by Sophie May
CHAPTER XVII
IN THE CITY
The fortune seekers were set down at a street corner near the Quay athalf-past six.
When it had come to the matter of crossing the harbour, from theNorthern Shore to the Quay, in the punt (they two sitting in the cartthe while), they had found themselves called upon to pay a penny eachfor the passage over, which they had enjoyed amazingly. Betty paid bothpennies, having the coppers, but she urged John to be quick and get hisshilling changed to pay her back.
At the street corner John suggested leaving her for awhile. "This wouldbe as good a corner as any other for you, Betty," he said, and slappedthe shutters of a chemist's shop as he spoke, "You stand here, andyou'll catch everybody who goes by."
"There's no one going by yet," said Betty. "What are you going to do?You're not going to leave me all alone?"
"Well," said John, "we might stick together a bit longer, anyway. I'llcome back for you. You sing your song, and I'll just go and see if anyshops want a boy. I don't suppose the offices are opened yet. What I'dlike is a good warehouse, and then I'd rise to be manager, and partner.That's the sort of thing. I don't think there's much in a shop afterall, but I'll have to find out where the warehouses are. A tea warehouseis good, _I_ can tell you. You get sent out to India for the firm, andthen come back and are made a partner."
He started off, only to be stopped after he had gone a few steps, byBetty's voice calling, "Get your shilling changed, I want my penny"; towhich he nodded.
Betty had the corner all to herself then. Down the street, and up thestreet, and down the side street, whichever way she craned her neck shecould see no one.
It seemed to her a very good opportunity to try her powers. So shecommenced. At first it must be confessed she made no more sound thanshe had done in talking to John. And the street was so used to voicesthat it did not open an eye.
Therefore Betty grew bolder, and forgot in singing that she wasnot at the bend in the old home-road, where she had practisedonce or twice since she had decided upon her career. Her voicerose clearly--shrilly--and sometimes she remembered the tunequite fairly. When she forgot it, she filled in what would haveotherwise been a pause with a little bit out of any other tunethat came into her head.
For those who would like to know the words of the song she was singing,and who may not have it among their mother's girlhood songs, as Bettyhad, it may be as well to copy them from the paper she held in her handto refresh her memory from--
"Please give me a penny, sir; my mother dear is dead, And, oh! I am so hungry, sir--a penny please for bread; All day I have been asking, but no one heeds my cry, Will you not give me something, or surely I must die?
"Please give me a penny, sir; you won't say 'no' to me, Because I'm poor and ragged, sir, and oh! so cold you see; We were not always begging--we once were rich like you, But father died a drunkard, and mother she died too."
_Chorus_--
"Please give me a penny, sir; my mother dear is dead, And, oh! I am so hungry, sir--a penny please for bread."
At the end of the first verse she found it necessary to run her eye overthe paper before beginning the second.
Perhaps it was just as well for her serenity that she did not look up asshe sang. For just as soon as her voice rose into anything approaching atune--it was near the end of the first verse--a face looked down uponher from the corner window of the second story of the chemist's house.
It was a young face, early old--white and drawn and marked by theunmistakable lines of suffering.
Betty knew nothing about the trouble of the world in those days; nothingof suffering, nothing of sorrow. And the woman above her knew of all.She leaned over the window-sill and her eyes smiled pityingly as theyrested on the small bared head.
She had been praying her morning prayer near the open window, beggingfor strength to bear her sorrows, and for as many as might be to betaken from her, when Betty's voice quavered right up to her window.
She looked down, and there was the small singer's curly brown head. Shelooked longer, and saw Betty clasp a bare foot in one hand and stand onone foot, drop the foot from her hand and reverse the action.
It was merely a habit of Betty's, but the woman found in it a sign thatthe child was worn and weary--worn and weary before seven o'clock in themorning.
She drew her dressing-gown around her, searched her dress pocket for herpurse, and leaning out dropped sixpence upon the pavement close to thelittle singer.
Betty stopped at once and looked around her, down the street and aroundthe corner; at the shop shutters and door, but never once so high as thewindows.
The woman smiled to herself.
"Poor little mite," she said. "I must remember even the little childrenhave their griefs! It should make me grumble less."
Betty ran along the street in the direction John had taken. She felt she_must_ tell some one. Then, as a thought struck her, she ran back to thehouse, looked up to the second story and saw a smiling face, and thenset off again, running down the street for John.
Not seeing him, she stopped at the next corner and examined her coinlovingly. Then she looked up at _that_ corner window and began to singagain.
But this time her reward came from the street. Three bluejackets werewalking down the street to the Quay, lurching over the pavement as theywalked. The child's song touched and stirred that latent sentimentalityof theirs.
Her "or _surely_ I shall die," brought a silver threepence from one ofthem, and a copper from each of the others.
Betty felt wealthy now, beyond the dreams of avarice. She had made ashilling in an hour!
She looked at the post office clock high up in the air there above herhead, and it informed her that it was only a quarter past seven. Noteight o'clock yet! And she had made a shilling! Twelve pennies! As muchas she received in six months by staying at home!
She sat down on the kerbstone to count her money, putting her feet inthe dry gutter _a la maniere_ born. She made first of all a stack of herhalf-pennies, and then of her pennies. There were nine half-pennies,three pennies, a threepenny bit and a sixpence. The grand total shefound was one and fourpence halfpenny. More than even John had startedout with.
While she was thus like a small miser counting her money, a hand swoopedsuddenly down upon the heap of coppers and swept them away. Betty lookedup to scream, but it was only John. And he warned her solemnly howeasily such a dreadful theft could be committed.
"I wish to goodness the shops would open," he said discontentedly. "I'mbeginning to want some breakfast, I can tell you."
Betty unfolded her hands and displayed her wealth of coin. "A shillingin an hour," she said, and John's look of surprised unbelief delightedher.
"You picked it up!" he said.
"Oh, I didn't!" cried Betty. "People gave it to me just for singing! Ashilling an hour! I forget how much Madam S---- makes in an hour. Ithink its more than a pound!"
"Don't you want your breakfast?" asked John.
"Let's count how many hours in a day," said Betty, twisting about to seea clock, the high post office clock they were walking under now, andfound it. "I want to make my fortune quickly and go home and surprisethem. How much money is in a fortune, John?"
John considered deeply for a minute and then gave it as his idea thatfive hundred pounds was usually called a fortune.
"The child's song touched and stirred that latentsentimentality of theirs."]
"That'll take a good bit of making," said Betty.
"Well, you didn't expect to make it in a day did you?" asked Johnroughly.
"Oh, no," said Betty cheerfully, "I was only wondering how many hoursthere are in a day--at a shilling an hour."
She began to count slowly on the fingers of one hand all the hours untilseven o'clock at night, the first hour to be from eight till nineo'clock in the morning.
"Eleven hours!" she said. "That's eleven shillings! Eleven shillings,John. Oh, and one hour gone, that's tw
elve! Twelve _shillings_ a day,just fancy, John! Oh, I'll soon be rich."
"But you couldn't sing every hour in the day," said sensible John,although his eyes plainly expressed admiration for her brilliant career."Why, you'd get hoarse!"
"I only sang twice in this hour," said Betty; "the rest of the time I'vejust been counting my money and looking round me."
"But you mightn't make a shilling every hour," said John.
"_But_--some hours I may make more, so it's about equal."
"I wish we could have some breakfast," said John, reverting to histrouble. "I'm jolly hungry, I can tell you."
"So am I," said Betty. "Twelve shillings a day--six days in a week. Oh,can I sing on Sundays, John?"
"Hymns," quoth the boy.
"Um! I could sing 'Scatter seeds of kindness' and 'Yield not totemptation.' Um! I never thought of hymns. I think I'll sing hymnsto-day as well, 'cause I'm not very sure of my song yet, and every nowand then I have to stop to look at the words. Can I sing hymns on otherdays than Sundays, John?"
"Better not," said the cautious John; "better keep the proper things forthe proper days. Well, Betty Bruce, if you're going to stay here allday, I'm not. I'm getting awfully hungry."
At last Betty's motherliness awoke.
"My poor John!" she said, "of course you're hungry. We'll go to a shopand get a really good breakfast. I wasn't thinking. When a person beginsto make a lot of money, they generally forget other things, don't they?"
"Um!" said John, who had made nothing at all. "We'll go and get a goodbreakfast and then we'll be fit for anything, won't we. Come on."
They turned round the corner into King Street, and there to theirdelight found the shops one by one opening their eyes--drapers, chemist,fruiterers, and then at last a shop with cakes in the window.
The children stood at the door and peeped in. They saw myriads of whitetables and a couple of sleepy looking girls. One girl held a broom andwas leaning on its handle and surveying the stretch of floor to beswept. Her eyes at last went to the door, and Betty, seeing they hadbeen observed walked slowly in, leaving John outside.
"No," said the girl, shaking her head.
"We want some breakfast," said Betty, and added "please," as her eyesfell on a trayful of pastry on the counter.
Again the girl shook her head.
"Can't give you any here," she said; "now run away."
Then Betty's face flushed; for though one may sing to earn an honestlivelihood and competency, it is quite another thing to be taken for abeggar.
"We'll pay for it," she said, and then forgot her pride and urged, "Goon, we're so hungry! We've been walking about since five o'clock."
Something in the child's face touched the girl's heart. She herself hadbeen up at half-past five and knew a great deal about poverty andprivation.
"Well, come on then," she said. "Go and sit down at one of them tablesand I'll fetch you something."
Betty ran to the door and called "John," in an ecstatic tone, "come on."
Then the two of them chose a table and sat down.
"Not porridge, please," called Betty to the girl. "Just cakes andthings, and lemonade instead of tea. _I'll_ pay the bill."
But John brought out his shilling.
"I'll pay for myself," he said grimly, "and I'll pay you back the pennyI owe you, too."
