Читать книгу The Guinea Stamp: A Tale of Modern Glasgow - Annie S. Swan - Страница 22

oo, whaur wad ye like to gang?' inquired Liz, as they shut the outer door behind them.

'Anywhere; it is pleasant to be out, only the air is not very good here. Do you think it is?'

'Maybe no'. We'll look at the shops first, onyhoo, an' then we'll gang an' meet Teen Ba'four. D'ye mind Teen?'

'Oh yes. Is she quite well? She looked so ill that day I saw her. I could not forget her face.'

'Oh, she's well enough, I think. I never asks. Oor kind gangs on till they drap, an' then they maistly dee,' said Liz cheerfully. 'But Teen will hing on a while yet—she's tough. I dinna see her very often. My mither disna like her. She brings me the Reader on Fridays. Eh, wummin, "Lord Bellew's Bride" is finished. Everything was cleared up at the end, an' the young man Lord Bellew was jealous o' turns oot to be only her brither. The last chapter tells aboot the christenin' o' the heir, an' she wears a white brocade goon, trimmed wi' real pearls an' ostrich feathers. Fancy you an' me in a frock like that! Wad it no' mak' a' the difference?'

'I don't know, I'm sure. I never thought of it,' answered Gladys, quietly amused.

'Hae ye no'? I often think o'd. If I lived in a big hoose, rode in a carriage, an' wore a silk dress every day, I wad be happy, an' guid too, maybe. It's easy to be guid when ye are rich.'

'The Bible doesn't say so. Don't you remember how it explains that it is so hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven?'

Liz looked round in a somewhat scared manner into her companion's face.

'D'ye read the Bible?' she asked bluntly. 'I never dae, so I canna mind that. I never thocht onybody read it—or believed it, I mean—except ministers that are paid for it.'

'Oh, that is quite a mistake,' said Gladys warmly. 'A great many people read it, because they love it, and because it helps them in the battle of life. I couldn't live without it. Walter and I read it every night.'

Liz drew herself a little apart doubtfully, and looked yet more scrutinisingly into the face of Gladys.

'Upon my word, ye're less fit than I thocht for this warld. What were ye born for? Ye'll never fecht yer way through,' she said, with a kind of scornful pity.

'Oh yes, I will. Perhaps if it came to the real fight, I should prove stronger than you, just because I have that help. Dear Liz, it is dreadful, if it is true, to live as you do. Are you not afraid?'

'I fear naething, except gaun into consumption, an' haein' naebody to look after me,' responded Liz. 'If it cam' to that, I'd tak' something to pit an end to mysel'. My mind's made up on that lang syne.'

She looked quite determined; her full red lips firmly set, and her eyes looking straight before her, calm, steadfast, undaunted, in corroboration of her boast that she feared nothing in the world.

'But, Liz, that would be very wicked,' said Gladys, in distress. 'We have never more to bear than we are able; God takes care of that always. But I am sure you are only speaking in haste. I think you have a great deal of courage—too much to do that kind of thing.'

'Dinna preach, or we'll no' 'gree,' said Liz almost rudely. 'Let's look at the hats in this window. I'll hae a new one next pay. Look at that crimson velvet wi' the black wings; it's awfu' neat, an' only six-and-nine. D'ye no' think it wad set me?'

'Very likely. You look very nice always,' answered Gladys truthfully, and the sincere compliment pleased Liz, though she did not say so.

'Well, look, it's ten meenits past aicht. We were to meet Teen in the Trongate at the quarter. We'll need to turn back.'

'And where will we go after that?' inquired Gladys. 'The shops are beginning to shut.'

'You'll see. We've a ploy on. I want to gie ye a treat. Ye dinna get mony o' them.'

She linked her arm with friendly familiarity into that of Gladys, and began to chatter on again, chiefly of dress, which was dear to her soul. Her talk was not interesting to Gladys, who was singularly free from that feminine weakness, love of fine attire. No doubt she owed this to her upbringing, having lived always alone with her father, and knowing very few of her own sex. But she listened patiently to Liz's minute account of the spring clothes she had in view, and even tried to make some suggestions on her own account.

It was with something of a relief, however, that she beheld among the crowd at last the slight figure and pale countenance of Teen.

'Guid-e'enin' to ye,' Teen said in her monotonous voice, and without a smile or brightening of her face. 'Fine dry nicht. We're late, Liz, ten minutes.'

'Oh, it doesna matter. We'll mak' a sensation,' said Liz, with a grim smile. 'A' the same, we'd better hurry up an' get oor sixpenceworth.'

'Where are we going?' asked Gladys rather doubtfully.

'Oh, ye'll see. I promised ye a treat,' answered Liz; and the trio quickened their steps until they came to a narrow entrance, illuminated, however, by a blaze of gas jets, and adorned about the doorway with sundry bills and pictures of music-hall artistes.

Before Gladys could utter the least protest, she was whisked in, paid for at the box, and hurried up-stairs into a brilliantly-lighted hall, the atmosphere of which, however, was reeking with the smoke and the odour of tobacco and cheap cigars. Somebody was singing in a high, shrill, unlovely voice, and when Gladys looked towards the platform behind the footlights, she was horrified at the spectacle of a large, coarse-looking woman, wearing the scantiest possible amount of clothing, her face painted and powdered, her hair adorned with gilt spangles, her arms and neck hung with sham jewellery.

'Who is she? Is it not awful?' whispered Gladys, which questions sent the undemonstrative Teen off into one of her silent fits of laughter.

But Liz looked a trifle annoyed.

'Don't ask such silly questions. That's Mademoiselle Frivol, and she's appearin' in a new character. It's an awful funny song, evidently. See how they're laughin'. Be quiet, an' let's listen.'

Gladys held her peace, and sank into the seat beside Liz, and looked about her in a kind of horrified wonder.

It was a large place, with a gallery opposite the stage. The seats in the body of the hall were not set very closely together, and the audience could move freely about. It was very full; a great many young men, well-dressed, and even gentlemanly-looking in outward appearance at least; the majority were smoking. The women present were mostly young—many of them mere girls, and there was a great deal of talking and bantering going on between them and the young men.

Those in the gallery were evidently of the poorer class, and they accompanied the chorus of the song with a vigorous stamping of feet and whistling accompaniment. When Mademoiselle Frivol had concluded her performance with a little dance which brought down the house, there was a short interval, and presently some young men sauntered up to the three girls, and bade them good-evening in an easy, familiar way, which made the colour leap to the cheek of Gladys, though she did not know why. She knew nothing about young men, and had no experience to enable her to discern the fine shades of their demeanour towards women; but that innate delicacy which is the safeguard and the unfailing monitor of every woman until she wilfully throws it away for ever, told the pure-minded girl that something was amiss, and that it was no place for her.

'Who's your chum, old girl?' asked a gorgeous youth, who wore an imitation diamond breastpin and finger-ring. 'Give us an introduction, Miss Hepburn.'

He did not remove his cigar, but looked down upon the pale face of Gladys with a kind of familiar approval which hurt her, and made her long to flee from the place.

'No; shut up, an' let her a-be,' answered Liz tartly. 'Hae ye a programme?'

'Yes, but you don't deserve it for being so shabby,' said the gorgeous youth, putting on a double eyeglass, and still honouring Gladys with his attention.

'I hope you will enjoy the performance, miss,' he added. 'Did you hear Frivol's song? It was very clever, quite the hit of the evening.'

Gladys never opened her mouth. When she afterwards looked back on that experience, she wondered how she had been able to preserve her calm, cold unconcern, which very soon convinced the youth that his advances were not welcome. Liz looked round at her, and, noting the proud, contemptuous curl of the girl's sweet lips, laughed up in his face.

'It's no go, Mr. Sinclair. Let's see that programme, an' dinna be mean.'

But the discomfited Mr. Sinclair, in no little chagrin, departed as rudely as he came.

'Ye dinna want a gentleman lover, Gladys,' whispered Liz. 'He's struck, onybody can see that, an' he's in business for himsel'. I'm sure he's masher enough for you. Wull I gie him the hint to come back?'

'I'm going home, Liz. This is no place for me, nor for any of us, I know that,' said Gladys, quite hotly for her.

'Oh no, you're no'. We must hae oor sixpenceworth. Bide or nine, onyhoo. That's just twenty meenits. Here's the acrobats; ye'll like that.'

The acrobatic performance fascinated Gladys even while it horrified and almost made her sick. She watched every contortion of the bodies with the most morbid and intense interest, though feeling it to be hideous all the time. It excited her very much, and her cheeks flushed, her eyes shone with unwonted brilliance. When it was over, she rose to her feet.

'I'm going out, Liz. This is a bad place; I know it is. I'm going home.'

Liz looked up, with annoyance, at the clock.

'It's too bad; aichteenpence awa' for naething, but I suppose we maun gang. I've to leave mysel', onyway, at nine. Ye'll bide, Teen, yersel'?'

'No' me. There's no' much the nicht, onyway,' answered Teen; and her weird black eyes wandered restlessly through the hall, as if looking in vain for an absent face. So the three quitted the place in less than half an hour after they had entered it.

One of the audience watched their movements, and left the hall immediately behind them by another door. As they moved along the busy street some one touched Liz on the shoulder, and Gladys felt her hand tremble as it lay on her arm.

'I maun say guid-nicht here, Gladys,' she said hurriedly, and her cheeks were aflame. 'I'm vexed ye didna like the play. I meant it weel. Ye'll see her hame, Teen?'

'Ay,' answered Teen, and next moment Liz was gone.

Gladys, glancing back, saw her cross the street beside a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome-looking man, though she could not see his face.

'That's her bean,' said Teen, with a nod. 'He's a swell; that's what for she has her best claes on. They're awa' for a walk noo. He was in the hall, but I didna see him.'

'Is she going to be married to him?' inquired Gladys, with interest.

'She hopes sae; but—but—I wadna like to sweer by it. He's a slippery customer, an' aye was. I ken a lassie in Dennistoun he carried on as far as Liz, but I'm no' feared for Liz. She can watch hersel'.'

A strange feeling of weariness and vague terror came over Gladys. Day by day more of life was revealed to her, and added to her great perplexity. She did not like the phase with which she had that night made acquaintance. Conversation did not flourish between them, and they were glad to part at the corner of the Lane. Gladys ran up to the house, feeling almost as if somebody pursued her, and she was out of breath when she reached the door. Walter had returned from his first evening lesson, and great had been his disappointment to find Gladys out. He was quick to note, when she entered the kitchen, certain signs of nervous excitement, which made him wonder where she had been.

'It's nearly half-past nine,' said the old man crossly; 'too late for you to be in the streets. Get to bed now, and be up to work in the morning.'

'Yes, uncle,' said Gladys meekly, and retired to her own room thankfully, to lay off her bonnet and cloak.

Walter hung about by the dying fire after the old man went up to take his nightly survey of the premises, and at last Gladys came back.

'Did you have a good lesson, Walter?' she asked, with a slight smile.

'Oh, splendid. What a thing it is to learn! I feel as if I could do anything now I have begun,' he cried enthusiastically. 'Mr. Robertson was so kind. He will give me Euclid as well for the same money. He says he sees I am in earnest. Life is a fine thing after all, sometimes.'

'Yes.' Gladys looked upon his face, flushed with the fine enthusiasm of youth, with a slight feeling of envy. She felt very old and tired and sad.

'And you've been out with Liz?' he said then, seeing that for some unexplained reason she was not so interested as usual in his pursuits. 'Where did she take you?'

'To a music hall—not a nice place, Walter,' said Gladys almost shamefacedly.

His colour, the flush of quick anger, leaped in his cheek.

'A music hall! I should just say it isn't a nice place. How dared she? I see Liz needs me to talk to her plainly, and I will next time I see her,' he began hotly; but just then the old man returned, and they kept silence. But the evening's 'ploy' disturbed them both all night, though in a different way.