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Read Ebook: Sixpenny Pieces by Lyons A Neil Albert Neil
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Ebook has 1246 lines and 61145 words, and 25 pages
"Because," I answered, "because they--they are so dumb and--and so white."
"Then why do you shudder at them?"
"You also have the spirit of reform, then?" I ventured to suggest.
"Let us stick to the point," responded James. "It is so like a man to dodge your arguments when he can't upset them. What was the point?"
"Conative Meliorism," I suggested.
"How old are you, James?" I hoped that my simple, honest, obvious wonder would disarm the question of its point.
Sunshine was a rat--the whitest and roundest and fattest of them all.
I, nevertheless, contrived to breakfast well. Sunshine's mistress was thoughtful enough to curtail the radius of that minna, tinna, tooney animal's accustomed beat: with the result that I was able to keep my seat. And his mistress stayed him with dainties and prattled cheerfully upon a variety of strange subjects. It was no good waiting breakfast for Fatty, she explained, because Fatty's "call" was a "midder."
"And what in heaven's name," I demanded, "may a 'midder' be?"
"That," explained James, "is what Fatty calls an 'obstetric term.' When people have babies, you know. Do you know what 'B.B.A.' means?"
I didn't.
"That's another trade expression. It stands for 'Born Before Arrival,' and it's what you always pray for, because it saves a lot of time, and they have to pay you just the same. Our fee is half a guinea, and you can pay it by instalments if you like. But if it is your first baby we charge a guinea, because your husband is a lot more trouble to us, and he is not always sober. And whatever the fee, we do our very best for you, and pride ourselves on our results; but as we get about seven 'midders' every day, we are not able to make so many compliments as we did in Norfolk.... Fatty calls it his Automatic Delivery System."
The girl, as she spoke, looked very "nice" and English: she was feeding Sunshine from a fork. I began to wonder whether it was actually possible that she did not realise the horrible impropriety of her conversation. As an Englishman, I knew my duty. That duty was to represent to her in suitable terms that her conduct was abandoned and impure. But the religious duty of causing maidens to blush is one which is best performed by the Righteous, who perform it so well and often.... I concealed my horror.
And the maiden prattled on. "Some of them are fearfully grateful. Do you see that old stuffed owl in the dusty case, there? That's a present--to me. It only came yesterday, and it's a token of gratitude from a Jewish lady in the fish trade. This is her sixth, and the first five were all girls. She used to deal with our opposition--Dr. McWhite--but when the fifth female came along they changed over to Fatty, and this stuffed owl is what he calls a tribute to professional ability. And there's Fatty's key in the door. Seize his bacon, will you--it's in the fender."
I was rather annoyed with Dr. Brink for returning just then. I had mapped out a series of leading questions designed to elicit James's age and identity.
But when the little hungry man came in, I felt that these questions were unimportant and could wait. It was interesting enough to help that busy scientist to mustard, and to hear him curse the Liberal Government with his mouth full of bacon, and to watch the quiet motherliness of James.
"Regular multitude in the waiting-room," announced the doctor, as he gulped his coffee. "Got to get back there quick. You'd better pop down with me, youngster, and get a squint at it all."
"You'll spend the day with us, I suppose?" suggested the little doctor. And, as it was Saturday, and therefore a holiday in my trade, I supposed that I would.
And then they introduced me to the gas-stove.
I sat on the gas-stove, with James beside me, and we applied our eyes in turn to the squint-hole and beheld the Doctor earning sixpences.
Then an old woman came in--a very old woman, with rosy cheeks and a clean apron, and querulous, childish eyes.
"I want some morphium," she says, "to soothe meself down. Not that I got a right to look for much--at my age."
"I ain't got no happetite," said the old woman. "And there's shooting pains in me 'ead, and I don't sleep proper, and I seems to feel lonesome, and I wants some morphium to soothe meself down with."
"What's your favourite dinner dish?" inquired our inconsequent wag of a doctor.
"I ain't got no favourites," replied the woman. "I'm old, I am; what should I do with favourites at my age? I want some morphium to soothe meself down."
"I shall never see sixty again," said the woman. "Nor I shan't see seventy. Nor eighty. I'm old."
"And you mean to tell me," cried the doctor, with sudden heat, "that you do not care for tripe? Good tripe, mind you--tender tripe, very well boiled, with just a flavouring of onions?"
"And if I did," protested the woman, "who's to cook it for me? There's so many young women to get the favours now I find, and me so old. Can't I have a little morphium, Doctor: the brown mixture, ye know? To soothe meself down with."
"The young ones get the favouring, eh? Do you live with a young woman?"
"I lives with two on 'em--worse luck."
"Daughters?"
"Daughters? Me? No, sir. I'm a maiden, I am.... It's me landlady what I lives with."
The rosy-cheeked old maiden was crying, "I'm too old," she sobbed; "it's the young ones gets the favouring."
"Oh," said the doctor, "and so your landlady is unkind?"
"Not unkind, sir," said the woman, gently swallowing the doctor's bait; "she's a good woman, as they go, only I'm growed so old, and a young woman has come into our house, and I'm sorry to say, doctor, as she has 'leniated my landlady away from me. She is a young woman."
"Can't you get some other lodgings?" suggested the doctor. "You oughtn t to be neglected."
"I do not say I ham neglected, Doctor. That would be huntrue. I am not blaming anybody. I honly say I'm old. And this new lodger she's 'leniated my landlady away from me. She's young, you see. Well under seventy, she is."
They're all alike, these minxes," said the doctor, with a wistful smile.
"I got nothing to say agin her, mind you," protested the old woman. "Not agin neether. My landlady, she was very good and kind to me at one time; but now this young one 'ave come, and I ham sorry to say as she 'ave 'leniated my landlady away from me."
"I shouldn't fret about the matter, anyhow," suggested Dr. Brink. "You'll make friends with your landlady soon again; I'm sure you will."
The maiden got her morphia.
The maiden was succeeded by another woman--a mother. She carried a bundle, partly occupied by a baby. She was a lewd and dirty woman, and engaged my friend in the following dialogue.
FEMALE: I warra soothin' surrup for my baby yere. 'E's fidgety.
DOCTOR: How fidgety?
FEMALE: Well: look at the little blighter. 'E's got the blasted jumps.
DOCTOR: Of course he's got the jumps. He's dying.
FEMALE: Warra mean--dyin'?
DOCTOR: I mean that he will soon be dead.
FEMALE: Whaffor?
DOCTOR: Because he's starving.
FEMALE: Warra mean--starving?
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