the back of the stage there was half-a-yard of curtain screeningthe two dressing-rooms, ladies and gents. In her spare time Alvinasat in the ladies' dressing room, or in its lower doorway, for therewas not room right inside. She watched the ladies making up--shegave some slight assistance. She saw the men's feet, in their shabbypumps, on the other side of the curtain, and she heard the men'sgruff voices. Often a slangy conversation was carried on through thecurtain--for most of the turns were acquainted with each other: veryaffable before each other's faces, very sniffy behind each other'sbacks.

  Poor Alvina was in a state of bewilderment. She was extremelynice--oh, much too nice with the female turns. They treated her witha sort of off-hand friendliness, and they snubbed and patronized herand were a little spiteful with her because Mr. May treated her withattention and deference. She felt bewildered, a little excited, andas if she was not herself.

  The first evening actually came. Her father had produced a pinkcrepe de Chine blouse and a back-comb massed with brilliants--bothof which she refused to wear. She stuck to her black blouse andblack shirt, and her simple hair-dressing. Mr. May said "Of cauce!She wasn't intended to attract attention to herself." Miss Pinnegaractually walked down the hill with her, and began to cry when shesaw the ox-blood red erection, with its gas-flares in front. It wasthe first time she had seen it. She went on with Alvina to thelittle stage door at the back, and up the steps into the scrap ofdressing-room. But she fled out again from the sight of Miss Poppyin her yellow hair and green knickers with green-lace frills. PoorMiss Pinnegar! She stood outside on the trodden grass behind theBand of Hope, and really cried. Luckily she had put a veil on.

  She went valiantly round to the front entrance, and climbed thesteps. The crowd was just coming. There was James's face peepinginside the little ticket-window.

  "One!" he said officially, pushing out the ticket. And then herecognized her. "Oh," he said, "_You're_ not going to pay."

  "Yes I am," she said, and she left her fourpence, and James'scoppery, grimy fingers scooped it in, as the youth behind MissPinnegar shoved her forward.

  "Arf way down, fourpenny," said the man at the door, poking her inthe direction of Mr. May, who wanted to put her in the red velvet.But she marched down one of the pews, and took her seat.

  The place was crowded with a whooping, whistling, excited audience.The curtain was down. James had let it out to his fellow tradesmen,and it represented a patchwork of local adverts. There was a fatporker and a fat pork-pie, and the pig was saying: "You all knowwhere to find me. Inside the crust at Frank Churchill's, KnarboroughRoad, Woodhouse." Round about the name of W. H. Johnson floated abowler hat, a collar-and-necktie, a pair of braces and an umbrella.And so on and so on. It all made you feel very homely. But MissPinnegar was sadly hot and squeezed in her pew.

  Time came, and the colliers began to drum their feet. It was exactlythe excited, crowded audience Mr. May wanted. He darted out to driveJames round in front of the curtain. But James, fascinated by rakingin the money so fast, could not be shifted from the pay-box, and thetwo men nearly had a fight. At last Mr. May was seen shooing James,like a scuffled chicken, down the side gangway and on to the stage.

  James before the illuminated curtain of local adverts, bowing andbeginning and not making a single word audible! The crowd quieteditself, the eloquence flowed on. The crowd was sick of James, andbegan to shuffle. "Come down, come down!" hissed Mr. May franticallyfrom in front. But James did not move. He would flow on all night.Mr. May waved excitedly at Alvina, who sat obscurely at the piano,and darted on to the stage. He raised his voice and drowned James.James ceased to wave his penny-blackened hands, Alvina struck up"Welcome All" as loudly and emphatically as she could.

  And all the time Miss Pinnegar sat like a sphinx--like a sphinx.What she thought she did not know herself. But stolidly she staredat James, and anxiously she glanced sideways at the pounding Alvina.She knew Alvina had to pound until she received the cue that Mr. Maywas fitted in his pug-dog "Costoom."

  A twitch of the curtain. Alvina wound up her final flourish, thecurtain rose, and:

  "Well really!" said Miss Pinnegar, out loud.

  There was Mr. May as a pug dog begging, too lifelike and tooimpossible. The audience shouted. Alvina sat with her hands in herlap. The Pug was a great success.

  Curtain! A few bars of Toreador--and then Miss Poppy's sheets ofmusic. Soft music. Miss Poppy was on the ground under a green scarf.And so the accumulating dilation, on
to the whirling climax of theperfect arum lily. Sudden curtain, and a yell of ecstasy from thecolliers. Of all blossoms, the arum, the arum lily is most mysticaland portentous.

  Now a crash and rumble from Alvina's piano. This is the storm fromwhence the rainbow emerges. Up goes the curtain--Miss Poppy twirlingtill her skirts lift as in a breeze, rise up and become a rainbowabove her now darkened legs. The footlights are all butextinguished. Miss Poppy is all but extinguished also.

  The rainbow is not so moving as the arum lily. But the Catherinewheel, done at the last moment on one leg and then an amazing leapinto the air backwards, again brings down the house.

  Miss Poppy herself sets all store on her cup and saucer. But theaudience, vulgar as ever, cannot quite see it.

  And so, Alvina slips away with Miss Poppy's music-sheets, while Mr.May sits down like a professional at the piano and makes things flyfor the up-and-down-stairs Baxter Bros. Meanwhile, Alvina's paleface hovering like a ghost in the side darkness, as it were underthe stage.

  The lamps go out: gurglings and kissings--and then the dither on thescreen: "The Human Bird," in awful shivery letters. It's not a verygood machine, and Mr. May is not a very good operator. Audiencedistinctly critical. Lights up--an "Chot-let, penny a bar! Chot-let,penny a bar!" even as in Alvina's dream--and then "The Pancake"--sothe first half over. Lights up for the interval.

  Miss Pinnegar sighed and folded her hands. She looked neither toright nor to left. In spite of herself, in spite of outraged shameand decency, she was excited. But she felt such excitement was notwholesome. In vain the boy most pertinently yelled "Chot-let" ather. She looked neither to right nor left. But when she saw Alvinanodding to her with a quick smile from the side gangway under thestage, she almost burst into tears. It was too much for her, all atonce. And Alvina looked almost indecently excited. As she slippedacross in front of the audience, to the piano, to play the seductive"Dream Waltz!" she looked almost fussy, like her father. James,needless to say, flittered and hurried hither and thither around theaudience and the stage, like a wagtail on the brink of a pool.

  The second half consisted of a comic drama acted by two BaxterBros., disguised as women, and Miss Poppy disguised as a man--with acouple of locals thrown in to do the guardsman and the Count. Thiswent very well. The winding up was the first instalment of "TheSilent Grip."

  When lights went up and Alvina solemnly struck "God Save OurGracious King," the audience was on its feet and not very quiet,evidently hissing with excitement like doughnuts in the pan evenwhen the pan is taken off the fire. Mr. Houghton thanked them fortheir courtesy and attention, and hoped--And nobody took theslightest notice.

  Miss Pinnegar stayed last, waiting for Alvina. And Alvina, in herexcitement, waited for Mr. May and her father.

  Mr. May fairly pranced into the empty hall.

  "Well!" he said, shutting both his fists and flourishing them inMiss Pinnegar's face. "How did it go?"

  "I think it went very well," she said.

  "Very well! I should think so, indeed. It went like a house on fire.What? Didn't it?" And he laughed a high, excited little laugh.

  James was counting pennies for his life, in the cash-place, anddropping them into a Gladstone bag. The others had to wait for him.At last he locked his bag.

  "Well," said Mr. May, "done well?"

  "Fairly well," said James, huskily excited. "Fairly well."

  "Only fairly? Oh-h!" And Mr. May suddenly picked up the bag. Jamesturned as if he would snatch it from him. "Well! Feel that, forfairly well!" said Mr. May, handing the bag to Alvina.

  "Goodness!" she cried, handing it to Miss Pinnegar.

  "Would you believe it?" said Miss Pinnegar, relinquishing it toJames. But she spoke coldly, aloof.

  Mr. May turned off the gas at the meter, came talking through thedarkness of the empty theatre, picking his way with a flash-light.

  "C'est le premier pas qui coute," he said, in a sort of AmericanFrench, as he locked the doors and put the key in his pocket. Jamestripped silently alongside, bowed under the weight of his Gladstonebag of pennies.

  "How much have we taken, father?" asked Alvina gaily.

  "I haven't counted," he snapped.

  When he got home he hurried upstairs to his bare chamber. He swepthis table clear, and then, in an expert fashion, he seized handfulsof coin and piled them in little columns on his board. There was anarmy of fat pennies, a dozen to a column, along the back, rows androws of fat brown rank-and-file. In front of these, rows of slimhalfpence, like an advance-guard. And commanding all, a stout columnof half-crowns, a few stoutish and important florin-figures, likegeneral and colonels, then quite a file of shillings, like so manycaptains, and a little cloud of silvery lieutenant sixpences. Rightat the end, like a frail drummer boy, a thin stick of threepennypieces.

  There they all were: burly dragoons of stout pennies, heavy andholding their ground, with a screen of halfpenny light infantry,officered by the immovable half-crown general, who in his turn wasflanked by all his staff of florin colonels and shilling captains,from whom lightly moved the nimble sixpenny lieutenants allignoring the wan, frail Joey of the threepenny-bits.

  Time after time James ran his almighty eye over his army. He lovedthem. He loved to feel that his table was pressed down, that itgroaned under their weight. He loved to see the pence, likeinnumerable pillars of cloud, standing waiting to lead on intowildernesses of unopened resource, while the silver, as pillars oflight, should guide the way down the long night of fortune. Theirweight sank sensually into his muscle, and gave him gratification.The dark redness of bronze, like full-blooded fleas, seemed aliveand pulsing, the silver was magic as if winged.