‘Next?’
‘The instalment for the furniture and floor-cloth, twelve shillings.’
‘Next?’
‘We owe the milkman four weeks; we’d better pay one week on account; that’s one and two.’
‘Next?’
‘The greengrocer; one shilling on account.’
‘Anything else?’
‘We shall want a piece of meat of some kind; we’ve had none for nearly three weeks. You’d better say one and six for that.’
‘That’s down.’
‘One and nine for bread; that’s one loaf a day.’
‘But I’ve got two shillings down for bread already,’ said Easton.
‘Yes, I know, dear, but that’s to go towards paying off what we owe, and what you have down for the grocer and milkman’s the same.’
‘Well, go on, for Christ’s sake, and let’s get it down,’ said Easton, irritably.
‘We can’t say less than three shillings for groceries.’
Easton looked carefully at his list. This time he felt sure that the item was already down; but finding he was mistaken he said nothing and added the amount.
‘Well, I’ve got that. What else?’
‘Milk, one and two.’
‘Next?’
‘Vegetables, eightpence.’
‘Yes.’
‘Paraffin oil and firewood, sixpence.’
Again the financier scrutinized the list. He was positive that it was down already. However, he could not find it, so the sixpence was added to the column of figures.
‘Then there’s your boots; you can’t go about with them old things in this weather much longer, and they won’t stand mending again. You remember the man said they were not worth it when you had that patch put on a few weeks ago.’
‘Yes. I was thinking of buying a new pair tomorrow. My socks was wet through tonight. If it’s raining some morning when I’m going out and I have to work all day with wet feet I shall be laid up.’
‘At that second-hand shop down in High Street I saw when I was out this afternoon a very good pair just your size, for two shillings.’
Easton did not reply at once. He did not much fancy wearing the cast-off boots of some stranger, who for all he knew might have suffered from some disease, but then remembering that his old ones were literally falling off his feet he realized that he had practically no choice.
‘If you’re quite sure they’ll fit you’d better get them. It’s better to do that than for me to catch cold and be laid up for God knows how long.’
So the two shillings were added to the list.
‘Is there anything else?’
‘How much does it come to now?’ asked Ruth.
Easton added it all up. When he had finished he remained staring at the figures in consternation for a long time without speaking.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he ejaculated at last.
‘What’s it come to?’ asked Ruth.
‘Forty-four and tenpence.’
‘I knew we wouldn’t have enough,’ said Ruth, wearily. ‘Now if you think I manage so badly, p’raps you can tell me which of those things we ought to leave out.’
‘We’d be all right if it wasn’t for the debts,’ said Easton, doggedly.
‘When you’re not working, we must either get into debt or starve.’
Easton made no answer.
‘What’ll we do about the rates?’ asked Ruth.
‘I’m sure I don’t know: there’s nothing left to pawn except my black coat and vest. You might get something on that.’
‘It’ll have to be paid somehow,’ said Ruth, ‘or you’ll be taken off to jail for a month, the same as Mrs Newman’s husband was last winter.’
‘Well, you’d better take the coat and vest and see what you can get on ‘em tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ said Ruth; ‘and there’s that brown silk dress of mine – you know, the one I wore when we was married – I might get something on that, because we won’t get enough on the coat and vest. I don’t like parting with the dress, although I never wear it; but we’ll be sure to be able to get it out again, won’t we?’
‘Of course,’ said Easton.
They remained silent for some time, Easton staring at the list of debts and the letters. She was wondering if he still thought she managed badly, and what he would do about it. She knew she had always done her best. At last she said, wistfully, trying to speak plainly for there seemed to be a lump in her throat: ‘And what about tomorrow? Would you like to spend the money yourself, or shall I manage as I’ve done before, or will you tell me what to do?’
‘I don’t know, dear,’ said Easton, sheepishly. ‘I think you’d better do as you think best.’
‘Oh, I’ll manage all right, dear, you’ll see,’ replied Ruth, who seemed to think it a sort of honour to be allowed to starve herself and to wear shabby clothes.
The baby, who had been for some time quietly sitting upon his mother’s lap, looking wonderingly at the fire – his teeth appeared to trouble him less since he got rid of the eggs and bacon and potatoes – now began to nod and doze, which Easton perceiving, suggested that the infant should not be allowed to go to sleep with an empty stomach, because it would probably wake up hungry in the middle of the night. He therefore woke him up as much as possible and mashed a little of the bread and toasted cheese with a little warm milk. Then taking the baby from Ruth he began to try to induce it to eat. As soon, however, as the child understood his object, it began to scream at the top of its voice, closing its lips firmly and turning its head rapidly from side to side every time the spoon approached its mouth. It made such a dreadful noise that Easton at last gave in. He began to walk about the room with it, and presently the child sobbed itself to sleep. After putting the baby into its cradle Ruth set about preparing Easton’s breakfast and packing it into his basket. This did not take very long, there being only bread and butter – or, to be more correct, margarine.
Then she poured what tea was left in the tea-pot into a small saucepan and placed it on the top of the oven, but away from the fire; cut two more slices of bread and spread on them all the margarine that was left; then put them on a plate on the table, covering them with a saucer to prevent them getting hard and dry during the night. Near the plate she placed a clean cup and saucer and the milk and sugar.
In the morning Easton would light the fire and warm up the tea in the saucepan so as to have a cup of tea before going out. If Ruth was awake and he was not pressed for time, he generally took a cup of tea to her in bed.
Nothing now remained to be done but to put some coal and wood ready in the fender so that there would be no unnecessary delay in the morning.
The baby was still sleeping and Ruth did not like to wake him up yet to dress him for the night. Easton was sitting by the fire smoking, so everything being done, Ruth sat down at the table and began sewing. Presently she spoke:
‘I wish you’d let me try to let that back room upstairs: the woman next door has got hers let unfurnished to an elderly woman and her husband for two shillings a week. If we could get someone like that it would be better than having an empty room in the house.’
‘And we’d always have them messing about down here, cooking and washing and one