'I dunno. I see 'im this evenin' go into the "Red Lion". I suppose 'e's there, but I dunno.'
Then he wasn't coming. Of course she had told him she was going to stay indoors, but he might have come all the same—just to see.
'I know Tom 'ud 'ave come,' she said to herself, rather sulkily.
'Liza! Liza!' she heard her mother's voice calling her.
'Arright, I'm comin',' said Liza.
'I've been witin' for you this last 'alf-hour ter rub me.'
'Why didn't yer call?' asked Liza.
'I did call. I've been callin' this last I dunno 'ow long; it's give me quite a sore throat.'
'I never 'eard yer.'
'Na, yer didn't want ter 'ear me, did yer? Yer don't mind if I dies with rheumatics, do yer? I know.'
Liza did not answer, but took the bottle, and, pouring some of the liniment on her hand, began to rub it into Mrs. Kemp's rheumatic joints, while the invalid kept complaining and grumbling at everything Liza did.
'Don't rub so 'ard, Liza, you'll rub all the skin off.'
Then when Liza did it as gently as she could, she grumbled again.
'If yer do it like thet, it won't do no good at all. You want ter sive yerself trouble—I know yer. When I was young girls didn't mind a little bit of 'ard work—but, law bless yer, you don't care abaht my rheumatics, do yer?'
At last she finished, and Liza went to bed by her mother's side.
7
Two days passed, and it was Friday morning. Liza had got up early and strolled off to her work in good time, but she did not meet her faithful Sally on the way, nor find her at the factory when she herself arrived. The bell rang and all the girls trooped in, but still Sally did not come. Liza could not make it out, and was thinking she would be shut out, when just as the man who gave out the tokens for the day's work was pulling down the shutter in front of his window, Sally arrived, breathless and perspiring.
'Whew! Go' lumme, I am 'ot!' she said, wiping her face with her apron.
'I thought you wasn't comin',' said Liza.
'Well, I only just did it; I overslep' myself. I was aht lite last night.'
'Were yer?'
'Me an' 'Arry went ter see the ply. Oh, Liza, it's simply spiffin'! I've never see sich a good ply in my life. Lor'! Why, it mikes yer blood run cold: they 'ang a man on the stige; oh, it mide me creep all over!'
And then she began telling Liza all about it—the blood and thunder, the shooting, the railway train, the murder, the bomb, the hero, the funny man—jumbling everything up in her excitement, repeating little scraps of dialogue—all wrong—gesticulating, getting excited and red in the face at the recollection. Liza listened rather crossly, feeling bored at the detail into which Sally was going: the piece really didn't much interest her.
'One 'ud think yer'd never been to a theatre in your life before,' she said.
'I never seen anything so good, I can tell yer. You tike my tip, and git Tom ter tike yer.'
'I don't want ter go; an' if I did I'd py for myself an' go alone.'
'Cheese it! That ain't 'alf so good. Me an' 'Arry, we set together, 'im with 'is arm round my wiste and me oldin' 'is 'and. It was jam, I can tell yer!'
'Well, I don't want anyone sprawlin' me abaht, thet ain't my mark!'
'But I do like 'Arry; you dunno the little ways 'e 'as; an' we're goin' ter be married in three weeks now. 'Arry said, well, 'e says, "I'll git a licence." "Na," says I, "'ave the banns read aht in church: it seems more reg'lar like to 'ave banns; so they're goin' ter be read aht next Sunday. You'll come with me 'an 'ear them, won't yer, Liza?"'
'Yus, I don't mind.'
On the way home Sally insisted on stopping in front of the poster and explaining to Liza all about the scene represented.
'Oh, you give me the sick with your "Fital Card", you do! I'm goin' 'ome.' And she left Sally in the midst of her explanation.
'I dunno wot's up with Liza,' remarked Sally to a mutual friend. 'She's always got the needle, some'ow.'
'Oh, she's barmy,' answered the friend.
'Well, I do think she's a bit dotty sometimes—I do really,' rejoined Sally.
Liza walked homewards, thinking of the play; at length she tossed her head impatiently.
'I don't want ter see the blasted thing; an' if I see that there Jim I'll tell 'im so; swop me bob, I will.'
She did see him; he was leaning with his back against the wall of his house, smoking. Liza knew he had seen her, and as she walked by pretended not to have noticed him. To her disgust, he let her pass, and she was thinking he hadn't seen her after all, when she heard him call her name.
'Liza!'
She turned round and started with surprise very well imitated. 'I didn't see you was there!' she said.
'Why did yer pretend not ter notice me, as yer went past—eh, Liza?'
'Why, I didn't see yer.'
'Garn! But you ain't shirty with me?'
'Wot 'ave I got to be shirty abaht?'
He tried to take her hand, but she drew it away quickly. She was getting used to the movement. They went on talking, but Jim did not mention the theatre; Liza was surprised, and wondered whether he had forgotten.
'Er—Sally went to the ply last night,' she said, at last.
'Oh!' he said, and that was all.
She got impatient.
'Well, I'm off!' she said.
'Na, don't go yet; I want ter talk ter yer,' he replied.
'Wot abaht? anythin' in partickler?' She would drag it out of him if she possibly could.
'Not thet I knows on,' he said, smiling.
'Good night!' she said, abruptly, turning away from him.
'Well, I'm damned if 'e ain't forgotten!' she said to herself, sulkily, as she marched home.
The following evening about six o'clock, it suddenly struck her that it was the last night of the 'New and Sensational Drama'.
'I do like thet Jim Blakeston,' she said to herself; 'fancy treatin' me like thet! You wouldn't catch Tom doin' sich a thing. Bli'me if I speak to 'im again, the ——. Now I shan't see it at all. I've a good mind ter go on my own 'ook. Fancy 'is forgettin' all abaht it, like thet!'
She was really quite indignant; though, as she had distinctly refused Jim's offer, it was rather hard to see why.
''E said 'e'd wite for me ahtside the doors; I wonder if 'e's there. I'll go an' see if 'e is, see if I don't—an' then if 'e's there, I'll go in on my own 'ook, jist ter spite 'im!'
She dressed herself in her best, and, so that the neighbours shouldn't see her, went up a passage between some model lodging-house buildings, and in this roundabout way got into the Westminster Bridge Road, and soon found herself in front of the theatre.
'I've been witin' for yer this 'alf-hour.'
She turned round and saw Jim standing just behind her.
''Oo are you talkin' to? I'm not goin' to the ply with you. Wot d'yer tike me for, eh?'
''Oo are yer goin' with, then?'
'I'm goin' alone.'
'Garn!