Chapter 1

FIRANDOLO’S.

I had had an aggravating day. In everything luck had been against
me. I had got down late, and been fined for that. Then when I went
into the shop I found I had forgotten my cuffs, and Mr. Broadley, who
walks the fancy department, marked me sixpence for that. Just as I was
expecting my call for dinner an old lady came in who kept me fussing
about till my set came up--and only spent three and two-three after
all; so when I did go down alone there was nothing left; and what was
left was worse than cold. Though I was as hungry as I very well could
be I could scarcely swallow as much as a mouthful; lukewarm boiled
mutton cased in solidified fat is not what I care for. Directly after
I came up, feeling hungrier than ever, Miss Patten did me out of the
sale of a lot of sequin trimming on which there was a ninepenny spiff.
I was showing it to a customer, and before I had had half a chance she
came and took it clean out of my hands, and sold it right away. It
made me crosser than ever. To crown it all, I missed three sales. One
lady wanted a veil, and because we had not just the sort she wanted,
when she walked out of the shop Mr. Broadley seemed to think it was my
fault. He said he would mark me. When some people want a triangular
spot you cannot put them off with a round one. It is no use your
saying you can. And so I as good as told him.

Not twenty minutes afterwards a girl came in--a mere chit--who wanted
some passementerie, beaded. She had brought a pattern. Somehow
directly I saw it I thought there would be trouble. I hunted through
the stock and found the thing exactly, only there were blue beads
where there ought to have been green. As there were a dozen different
coloured beads it did not really matter, especially as ours were a
green blue, and hers were a blue green. But that chit would not see
it. She would not admit that it was a match. When I called Mr.
Broadley, and he pointed out to her that the two were so much alike
that, at a little distance, you could not tell one from the other, she
was quite short. She caught up her old pattern and took herself away.
Then Mr. Broadley gave it to me hot. He reminded me that that was two
sales I had missed, and that three, on one day, meant dismissal. I did
not suppose they would go so far as that, but I did expect that, if I
missed again, it would cost me half-a-crown, at least. So, of course,
there was I, as it were, on tenterhooks, resolved that rather than I
would let anyone else go without a purchase I would force some
elevenpence three-farthing thing on her; if I had to pay for it
myself. And there was Mr. Broadley hanging about just by my stand,
watching me so that I felt I should like to stick my scissors into
him.

But I was doomed to be done. Luck was clean against me. Just as we
were getting ready to close in came an old woman--one of your
red-faced sort, with her bonnet a little on one side of her head. She
wanted some torchon lace. Now, strictly speaking, lace is not in my
department, but as we are all supposed to serve through, and most of
the others were engaged--it is extraordinary how, some nights, people
will crowd into the shop just as we are getting ready to close--Mr.
Broadley planted her on me. She was a nice old party. She did not know
herself what she wanted, but seemed to think I ought to. So far as I
could make out, what she really did want was a four shilling lace at
fourpence--which we could not exactly supply. At last I called Mr.
Broadley to see if he could make her out. On which she actually turned
huffy, and declaring that I would not take the trouble to show her
anything at all, in spite of all that we could do or say, she marched
straight out. Then I had a wigging. Broadley let himself go, before
them all. I could have cried--and almost did.

I was three-quarters of an hour late before I got into the street.
Emily Purvis was tired of waiting, and Tom Cooper was in a red-hot
rage.

“My dear,” began Emily, directly she saw me, “I hope you haven’t
hurried. We’re only frozen to the bone.”

“That’s all right,” said Tom. “It’s just the sort of night to hang
about this confounded corner.”

It was disagreeable weather. There was a nasty east wind, which seemed
to cut right into one, and the pavements were wet and slimy. It all
seemed of a piece. I knew Tom’s overcoat was not too thick, nor
Emily’s jacket too warm either. When I saw Tom dancing about to keep
himself warm, all at once something seemed to go over me, and I had to
cry. Then there was a pretty fuss.

“Polly!” exclaimed Emily. “Whatever is the matter with you now?”

And there, in the open street, Tom put his arm about my waist. I told
them all about it. You should have heard how they went on at Broadley.
It did me good to listen, though I knew it would make no difference to
him. They had not had the best of luck either. It seemed that it had
been one of those days on which everything goes wrong with everyone.
Emily had not got one single spiff, and Tom had had a quarrel with
young Clarkson, who had called him Ginger to his face--and the colour
of his hair is a frightfully delicate point with Tom. Tom had
threatened to punch his head when they went upstairs. I begged and
prayed him not to, but there was a gloomy air about him which showed
that he would have to do something to relieve his feelings. I felt
that punching young Clarkson’s head might do him good--and Clarkson no
particular harm.

I do not think that either of us was particularly happy. The streets
were nearly deserted. It was bitterly cold. Every now and then a
splash of rain was driven into our faces.

“This is, for us, the age of romance,” declared Emily. “You mightn’t
think so, but it is. At our age, the world should be alive with
romance. We should be steeped in its atmosphere; drink it in with
every breath. It should colour both our sleeping and our waking hours.
And, instead of that, here we are shivering in this filthy horrid
street.”

That was the way she was fond of talking. She was a very clever girl,
was Emily, and could use big words more easily than I could little
ones. She would have it that romance was the only thing worth living
for, and that, as there is no romance in the world to-day, it is not
worth while one’s living. I could not quite make out her argument, but
that was what it came to so far as I could understand. I wished myself
that there was a little more fun about. I was tired of the drapery.

“Shivering!” said Tom. “I’m not only shivering; I’m hungry too. Boiled
mutton days I always am.”

“Hungry!” I cried. “I’m starving. I’ve had no dinner or tea, and I’m
ready to drop.”

“No! You don’t mean that?”

I did mean it, and so I told him. What with having had nothing to eat,
and being tired, and worried, and cold, it was all I could do to drag
one foot after another. I just felt as if I was going to be ill. I
could have kept on crying all the time.

“Have either of you got any money?” asked Tom. Neither Emily nor I had
a penny. “Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do; we’ll all three of us go
into Firandolo’s, and I’ll stand Sam.”

I knew he had only enough money to take him home on Sunday, because he
had told me so himself the day before. Cardew & Slaughter’s is not the
sort of place where they encourage you to spend Sunday in. He had been
in last Sunday; and to stop in two Sundays running was to get yourself
disliked; I have spent many a Sunday, loitering about the parks and
the streets, living on a couple of buns, rather than go in to what
they called dinner. And I knew that if we once set foot in Firandolo’s
we should spend all he had. Yet I was so faint and hungry that I did
not want much pressing. I could not find it in my heart to refuse.

Firandolo’s is something like a restaurant. Including vegetables, and
sweets, and cheese, I have counted sixty-seven dishes on the bill of
fare at one time, so that you have plenty of choice. For a shilling
you can get a perfectly splendid dinner. And for sixpence you can get
soup, and bread and cheese and butter; and they bring you the soup in
a silver basin which is full to the brim.

At night it is generally crowded, but it was perhaps because the
weather was so bad that there were only a few persons in the place
when we went in. Directly after we entered someone else came in. He
was a big man, and wore a reefer coat and a bowler hat. Seating
himself at a table immediately opposite ours, taking off his hat, he
wiped his forehead with an old bandanna handkerchief; though what
there was to make him warm on a night like that was more than I could
say. He had a fringe of iron-grey hair all round his head on a level
with his ears. It stood out stiffly, like a sort of crown. Above and
below it he was bald. He wore a bristly moustache, and his eyes were
almost hidden by the bushiest eyebrows I had ever seen. I could not
help noticing him, because I had a kind of fancy that he had been
following us for some time. Unless I was mistaken he had passed me
just as I had come out of Cardew & Slaughter’s; and ever since,
whenever I looked round, I saw him somewhere behind us, as if he were
keeping us in sight. I said nothing about it to the others, but I
wondered, all the same. I did not like his looks at all. He seemed to
me to be both sly and impudent; and though he pretended not to be
watching us, I do not believe he took his eyes off us for a single
moment.

I do not know what he had; he took a long time in choosing it,
whatever it was. We had soup. It was lovely. Hot and tasty; just the
very thing I wanted. It made me feel simply pounds better. But, after
we had finished, something dreadful happened. The bill came altogether
to one and three; we each of us had an extra bread. Tom felt in his
pocket for the money. First in one, then in another. Emily and I soon
saw that something was wrong, because he felt in every pocket he had.
And he looked so queer.

“This is a bit of all right!” he gasped, just as we were beginning to
wonder if he was all pockets. “Blessed if I have a single copper on
me. I remember now that I left it in my box, so that I shouldn’t spend
it.”

He looked at us, and we looked at him, and the waiter stood close by,
looking at us all. And behind him was the proprietor, also with an
observant eye. Emily and I were dumbfounded. Tom seemed as if he had
not another word to say. Just as the proprietor was beginning to come
closer, the stranger who had been following us got up and came to us
across the room, all the time keeping his eyes on me.

“Pardon me if I take a liberty, but might I ask if I’m speaking to
Miss Blyth?”

An odd voice he had; as if he were endeavouring to overcome its
natural huskiness by speaking in a whisper. Of course my name is
Blyth, and so I told him. But who he was I did not know from Adam. I
certainly had never set eyes on him before. He explained, in a
fashion; though his explanation came to nothing, after all.

“I knew a--a relative of yours. A pal, he was, of mine; great pals was
him and me. So I naturally take an interest in a relative of his.” He
turned to Tom. “If so be, sir, as you’ve left your purse at home,
which is a kind of accident which might happen to any gentleman at any
time, perhaps I might be allowed to pay your little bill.”

Tom had to allow him, though he liked it no more than I did. But we
none of us wanted to be sent to prison for obtaining soup on false
pretences, which I have been given to understand might have happened.
Though, for my part, I would almost as soon have done that as be
beholden to that big, bald-headed creature, who spoke as if he had
lost his voice, and was doing all he knew to find it. When he had paid
the one and three, and what were Tom’s feelings at seeing him do it
was more than I could think, because I know his pride, the stranger
came out with something else.

“And now, ladies, might I offer you a little something on my own. What
do you say to a dozen oysters each, and a bottle of champagne? I
believe they’re things ladies are fond of.”

He smiled--such a smile. It sounded tempting. I had never tasted
oysters and champagne; though, of course, I had read of them in books,
heaps of times. And it is my opinion that Emily would have said yes,
if I had given her a chance. But not me. I stood up directly.

“Thank you; but I never touch oysters and champagne--at this time of
night.”

“Might I--might I be allowed to offer a little something else. A Welsh
rarebit, shall we say?”

Now, as it happens, a Welsh rarebit is a thing that I am fond of,
especially when eaten with a glass of stout. I was still hungry, and
my mouth watered at the prospect of some real nice, hot toasted
cheese. It needed some resolution to decline. But I did. Hungry as I
was, I felt as if I had had more than enough of him already.

“I am obliged to you, but I want nothing else. I have had all that I
require.”

It was not true; but it seemed to me that it was a case in which truth
would not exactly meet the situation. The stranger came close to me,
actually whispering in my ear.

“May I hope, Miss Blyth, that you’ll remember me when--when you want a
friend?”

I was as stand-offish as I could be.

“I don’t see how I can remember you when I don’t even know your name.”

He spoke to me across the back of his hand.

“My name is Rudd--Isaac Rudd; known to my friends, of whom, the Lord
be praised, I’ve many, as Covey. It’s a--a term of endearment, so to
speak, Miss Blyth.”

That anyone could apply a term of endearment to such a man as he
seemed to be, was more than I believed to be possible.

“If you will let me take your address, Mr. Rudd, I will see that you
have your one and three.”

“My address? Ah! Now there you have me. I don’t happen to have an--an
address just now. In fact, I’m--I’m moving.”

We were going towards the door. I was beginning to fear that he
intended to accompany us home. Nor did I see how we could prevent him,
since he was at liberty to take such measures as he chose which would
ensure the return of the money he had paid for us. But, as we drew
near the entrance, he started back; and his demeanour changed in the
most extraordinary way.

“Good-night,” he stammered, retreating farther and farther from us.
“Don’t--don’t let me keep you, not--not for another moment.”

We went out. Directly we were in the open air Tom drew a long breath.

“Geewhillikins! A nice scrape I nearly got you in, and myself as well.
A pretty hole we should have been in if that fellow hadn’t turned up
in the very nick of time. He’s the sort I call a friend in need with a
vengeance.”

Emily struck in.

“Polly, why wouldn’t you let us sample his oysters and champagne?
Considering he’s a friend of yours, you seemed pretty short with him.”

“My dear, he’s not a friend of mine, nor ever could be; and as for his
oysters and champagne, they’d have choked me if I’d touched them.”

“They wouldn’t have choked me, I can tell you that. There is some
romance in oysters and champagne, and, as you know very well, romance
is what I live for. There’s precious little comes my way; it seems
hard it should be snatched from my lips just as I have a chance of
tasting it.”

“Hollo! Who on earth----”

It was from Tom the exclamation came. He stopped short, with his
sentence uncompleted. I turned to see what had caused him to speak--to
find myself face to face with the most singular-looking individual I
had ever seen.