Sparrows Part 28

"Being at the academy makes me business-like. But there! if I haven't forgotten something; reelly I 'ave."

"What?"

"One moment: let me bring the light."

Miss Nippett led the way to the landing immediately outside her door, where she unlocked a roomy cupboard, crammed to its utmost capacity with odds and ends of cheap feminine adornment. Mangy evening boas, flimsy wraps, down-at-heel dancing shoes, handkerchiefs, gloves, powder puffs, and odd bits of ribbon were jumbled together in heaped disorder.

"D'ye know what they is?" asked Miss Nippett.

"Give it up," replied Mavis.

"They're the 'overs.'"

"What on earth's that?"

"Oh, I say, you are ignorant; reelly you are. 'Overs' is what's left and unclaimed at 'Poulter's.'"

"Really?"

"They're my 'perk,'" which last word Mavis took to be an abbreviation of perquisite.

Mavis looked curiously at the heap of forgotten finery: had she lately lived among more prosperous surroundings, she might have glanced contemptuously at this collection of tawdry flummery; but, if her sordid struggles to make both ends meet had taught her nothing else, they had given her a keen sympathy for all forms of endeavour, however humble, to escape, if only for a crowded hour, from the debasing round of uncongenial toil. Consequently, she looked with soft eyes at the pile of unclaimed "overs." None knew better than she of the sacrifices that the purchase of the cheapest of these entailed; her observation had told her with what pride they were worn, the infinite pleasure which their possession bestowed on their owner. The cupboard's contents seemed to Mavis to be eloquent of pinched meals, walks in bad weather to save 'bus fares, mean economies bravely borne; to cry aloud of pitiful efforts made by young hearts to secure a brief taste of their rightful heritage of joy, of which they had been dispossessed.

Mavis turned away with a sigh.

Presently, in the cosiness of the bed-sitting room, Miss Nippett became confidential.

"Are you ambitious?" she asked.

"I don't know," replied Mavis.

"I mean REELLY ambitious."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, like I am. I'm reelly ambitious."

"Indeed!"

"I want to be a partner in 'Poulter's.' Not for the money, you understand, but for the honour. If I was made a partner, I'd die 'appy.

See?"

"I don't see why you shouldn't be some day. Mr Poulter might reward you that way for your years of faithful service."

As Mavis walked back to Kiva Street, she asked herself the question that Miss Nippett had asked her, "Was she ambitious?"

Now, her chief concern was to earn her daily bread. It was not so very long ago that her ambition was in some way bound up with the romantic fancies which she was then so fond of weaving. Now, the prospect of again having to fight for the privilege of bread-winning drove all thought from her mind beyond this one desire--to keep afloat without exhibiting signals of distress to the Devitts.

Three days before Mavis left "Poulter's," she a.s.sisted at a Third Sat.u.r.day Night which was held, as usual, on that Sat.u.r.day of the month at the Athenaeum, Shepherd's Bush.

Mavis, dressed in her one evening frock and wearing her few trinkets, went to the Athenaeum an hour before the public was expected, in order to rehea.r.s.e with the "G.o.dolphin Band," which was always engaged for these occasions. She was in some trepidation at having to accompany professional musicians on the piano; she hoped that they would not find fault with her playing. When she got to the hall, she found Mr Poulter already there in evening dress, vainly striving to conceal his excitement.

"Aren't you nervous?" he asked.

"I am rather," she replied, as she took off her coat.

"Oh, my dear, may an old man say how beautiful you look?"

"Why not?" asked Mavis, whose eyes were s.h.i.+ning at the unexpectedness of the compliment.

Mr Poulter looked at her intently for a few moments before saying:

"Haven't you a father or mother?"

Mavis shook her head.

"Neither kith nor kin?"

"I'm all alone in the world," she replied sadly.

A sorrowful expression came over the old man's face as he said with much fervour:

"G.o.d bless you, my dear. May He keep you from pain and all harm."

Mavis was seized with a sudden impulse. She took the white head in her warm arms and kissed him fondly on the forehead.

Mr Poulter turned away and pretended to have trouble with one of his dancing pumps.

A minute or two later, three grimy, uncouth-looking men came into the hall, whom Mavis took to be gasmen.

"Here's the 'G.o.dolphin Band,'" said Mr Poulter, as he caught sight of them.

"All except Baffy: 'e's always late," remarked one of the men.

Mavis was introduced to the three members of the band, all of whom seemed to be somewhat abashed by her striking appearance.

"What about evening dress?" asked Mr Poulter of the trio.

Two of the men coughed and hesitated before saying:

"Very sorry, Mr Poulter, but Christmas coming and all that, sir--"

"I understand," sighed the dancing-master sympathetically; he then turned to the tallest of the three to ask:

"And you, Mr Cheadle?"

"What a question to ask a cornet-player!" replied Mr Cheadle, as he undid his overcoat to reveal a much worn evening suit, together with a frayed, soiled s.h.i.+rt.

"Excellent! excellent!" cried Mr Poulter on seeing the cornet-player's garb.