 Chapter 9 of THE TOWN TRAVELER by George Gissing This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 9. Polly's Defiance Content with her four lodgers, Mrs. Bubb reserved the rooms on the ground floor for her own use, in that at the back she slept with the two younger children. The other two had a little bed in the front room, which during the daytime served as a parlor. On occasions of ceremony, when the parlor was needed in the evening, the children slept in a bare attic next to that occupied by Maggi. And this they looked upon as a treat, for it removed them from their mother's observation and gave opportunities for all sorts of adventurous pranks. Thus were things arranged for tonight. Mrs. Bubb swept and garnished her parlor for the coming reception of a visitor whom she could not but look up to. Mrs. Clover's origin was as humble as her own, and her education not much better. But natural gifts and worldly circumstances had set a distance between them. Partly perhaps because she was the widow of a police constable, Mrs. Bubb gave all due weight to social distinctions. She knew her place and was incapable of presuming. With Polly Sparks she did not hesitate to use freedom, for Polly could not pretend to be on a social level with her aunt, and as a young girl of unformed character naturally owed deference to an experienced matron who took a kindly interest in her. There had been some question of inviting Mr. Sparks, but Mr. Gammon spoke against it. No, let Polly have a fair chance, first of all, of unbosoming herself before her aunt and her landlady. If she refused to do so, why then other steps must be taken. Gammon passed the day in high spirits, which with the aid of seasonable beverages tended to hilarious excitement. The thing was going to be as good as a play. In his short dialogue with Mrs. Clover he withheld from her the moving facts of the case, telling her only that her niece was going to quit Mrs. Bubb's and that it behoved her to assist in a final appeal to the girl's better feelings. His own part in the affair was merely, he explained, that of a messenger sent to urge the invitation. Mrs. Clover willingly consented to come. Not a word passed between them with reference to their last conversation, but Mr. Gammon made it plain that he nursed no resentment, and the lady of the china shop behaved very amicably indeed. At six o'clock Polly came home to dress for the theatre. She left again, having spoken to no one. Soon afterwards Gammon, who in fact had watched for her departure, entered the house and held a conversation with Mrs. Bubb in the parlor, where already the table was laid for supper at half-past eight. Scarcely had eight struck when Mrs. Clover, who had alighted from an omnibus, sounded her pleasant rat-tat, self-respecting, and such as did credit to the house, but with no suggestion of arrogance. As her habit was she kissed by Mrs. Bubb, a very kindly and gracious thing to do. She asked after the children, and was sorry she could not see them. In her attire Mrs. Clover preserved the same happy medium as in her way of plying the knocker. It was sufficiently elaborate to show consideration for her hostess, yet not so grand as to overwhelm by contrast. She looked indeed so pleasant and so fresh and so young that it was as difficult to remember the troubles of her life as it was to bear in mind that she had a daughter 17 years of age. Mr. Gammon, who made up a trio at the supper-table, put on his best behavior. It might perhaps have been suspected that he had quenched his thirst more often than was needful on a day of showers and falling temperature, but at supper he drank only two glasses of mild ale, and casually remarked, as he poured out the second, that he had serious thoughts of becoming a total abstainer. You might do worse than that, said Mrs. Clover meaningly, but with good nature. You think so? Say the word, Mrs. Clover, and I'll do it. I shan't say the word because I know you couldn't live without a glass of beer. There's no harm in that, but when? The remark was left incomplete. Hush! came from Mrs. Bubb in the same moment. Wasn't that the front door? All listened. A heavy step was ascending the stairs. Only Mr. Cheeseman, said the landlady with a sigh of agitation. Of course it couldn't be Polly yet. Not till the repast was comfortably dispatched did Mr. Gammon give a sign that it might now be well to inform Mrs. Clover of what had happened. He nodded gravely to Mrs. Bubb, who, with unaffected nervousness, causing her to ramble and stumble for many minutes in mazes of circumlocution, at length conveyed the fact to her anxious listener that Polly Sparks had said something or other which implied a knowledge of Mr. Clover's whereabouts. Committed to this central fact, and urged by Mrs. Clover's growing impatience, the good woman came out at length with her latest version of Polly's remarkable utterance. And what she said was this, Mrs. Clover, when next you go tail-telling to my aunt, she says, just as nasty as she could, when next you go making trouble with my Aunt Louisa, she says, you can tell her, she says, that there's nobody but me knows where her husband is, and what he's a-doin' of, but I wouldn't let her know, she says, not if it was to save her from death in burial in the work-us. And that's what Polly said to me this very morning, and the words made that impression on my mind that I shall never forget them to the last day of my life. Did you ever exclaimed, or rather murmured, Mrs. Clover, for she was astonished and agitated. Her face lost its wholesome tone for a moment, her hands moved as if to repel something, and at length she sat quite still, gazing at Mrs. Bub. And don't you think it queer, put in Mr. Gammon, that we never hit on that? I'm sure I should never have thought of such a thing, replied Mrs. Clover heavily, despondently. And who knows, cried Mrs. Bub, whether it's true after all, Polly's been that nasty, how if she made it up just despite us. Mrs. Clover nodded and seemed to find relief. I shouldn't wonder a bit. How should Polly know about him? It seems to me a most unlikely thing, the most unlikely thing I ever heard of. I shall never believe it till she's proved her words. I won't believe it, I can't believe it, never! Her voice rose on tremulous notes, her eyes wandered disdainfully. She looked at Gammon and immediately looked away again. He, as though an answer to an appeal, spoke with decision. What we're here for, Mrs. Clover, is to put Polly face to face with you, and so get the truth out of her. That way we'll do, cost what it may. We're not going to have that girl making trouble and disturbance just to please herself. I don't want to poke myself into other people's business, and I'm sure you won't think I do. Of course not, Mr. Gammon. Dain't likely I should think so of you. You know me better. I was just going to say that I'm a man of business, and perhaps I can help to clear up this job in a business-like way. That's what I'm here for. If I didn't think I could be of some use to you, I should make myself scarce. What I propose is this, Mrs. Clover. When Polly comes in, never mind how late it is, I'll see you safe home. Let her get upstairs just as usual. Then you go up to her door and you knock and you just say, Polly, it's me, and I want a word with you. Let me come in, please. If she lets you in, all right. Have a talk and see what comes of it. If she won't let you in, just come down again and let us know, and then we'll think what's to be done next. This suggestion was approved and time went on as the three discussed the mystery from every point of view. At about ten o'clock Mrs. Bub's ear caught the sound of a latchkey at the front door. She started up, her companions did the same. By opening the door of the parlor an inch or two it was ascertained that a person had entered the house and gone quickly upstairs. This could only be Polly, for Mr. and Mrs. Cheesman were together in their sitting-room above, their voices audible from time to time. Now then, Mrs. Clover, said Gavin, up you go. Don't be nervous, it's only Polly Sparks, and she's more called to be afraid of you than you of her. I should think so indeed, assented Mrs. Bub. Don't give way, my dear. Whatever you do, don't give way. I'm sure I feel for you. It's fair cruel it is. Mrs. Clover said nothing and made a great effort to command herself. Her friends escorted her to the foot of the stairs. Mr. and Mrs. Cheesman had their door ajar, knowing well what was in progress, for the landlady had not been able to keep her counsel at such a dramatic crisis. But fortunately Mrs. Clover was unaware of this. With light quick foot she mounted the flight of stairs and knocked softly at Polly's door. Well, who's that? sounded in a careless voice. It's me, Polly, your Aunt Louisa. Will you let me come in? What do you want? The tone of the inquiry was not encouraging, and Mrs. Clover delayed a moment before she spoke again. I want to speak to you, Polly. She set out length with firmness. You know what it's about. Let me come in, please. I've got nothing to say to you about anything, answered Polly in a tone of unmistakable decision. You're only wasting your time, and the sooner you go on, the better. She spoke near to the door, and with her last word sharply turned the key. Only just in time, for Mrs. Clover was at that moment trying the handle when she heard the excluding snap. Natural feelings so much prevailed with her that she gave the door a shake, where at her niece laughed. You're a bad wicked deceitful girl, exclaimed Mrs. Clover hotly. I don't believe a word you said, not a word. You're going to the bad as fast as ever you can, and you know it, and you don't care, and I'm sure I don't care. Somebody ought to box your ears soundly, Miss. I wouldn't have such a temper as yours, not for untold money. And when you want a friend and haven't a penny in the world, don't come to me, because I won't look at you and won't own you, and remember that, Miss. Again Polly laughed, this time in high notes of wrathful derision. Before the sound had died away, Mrs. Clover was at the foot of the staircase, where Gavin and Mrs. Bub awaited her. It's all a makeup, she declared vehemently. I won't believe a word of it. She's made fools of us the nasty ill-natured thing. Trembling with excitement, she was obliged to sit down in the parlor, whilst Mrs. Bub hovered about her within dignified consolation. Gavin, silent as yet, stood looking on. As he watched Mrs. Clover's countenance, his own underwent a change. There was a ruffling of the brows, a working of the lips, and in his good-humored blue eyes, a twinkling of half-amused, half-angry determination. Look here, he began, thrusting his hands into his side-pockets. You've come all this way, Mrs. Clover, to see Polly, and see her, you shall. I don't want to, Mr. Gavin. I couldn't. Now, steady a bit, quiet. Don't lose your head. Whether you want to see her or not, I want you to. And what's more, you shall see her. If Polly's trying to make fools of us, she shan't have all the fun. If she's telling the truth, she shall have a fair chance of proving it. If she's lying, we'll have a jolly good try to make her jolly well ashamed of herself. See here, Mrs. Bub, what you'd do as I ask you. And what's that, Mr. Gavin? Asked the landlady, eager to show her spirit. You go up to Polly's room, and you say this. Miss Parks, you say, you've got to come downstairs and see your aunt. If you'll come, quite well and good. If you won't, I just got to tell you that the lock on your door is easy-forced, and expense shan't stand in the way. Now you just go and say that. Mrs. Bub and Mrs. Clover exchanged glances. Both were plainly impressed by this masculine suggestion, but they hesitated. I don't want to make an upset in the house, said Mrs. Clover. There isn't a word of truth in what she said, I feel sure of that, and it's no use. If you ask me, Gavin interposed, I'm not at all sure about that. It seems to me just as likely as not that she has come across Mr. Clover, just as likely as not. Angry agitation again took hold of Polly's aunt, who was very easily swayed by an opinion for Mr. Gavin. The landlady too gave willing ear to his words. Do you mean, she asked, that we should really break the door open? I do, and once more I'll pay the damage. Go up, Mrs. Bub, and just say what I told you, and let's see how she takes it. Mrs. Clover began a faint objection, but Mrs. Bub did not heed it. Her face set in the joy of battle, she turned from the room and ran upstairs. End of chapter 9, recording by Arnold Banner, Mount Erie, North Carolina. Chapter 10 of The Town Traveler by George Gissing This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 10 The Storming of the Fort Mr. and Mrs. Cheesemen, squeezed together at their partly open door, were following the course of events with a delighted eagerness which threatened to break all bounds of discretion. Their grinning faces signaled to Mrs. Bub as she went by, and she, no less animated, waved a hand to them as if promising richer entertainment. The next minute she was heard parlaying with Miss Sparks, Polly received her as was to be expected with acrimonious defiance. Oh, it's you, is it, Mrs. Bub? Go and clean up your dirty kitchen. It'll take you all your time. They're needed but this to fire the landlady to extremities. Her answer rang through the house. Dirty kitchen indeed. And how many meals had Miss Sparks eaten there at cost price? I, often for nothing at all. And who was it as made most dirt, coming in at all hours of the day and night from running about the streets? Very well, my lady. Are you going to turn that key or not? That's all I want to know. I'll have pity on your ignorance, replied Polly, and tell you more than that. I'm going to bed, and going to try to get to sleep, if there's any chance of it in a house like this, which might be a asylum for inebrates. Mrs. Bub laughed. The strangest laugh ever heard from her respectable lips. Words were needless, and in a few seconds she panted before her friends downstairs. She says she's going to bed. Of all the shingeless creatures. Called me every night she could turn her tongue to, and wouldn't open her door, not if the house was burning. Do you hear her? Mr. Gamin buttoned his coat from top to bottom, smoothed his mustache and his side whiskers, and had the air of a man who was in readiness for stern duty. I want both of you to come up with me, he said quietly. Mrs. Clover began to look alarmed, even embarrassed. But perhaps she's really gone to bed. All right, she shall have time, he nodded, laughing. I want both of you to come up to see fair play. But Mr. Gamin, I shouldn't like. Mrs. Clover, you've come here to see Polly, and you've a right to see Polly. And by Jarax you shall see Polly. Follow me upstairs. I've said all that need be said. Now to business. They ascended. Gamin three steps at a stride, the others in a hurry and a flutter. Light streamed from the cheeseman's room. The first floor lodgers, incapable any longer of self-restraint, were out on the landing. On the next floor it was dark, but Mr. Gamin saw a gleam along the bottom of Polly's door. He knocked. The knock of a policeman armed with a warrant. Mrs. Sparks? Oh, it's you this time, is it? Come just to say good night. You need not put yourself out. Mrs. Sparks, are you in your proper dress? What do you mean? Polly answered resentfully. You've been drinking again, I suppose. Not at all, my dear. I asked you for a good and sufficient reason. I'm going to break your door open, that's all, and I wish to give you fair warning. Are you dressed or not? Impudent wretch, what are you doing here? What business is it of yours? I'm the only strong man handy, that's all, paid for the job, being out of work just now. Mrs. Bub Tittered. Mrs. Cheeseman down below choked audibly. Will you answer that question or not? Very good. I give you till I've counted fifty, slow. When I say fifty, bang goes the bloomin' door. Amid an awful silence, enveloped as it were by the dull rumbling of vehicles without, Mr. Gamin's voice began counting. He expected to hear Polly's key turn in the lock. So did Mrs. Bub and Mrs. Clover, but the key moved not. Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. Gamin drew back to give himself impetus and rushed against the door. With raised foot he struck it just by the handle and the house seemed to shiver. A second assault was successful. With crash and splintering the lock yielded, the door flew open. At the far side of the room stood Polly, but in no attitude of surrender. She held a clothesbrush, and as soon as the assailant showed himself, flung it violently at his head. Another missile would have followed, but Gamin was too quick. With a red Indian yellow victory he crossed the floor at one bound and had Polly in his arms. Look out, ladies! He shouted, See fair play! Mrs. Bub vented her emotions in, Oh my! And did you ever, with little screams of excitement, verging on sheer laughter? It avenged her delightfully to see Miss Sparks gripped by the waist and hoisted for removal. But Mrs. Clover was evidently possessed by very different feelings. Drawing back, as if in alarm or shame, a glow on each cheek, she uttered an involuntary cry of protest. No, Mr. Gamin, I can't have that! It was doubtful whether the champion heard, for he unmistakably had his work set. To then nail Polly contested every inch of ground. One moment her little fists were pummeling Gamin in the face. The next she tugged at his hair. Then again she scratched and kicked simultaneously, her voice meanwhile screaming insult and menace, which must have been audible in the neighbor's houses. Stop, entreated Mrs. Clover. Put her down at once, she commanded. Do you hear me, Mr. Gamin? Whether or not he did, the bold bagman paid no heed. He had at length the firmer grip of Polly with one of her arms imprisoned. He neared the head of the stairs, the women falling back before him. Mind what you're up to, he was heard to shout good-humoredly as ever. If you trip me, we shall both break our blessed necks. How dare you, shrieked the voice of the captive, now growing horse. I'll give you in charge the minute I get downstairs. Ugly beast, I'll give you all in charge. The dissent began. But that Polly was slightly made. A man of Gamin's physique would have found it impossible to carry her down the stairs. As it was he soon began puffing and groaning. In spite of the risk Polly still struggled. Two stair railings were wrenched away on the first flight. Then appeared Mr. and Mrs. Cheeseman, red and perspiring with muffled laughter. You may laugh, you wretches, Polly shrieked. I'll give you all in charge. See if I don't. You've all took part in an assault. See what you'll get for it. After that she no longer resisted, except for an occasional kick on her bearer's shins. They reached the ground floor. They tottered into the parlor. Close upon them followed Mrs. Bub and Mrs. Clover. Set upon her feet, Polly seemed for a moment about to rush to the window. A second thought led her to the mirror over the mantelpiece, where, fiercely eyeing the reflected group behind her, she made shift to smooth her hair and arrange her dress. Gamin had sunk upon a chair and was mopping his forehead. He had suffered far more than Polly in the encounter, and looked indeed with wild hair, scratched face, burst collar, loose necktie, a startling object. Now then, the girl moved towards him, fists clenched as if to renew hostilities. What do you mean by this? Just you tell me what you mean by it. As soon as I can get breath, my dear, I meant to bring you down to speak to your aunt, and I've done it, see. I'm ashamed of you, Mr. Gamin, exclaimed Mrs. Clover severely. I never thought you would go so far as this. Ashamed of him are you? shrieked the girl, turning furiously upon her relative. Be ashamed of yourself. What do you call yourself, A., a respectable woman? And you look on while your own niece is treated in this way? Why, a costumonger's wife wouldn't disgrace herself so. No wonder your husband's run away from you. Oh, this low, vulgar, horrid girl, cried her aunt in a revulsion of feeling. How she can be any relative of mine, I'm sure I don't know. Oh, you nasty, ungrateful young woman you, chimed in Mrs. Bub, to speak to your kind aunt like that, as has been taking your part when I'm sure I wouldn't have done. I'd like to see you put on bread and water till you owned up whether you told lies or not. Mrs. Clover was moved to the point of shedding tears, though her handkerchief soon stopped the flow. Polly, she said, raising her voice above the hubbub, you've treated me that bad, there's no words for it. But I can't believe you let me go away like this without knowing whether you've really seen Mr. Clover or not. Just tell me, do. Oh, it's just tell you, is it? After you've had me knocked about and insulted by a dirty rough like that gammon? You've heard me say I never thought he meant to behave, so I wouldn't have had it for anything. Whilst Mrs. Clover was speaking, gammon beckoned to the landlady, and together they retreated from the room, closing the door behind them. On the stairs stood Mr. and Mrs. Cheeseman, eager for the latest news of the fray. At their invitation Mrs. Bub and the hero of the evening stepped up, and for a quarter of an hour Mrs. Clover was left alone with her niece. Then the landlady's attention was called by a voice from below. I must be going, Mrs. Bub, I'll say good night. Quickly Mrs. Bub descended. She saw at a glance that Polly's wrath had in no degree diminished, and that Mrs. Clover was no witt easier in mind. But both had become silent. Merely saying that she would see her hostess again before long the lady of the china shop took a hurried leave and quitted the house. She had walked but a few yards when Mr. Gammon's voice sounded at her shoulder. I'll see you part of the way home, he said genially. I much obliged to you, Mr. Gammon, was Mrs. Clover's reply, but I can find my own way. You'll let me see you into a bus at all events. Please don't trouble, I'd much rather you didn't. Why? asked Gammon bluntly. Because I had, I'll say good night. She stood still looking him in the face with cold displeasure, only for a moment though, as her eyes could not bear the honest look in his. Right you are, said Gammon, with affected carelessness. Just as you like, I won't force my company on anyone. Mrs. Clover made the movement which in women of her breeding signifies a formal bow, hopelessly awkward, rigid, and self-conscious, and walked rapidly away. The man, not a little crestfallen, swung round on his heel. What's wrong now? he asked himself. It can't be about many, for she was all right to laugh to supper. And why it should make her angry because I lug that cat Polly downstairs is more than I can understand. Well, I shan't die of it. On re-entering the house he found all quiet. Polly had returned to her chamber. Mrs. Bub was in the cheeseman's room. He went down into the kitchen, where the gas was burning, and sat till the landlady came down. I don't see as you did much good, was Mrs. Bub's first remark, in the tone which signifies reaction after excitement. It weren't worth breaking a door, and it seems to me. Gammon hung his head. Didn't Polly tell her anything? She stuck out all she knew where the husband was, and that's all. How do you know? Polly said so as she went upstairs, and opened her onto which sleep well on it. I suppose that's why I couldn't get a word out of Mrs. Clover. Have the door mended, Mrs. Bub, and charged me with it. Got anything to drink, handy? That I haven't, Mr. Gammon, except water. Gammon looked at his watch. Why, it's only just half past eleven. Hanged if I didn't think it was past midnight. I must go round to get a drop of something. When he came back from quenching his thirst, the house was in darkness. He strode the familiar ascent, and by Polly's door, barricaded inside with the chest of drawers, hummed a mirthful strain. As he jumped into bed, the events of the evening all at once struck him in such a comical light that he uttered a great guffaw, and for the next ten minutes he lay under the bed-clothes, shaking with laughter. End of Chapter 10. Recording by Arnold Banner, Mount Erie, North Carolina. Chapter 11 of The Town Traveler by George Gissing. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 11. The Nose of the Tree Foils. At noon next day a cab drove up to Mrs. Bub's house, and from it alighted Miss Sparks, who, with the help of the cab man, brought downstairs a tin box, a wooden box, two band boxes, and three newspaper bundles. With no one did she exchange a word of farewell. The cheese-mans were out, the landlady and moggy kept below stairs, so Polly turned her back upon Kennington Road and shook the dust thereof from her feet forever. Willingly she had accepted a proposal that she should share the room of her friend Miss Waghorn, who was to be married in a month's time to Mr. Nibby, and did not mind a little inconvenience. The room was on the third floor of a house at the north end of Shaftesbury Avenue. It measured twelve feet by fourteen. When Polly's band boxes had been thrust under the bed, and her larger luggage built up in a corner, there was nice standing room for both her and Miss Waghorn. The house contained ten rooms in all, and its population, including seven children, amounted to 23. In this warm weather the atmosphere within doors might occasionally be a trifle close, but Shaftesbury Avenue is a fine broad street and has great advantages of situation. To Mr. Gammond's casual inquiry, Mrs. Bubb replied that she neither knew nor cared whether Polly had betaken herself. Himself, having no great curiosity in the matter, and being much absorbed in his endeavour to obtain an engagement with a house of quaddling, he let Polly slip from his mind for a few days, until one morning came a letter from her. Positively, and to his vast surprise, a letter addressed to him by Miss Sparks, with her abode fully indicated in the usual place. True, the style of the epistle was informal. It began, You took advantage of me because there wasn't a man in the house to take my part, as I don't call that grinning monkey of a cheeseman a man at all. If you like to call where I am now, I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to the house. Introducing you to somebody that will give you the good hiding you deserve for being a coward and a brute. Miss Sparks. Gammond laughed over this for half an hour. He showed it to Mrs. Bubb, who was again on the old terms with him, and Mrs. Bubb wanted to exhibit it to Mrs. Cheeseman. No, don't do that, he interposed gently. We'll keep it between ourselves. Why? Oh, I don't know. The girl can't help herself. She was born that way, you know. I only hope she won't pay some rough to follow you at night and bash you, said Mrs. Bubb, warningly. I don't think that. No, no. Polly's bark is worse than her bite any day. On the evening of that day, about ten o'clock, he chanced to be in Oxford Street, and as he turned southward it occurred to him that he would so far act upon Polly's invitation as to walk down the avenue and glance at the house where she lived. He did so, and it surprised him to see that she had taken up her abode and so mean-looking a place. He was not aware, of course, that Miss Waghorn found the quarters good enough for her own, more imposing charms and not less brilliant wardrobe. Walking on at Cambridge Circus, he came face to face with Miss Sparks herself, accompanied by Miss Waghorn. To his hat-salute and amiable smile Polly replied with a fierce averting of the look. Her friend nodded cheerfully, and they passed. Two minutes after he found Miss Waghorn beside him. Hello, left Polly. I want you to come back with me, Mr. Gammon, replied the maiden archly. I hear you've offended Miss Sparks. I don't know what it is, I'm sure, and I don't ask to be told, because it's none of my business. But I want to make you friends again, and I'm sure you'll apologize to her. Eh? Apologize? Why, of course I will, only too delighted. That's nice of you. I always said you were a nice man. Ask Polly if I didn't. The same to you, my dear, and many of them. Come along. As if wholly unaware of what was happening, Polly had proceeded homewards, not so fast, however, that the others overtook her with ease before she reached the house. How do you do, Miss Sparks? Began her enemy, not without diffidence, as she turned upon him. I'm surprised to hear from Miss Waghorn that something I've said or done has riled you, if I may use the expression. I couldn't have meant it. I'm sure I humbly beg pardon. Strange to say, by this imperfect expression of regret, Miss Sparks allowed herself to be mollified. Presenting a three-quarter countenance with a forbearing smile, she answered in the formula of her class. Oh, I'm sure it's granted. There now, we're all friends again, said Carrie Waghorn. Miss Sparks is living with me for the present, Mr. Gammon. There'll be changes before long. She looked about her with prudish embarrassment. But of course we shall be seeing you again. Do you know the address, Mr. Gammon? She mentioned the number of the house and carefully repeated it, whilst Polly turned away, as if the conversation did not interest her. Thereupon Mr. Gammon bade them good night and went his way, marveling that Polly Sparks had all at once become so placable. Was it a stratagem to throw him off his guard and bring him into the clutches of some Avenger, one of these knights? One never knew what went on in the minds of such young women as Polly. Next morning he had another surprise, a letter from his friend Greenacre, inviting him, with many phrases of studious politeness, to dine that day at a great hotel, the hour eight o'clock, and begging him to reply by telegram addressed to the same hotel. This puzzled Gammon, yet less than it could have done at an earlier stage of their acquaintance. He had abandoned the hope of explaining Greenacre's mysterious circumstances and the attempt to decide whether his stories were worthy of belief or not. Half suspecting that he might be the victim of a hoax, he telegraphed in acceptance and thought no more of the matter until the evening approached. Part of his day was spent in helping a distracted shopkeeper on the verge of failure to obtain indulgence from certain of his creditors. He also secured a place as errand boy for the son of a poor woman with whom he had lodged until her house was burnt down one bank holiday, and he made a trip to Hammersmith to give evidence at the police court for a friend charged with assaulting a policeman. Just before eight o'clock after a hasty wash and brush up at a public lavatory, he presented himself at the great hotel, where, from a lounge in the smoking room, Greenacre rose to welcome him. Greenacre indubitably, but much better dressed than Gammon had ever seen him, and with an air of lively graciousness which was very impressive. The strange fellow offered not a word of explanation, but chatted as though their meeting in such places as this were an everyday occurrence. I have something interesting to tell you, he observed, when they were seated in the brilliant dining room, with olive sardines and the like to toy with, before the serious commencement of their meal. You remember, when was it, not long ago, asking me about a family named Quadling? Of course I do, it was only the other day at, ah, just so, yes, interposed Greenacre, suavely ignoring the locality. You know my weakness for looking up family histories. I happened to be talking with my friend Beeching yesterday, Aldum Beeching, you know, the QC, and Quadling came into my head. I mentioned the name. It was as I thought. I had, you know, a vague recollection of Quadling as connected with a lawsuit when I was a boy. Beeching could tell me all about it. Well, what was it? A queer story. A Mrs. Quadling, a widow, or believed to be a widow, came in for a large sum of money under the will of Lord Palparo, the second baron, uncle, I am told, of his present lordship. This will was contested by the family. A very complicated affair, Beeching tells me. Mrs. Quadling, whose character was attacked, declared that she knew Lord Palparo in an honorable way, that he had taken a great interest in her children, two young boys. Now these boys were produced in court. Then it was seen, excellent suit this, that they bore little if any resemblance to each other, and at the same time it was made evident, by exhibition of a portrait, that the younger boy had a face with a strong likeness to the testator, and many witnesses declared the same. Interesting, isn't it? For the widow, remarked Gammon, uncommonly awkward, though she gained her case for all that. Palparo, it seems, had a shady reputation, heavy drinker, and so on. There were strong characteristics, some peculiarity of the nose. The old chap used to say that there was the nose of the bourbons, and the nose of the tree foils, his family name. What name? Tree foils, Cornish, you know, rum lot they always seem to have been. Barony created by George III for some personal service. The first Palparo is said to have lived a year or two as a gypsy, and at another time as a highwayman. There's a portrait of him, beaching tells me, in somebody's history of Cornwall, showing to perfection the tree foil nose. Same as quaddling's then? exclaimed Gammon. Quaddling the broker? Precisely, I would suggest, my dear fellow, that you don't speak quite so loud. Francis Quaddling was the boy who so strongly resembled the Lord Palparo of the lawsuit. Nose with high arch and something queer about the nostril. Yes, and hanged if it isn't just the same as a deprecatory gesture from his friend Stock Gammon on the point of uttering the name Clover. Again he had sinned against the proprieties by unduly raising his voice, and he subsided in confusion. You are going to say, murmured the host politely. Oh nothing, there's a man I know who has just the same nose, that's all. That's very interesting, and considering the Palparo reputation it wouldn't surprise me to come across a good many such noses. You remember my favorite speculation? It comes in very well here, doesn't it? Is all this information of any service to you? Much obliged to you for your trouble. I don't know that I can make any use of it, but yes, it does give a sort of hint. On reflection Gammon decided to keep the matter to himself. He had set his mind on discovering Mrs. Clover's husband, and was all the more determined to perform this feat since the recent events in Kennington Road. Mrs. Clover had treated him unkindly. He would prove to her that this had no effect upon his zeal in her service. Polly Sparks was making fun of him, and the laugh should yet be on his side. Greenacre, with his mysterious connections, might be of use, but must not be allowed to run away with the credit of the discovery. As for these stories about Lord Palparo, it might turn out that Clover was illegitimately related to the noble family. No subject for boasting, though possibly an explanation of his strange life. If Polly were really in communication with him, oh-ho, very good! Ha-ha! What now? asked Greenacre. Nothing queer fancy I had. After dinner they smoked together for an hour, the host talking incessantly, and for the most part in a vein of reminiscence. To hear him one would have supposed that he had always lived in the society of distinguished people. Never a word referring to poverty or mean employment fell from his lips. Poor Balzover, he remarked, did I tell you that I had a very kind letter from his widow? I haven't seen you since. Ah, no, to be sure. I wrote a rather I left a card at the townhouse, charming letter in reply. The poor lady is still quite young. She was a Thompson of Derbyshire. I never knew the family at all well. Gamin mused, and it occurred to him in his knowledge of the world that Greenacre's connection with the house of Balzover might be that of a begging letter writer. There might have been some slight acquaintance in years gone by between the strange fellow and young Lord Balzover, subsequently made a source of profit. Per chance, Greenacre's prosperity at this moment resulted from a skilful appeal to the widowed lady. Inclined to facetiousness by a blend of choice beverages, Gamin could not resist a joke at the moment when he took leave. Been out with the sapon area van today, he inquired innocently. Greenacre looked steadily at him with eyes of gentle reproach. I'm afraid I don't understand that illusion, he replied gravely. Is it a current jest? I am not much on the way of hearing that kind of thing. By the by, let me know if I can help you in any more genealogies. I will, so long, old man. And with a wink, an undeniable wink, an audacious wink, Mr. Gamin sallied from the hotel. Before going to bed he wrote a letter, a letter to Miss Sparks, which he see him the day after tomorrow, Sunday, if he strolled along Shaftesbury Avenue at 10 a.m. It would greatly delight him, and perhaps she might be persuaded to take a little jaunt to Dullwich and look at his bow-wows. End of Chapter 11 Recording by Arnold Banner, Mount Airy, North Carolina Chapter 12 of The Town Traveler by George Gissing This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Chapter 12 Polly Condescends There was time enough for Polly to reply to this invitation, but reply she did not. Nonetheless, Gamin was walking about near her lodgings at 10 o'clock on Sunday morning. It seemed to him that he once or twice perceived a face at an upper window, but at a quarter past the hour a Miss Sparks had not come forth. He was on the point of going boldly to the door when a recognizable figure approached, that of Mr. Nibby. The men held each other. Waiting for somebody, inquired the representative of the gilling water burner, a twinkle in his eye. To avoid the risk of complications, Gamin avowed that he was looking out for Miss Sparks with whom he wanted a word on private business. First rate, exclaimed Mr. Nibby, she's coming along with Miss Waghorn and me to my brothers at Endon, the Blue Anchor. Do you know it? Nice little property. You'll have to join us. First rate. I'm only afraid it may rhyme. Do you think it will rhyme? May or may not, replied Gamin, staring at the clouds and thinking over the situation as a concerned himself. If it's going to rhyme, it will, you know. That's true. I'll just let him know I'm here. But at this moment the two young ladies came forth, blushing and resplendent. Hats were doft and hands were shaken. Why is that you, Mr. Gamin? cried Carrie Waghorn when the ceremony was over, as if only just aware of his presence. Well, this is a surprise, isn't it, Polly? Miss Sparks seemed barely to recognize Mr. Gamin, but of necessity she took a place by his side and walked on with a rhythmic tossing of the head, which had a new adornment, a cluster of great blue flowers, unknown to the botanist, in the place of her everyday poppies. If you don't want me, remarked Gamin, glancing at her, you've only to say so, and I'm off. Polly looked up at the sky and answered with a question. Do you think it's going to rain? Shouldn't wonder. Well, you are polite. What's the rain got to do with politeness? I say, why didn't you answer my letter? I pay no attention to impertinence, replied Miss Sparks haughtily. Oh, that's it. Never mind, we shall get on better presently. I say, Polly, do you see you've left marks on my face? Polly said her lips and kept a severe silence. I don't mind them, Gamin continued, rather proud of them. If anybody asks me how I got the scratches, the girl looked sharply at him. Do you mean to say you tell? Well, if you call that gentlemanly. Wouldn't tell the truth, Polly, not for as many kisses as there are scratches, my dear. Polly bridled, young women of her class still bridle. But looked rather pleased, and Gamin chuckled to himself, thinking that all went well. The rain came, but for all that they had a day of enjoyment, spent chiefly in an arbor, not quite rain-proof, on the skittle-ground behind the blue anchor at Hendon. Continuous was the popping of corks, and frequent were the outbursts of hilarity. Polly did not abandon her reserve with Mr. Gamin. Now and then she condescended to smile at his sallies of wit, whereas she screamed at a joke from others. The landlord of the blue anchor was a widower of about thirty, and had some claims to be considered a lady's man. To him Polly directed her friendly looks and remarks with a freedom which could not but excite attention. Is that the fellow that's going to give me a thrashing, Gamin asked of her at length, in an aside? Don't be a silly, she answered, turning her back, because if so, I'd better get the start of him. There's a convenient bit of ground here. He spoke with such seeming seriousness that Polly showed alarm. Don't be silly, Mr. Gamin. If you misbehave yourself, I'll never speak to you again. Well, what I want to know is, am I to be on guard? Am I to mind my eye whenever I'm near you? He spoke as if with a real desire to be relieved from apprehension. At this moment their companions had drawn apart, and they could converse unheard. You know very well what you deserve, replied Polly, looking a-scance at him, and if such a thing ever was to happen again, well, you'd see, that's all. Therewith the peace, or at all events the truce, was concluded, and Ms. Sparks allowed herself to meet Mr. Gamin's advances with frankness and appreciation. The fact that he did unmistakably make advances secretly surprised her, but not more than Gamin was surprised to find himself coming into favor. A few days later the opportunity for which he waited came to pass, and he was invited to an interview with Quadling and Son. That is to say, with a person who was neither Quadling nor Quadling's son, but held a position of authority at their place of business in Norton Fallgate. Whenever the chance was given him of applying personally for any post that he desired, Mr. Gamin felt a reasonable assurance of success. Honesty was written broadly upon his visage. Capability declared itself in his speech. He could win the liking and confidence of any ordinary man of business in ten minutes. It happened, fortunately, that the firm of Quadling needed just such a representative. As Gamin knew, they had been unlucky in their town-traveler of late, and they looked just now more to the address, the personal qualities, of an applicant for the position, than to his actual acquaintance with their business, which was greatly a matter of routine. Mr. Gamin was accepted on trial, and in a day or two began his urban travels. Particular about the horses he drove, Gamin saw with pleasure the young Dark Bay Cobb, stylishly harnessed, which pawed delicately as he mounted the neat little trap put at his disposal. It is the blessedness of a mind and temper such as his that the things which charm at the beginning of life continue to give pleasure, scarce abated, as long as the natural force remains. At forty years of age Gamin set off about his business with all the zest of a healthy boy. The knowledge he had gained, all practical, and so to speak for external application, could never become the burden of the philosopher. If he had any wisdom at all, it consisted in the lack of self-consciousness, the animal acceptance of whatever good the hour might bring. He and his Bay Cobb were very much on the same footing. Granted by a method of communication, and they would have understood each other. Even so with his bow-ows, as he called them. He rose superior to horse and dog, mainly in that one matter of desire for a certain kind of female companionship, and this drain of idealism, naturally enough, was the cause of almost the only discontent he ever knew. Joyously he rattled about the highways and byways of Greater London. The position he had now obtained was to become a permanency, to quaddling in sun he could attach himself, making his services indispensable. One of these days, not just yet, he would look in at Mrs. Clover's and see whether she still kept in the same resentful mind towards him. It was an odd thing that nowadays he gave more thought to Mrs. Clover than to many. The young girl glimmered very far away, at a height above him. He had made a mistake and frankly recognized it. But Mrs. Clover, his excellent friend of many years, shone with no such superiority, and was not above rebuke for any injustice she might do him. Probably by this time she had forgotten her fretfulness, a result of overstrung nerves. She would ask his pardon and ought to do so. He thought of Polly Sparks, but always with a peculiar smile inclining to a grimace. Polly had come round in the most astonishing way, but she would come round yet more before he had done with her. His idea was to take Polly to Dulwich and show her the bow-wows. He saw possibilities of a quiet meal together at the inn. The difficulty was to reassure her natural tremors without losing the ground he had gained by his judicious approaches. About the middle of July he prevailed upon her to accept his invitation and to come alone, though Polly continued to declare that she hated dogs and that she had never in her life gone to so remote and rural a spot as Dulwich without a lady-friend to keep her in countenance. Everything must have a beginning, said Gammon merrily. If you let those people know, I'll never speak to you again. She referred to Mrs. Bub and her household, of whom she had never ceased to speak with animus. On her bright they shan't hear a whisper of it. So on a Sunday morning they made the journey by omnibus for the sake of the fresh air, Polly remarking again and again on her great condescension, reaffirming her dislike of dogs and declaring that if a drop of rain fell she would turn about homeward forthwith. Nonetheless did she appear to find pleasure in Mr. Gammon's society. If his gossip included a casual mention of some young lady, a friend of his, she pressed for information concerning that person and never seemed quite satisfied with what she was told about her. Slightly observant of this, her companion multiplied his sportive illusions and was amused to find Polly grow waspish. Then again he soothed her with solid flattery. Nothing of the kind was too gross for Polly's appetite. And so conversing they shortened the journey to remote dullage. With gathered skirts and a fear partly real but more affected, Mrs. Sparks entered the yard where Gammon's dogs were kept. As a matter of fact he shared in their ownership with the landlord of the public house, a skillful breeder. When puppies gambled about her she woke the echoes with a scream. From a fine carrier, a game dog whose latest exploit was the killing of a hundred rats in six minutes, she backed trembling and even put out a hand to Gammon as if for protection. Polly's behavior indeed was such as would have been proper in a fine lady forty years ago, the fashion having descended to her class just as fashions and costume are won't to do at a shorter interval. When Gammon begged her to feel the feather of a beautiful collie, she at length did so with great timidity. And a moment after to show how doggy she was becoming she spoke of the feather of a little blackened tan where at Gammon smiled broadly. On the whole they much enjoyed themselves and had a good appetite at dinner time. The meal was laid for them in a small private room which smelt principally of stale tobacco and stale chimney soot. The water bottle on the table was encrusted with a white enamel advertisement of somebody's whiskey and had another such recommendation legible on its base. The tray used by the girl in attendance was enameled with the name of somebody's brandy. On the walls hung three brightly colored calendars, each an advertisement, one of sewing machines, one of a popular insurance office, one of a local grocery business. The other mural adornments were old colored pictures of race horses and faded photographs of dogs. A clock on the mantelpiece, not going, showed across its face the name of a firm that dealt in aerated waters. Course and plentiful were the vions, and Polly did justice to them. She had excellent teeth, a very uncommon thing in girls of her kind, but Polly's parents were of country origin. With these weapons she feared not even the pastry set before her, which it was just possible to break with an ordinary fork. Towards the end Gammon drew silent and meditative. He kept gazing at the windows, as if for aid in some calculation. When Polly at last threw down her cheese knife, glowing with the thought that she had dined well at somebody else's expense, he leaned forward on the table, looked her in the eyes, and began a momentous dialogue. End of Chapter 12 Recording by Arnold Banner, Mount Airy, North Carolina Chapter 13 of The Town Traveler by George Gissing This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13 Gammon the Crafty What did you want to do such a silly thing as that for? Polly stared in astonishment. What do you mean? Why did you let out to Mrs. Clover what you knew? The girl's color deepened by a shade, it was already rich, and her eyes grew alarmed, suspicious, watchful. I didn't let out what I knew, she answered, rather confused. It was Gammon's turn to watch keenly. Not all, of course not, he remarked slyly. But why couldn't you keep it to yourself that you'd met him? Polly's eyes wandered. Gammon smiled with satisfaction. I'd have kept that to myself, he said in a friendly way. I know how it was, of course. You got riled and came out with it. A great pity. She had all but forgot him. Now she'll never rest till she's found him out, and you might have seen how much more to your advantage it was to keep a thing like that quiet. Unwanted mental disturbance was playing tricks with Polly's complexion. She evidently feared to compromise herself, and at the same time desired to know all that was in her companion's mind. What business is it of yours? was the crude phrase that at length fell from her lips, uttered half-heartedly between resentment and jesting. Well, there's the point, replied Gammon with a laugh. Queer thing, but it just happens to be particular business of mine. Polly stared. He nodded. There's such a thing Polly is going has in a secret. I've been wondering these last few days whether I should tell you or not. But we're getting on so well together, eh? Better than I expected, for one. I shouldn't feel I was doing right, Polly, if I took any advantage of you. She was growing excited. Her wiles had given way before superior stratagem, and perhaps before something in herself that played traitor. You mean you know about him? she asked, almost confidentially. Not all I want to, yet. He's a sharp customer, but considerably more than you do, Polly, my dear. I don't believe you. That has nothing to do with it. Suppose you ask me a question or two, I might be able to tell you something you would like to know. It was sad, of course, without any suspicion of the real state of things, but Gammon saw at once that he had excited in eager curiosity. You know where he is, then? asked Polly. Well, we'll say so. Where? When did you see him last? We're going too quickly, old girl. The question is, when did you see him last? Ah, you'd like to know, wouldn't you? Gammon burst out laughing, ever the surest way of baffling a silly woman. Polly grew hot with anger, then subsided into mortification. She knew the weakness of her position, and inclined evermore to make an ally of the man who had overcome her in battle and carried her off in his arms. And the other question is, Gammon proceeded, as if enjoying a huge joke, when did you see him first? I suppose you know, she murmured reluctantly. Let us suppose I do, and suppose I am trying to make up my mind about the best way of dealing with a little affair. As I told you, I wish Mrs. Clover didn't know about it, but that's your doing. Our friend Mr. C. wouldn't thank you. He knows, then, does he? cried Polly. Mr. C. knows a great many things, my dear. He was not born yesterday. Now, see here, Polly. We're both of us in this, and we'd better be straight with each other. I am no friend of Mr. C., but I am a friend of yours, and if you can help me to get a bit tighter hold of him. Yes, yes, I'll tell you presently. The question is, whether I can depend upon what he says. Of course I know all about you. I want to know more about him. Now, is it true that you saw him first at the theatre? Polly nodded, and Gammon congratulated himself on his guess. And he wasn't alone? No. Just what I thought. He says he was alone, eh? asked Polly, with eagerness. I guess why. Now, who was with him, old girl? A moment's sulky hesitation, and Polly threw away all reserve. There was two ladies. If they were ladies at all events, they was dressed like it. Oldish, both of them. One was a foreigner. I know that because I heard her speak, and it wasn't English. The other one spoke back to her in the same way, but I heard her speak English too, and she was the one that sat next to him. Good Polly, we're getting on. And how did you notice him? Well, it was like this. She began to narrate with vivacity. I offered him a program, see? And he gave me half a sovereign, and looked up at me as much as to say he'd like change. And I'd no sooner met his eyes than I knew him. How could I help? He don't look to have changed a bit. And I saw as he knew me. I saw it by a queer sort of wink he give. And then he looked at me, frightened like, didn't he just? Of course, I didn't say nothing, but I kept standing by him a minute or two. And I'd forgotten all about the change till he said to me, with a sort of look. You may keep that, he said, and I says, Thank you, sir. And nearly laughed. Not a bad tip, eh, Polly? Oh, I've had as good before, she replied, with a brief return to the old manner. No doubt he enjoyed himself that evening. He kept spying round for you, didn't he? I saw him look once or twice, and I gave him a look back. But I couldn't do much more then. I said to myself I'd keep my eye on him to see if he came out after the first act. And sure enough he did. And there was me standing in his way, and he put his hand out to give me something, and just nodded and went on. It wasn't money, but a bit of paper twisted up, and something wrote on it in pencil. I thought so. And where were you to meet him? Well, I knew there couldn't be no harm him being my own uncle, Polly replied with the air of repelling and accusation. Of course not, who said there was? Well, it was Lincoln's infields the next night. And there he was, sure enough, with his face half hid as if he was ashamed of himself, as well he might be. And he begins with saying as he was very ill, and he didn't think he'd live long. But I wasn't to think as he'd forgot me, and when he died I should find myself provided for it. And I wasn't to say a word to nobody, or he'd take my name out of his will at once. Gammon laughed. It's all right, Polly, don't be afraid, all between me and you. But I'll bet he didn't tell you where he was living. She shook her head. Of course not, I knew that, said Gammon, with a mysterious air. Well, go on, he met you again, didn't he? Once more, only once. Yes, and gave you little presence, and told you to be a good girl, and never disgrace your uncle. Oh, I know him, but he took precious good care not to let you know where he lived. But you know, she exclaimed, No fear, Polly, you shall too, if you have patience, though I don't say it'll be just yet. A few more questions, and the girl had told everything. Mr. Clover's failure to keep the third appointment, and her fruitless watching since then. He got a bit timid, Polly, you see, exclaimed Gammon. And he was right too, you couldn't keep it to yourself, you see. You spoil everything with that temper of yours, my dear. Don't be cross, my beauty, it don't matter much, comes to the same thing in the end. Now just look here, Polly. You haven't seen those two ladies again, nor either one of them? You're wrong there, she cried triumphantly. Hello, steady Polly, it wasn't the foreigner then. How did you know? Gammon chuckled over his good luck. Never mind, we'll come to that another time. Who was she with, my dear? Another lady and gentleman much younger than her. I stood near him as long as I could, and listened with all my ears, but I couldn't hear nothing any use. But I saw as they went away in a private carriage, all three together. I saw that much. And found where they went to? Go along, how could I? Might have been managed, Polly, he answered musingly. Never mind, better luck next time. What you've got to do, my angel, is to find where that lady lives, the one that sat next our friend, you know, not the foreigner. Keep your eyes open, Polly, and be smart. And if you tell me where she lives, then I shall have something more to say to you. It's between me and you, my beauty. You just bring me that little bit of information, and you won't regret it. End of Chapter 13. Recording by Arnold Banner, Mount Erie, North Carolina. Chapter 14 of The Town Traveler by George Gissing This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 14. Mr. Parrish Pursues a Brome Christopher Parrish lived at home, that is to say he was not a lodger under an alien roof, like the majority of such young men in London, but abode with his own people, his mother, his elder brother, and his brother's wife. They had a decent little house in Kennington. Managed rather better than such houses generally are, by Mrs. Parrish the Younger, who was childless, and thus able to devote herself to what she called hygiene, a word constantly on her lips, and on those of her husband. Mr. Theodore Parrish, aged about five and thirty, was an audit clerk in the offices of a railway company, and he loved to expatiate on the hardship of his position, which lay in the fact that he could not hope for a higher income than one hundred and fifty pounds, and this despite the trying and responsible nature of the duties he discharged. After dwelling upon this injustice, he would add, with peculiar gravity, that really, in certain moods, went all but inclined to give a hearing to the arguments of socialistic agitators. In other moods, and these more frequent, Mr. Parrish indulged in native optimism tempered by anxiety in matters of hygiene. He was much preoccupied with the laundry question. Now are you quite sure, Ada, that this laundress is a conscientious woman? Does she manage her establishment on modern principles? I beg you will make a personal inspection. If ever a laundress refuses to let you make a personal inspection, be sure there is something wrong. Just think how vital it is, this washing question. We send our clothes, our personal garments, to a strange house to be mixed with, and so on at great length, Mrs. Theodore, listening patiently and approvingly. With equal solicitude did they discuss the food upon their table. Theo, I shall have to change our baker. Ah, indeed, why? I hardly like to tell you, but perhaps I had better. I have only just found out that a sewer trap quite close to his shop gives out a most offensive of fluvia, especially in this hot weather. The air must be full of germs. I hardly know whether we ought to eat, even this loaf. What do you think? Everyone's dinner was spoiled. Theodore declared that, really, when one considered the complicated and expensive machinery of local government, if sewer traps and a fluvia were allowed to exist in the immediate neighborhood of baker's shops, why it really made one inclined to think, and ask whether there might not be something in the arguments of the socialists. Christopher one day brought home some knickknack which he had bought from a city peddler, one of those men who stand at the edge of the pavement between a vigilant police and a menacing vehicular traffic. It amused his sister-in-law, who showed it to her husband. Theodore, having learnt once it came, was not a little concerned. Now, if that isn't like Christopher, when will that boy learn ordinary prudence, the idea of buying things from a man whose clothes more likely than not reek with infection? Dear me, has he never reflected where those fellows live? Destroy the thing at once and wash your hands very carefully, I beg. I do hope you haven't been making pastry or lemonade, as if the inevitable risks of life were not enough. It was, of course, utterly unsuspected by the elder members of the household that Christopher had formed a connection, in so innocent a sense, with a young woman who sold programs and took tips at the theatre. That connection had come about in the simplest way. One Sunday evening, a year ago, Christopher was returning from Clapham Common on the top of a crowded tram, and next to him sat a girl with a fresh color, whom he eyed with respectfully furtive admiration. This young person had paid her fare but carelessly dropped the ticket, and a chance that an inspector who came on board at a certain point raised the question whether she had really paid. The conductor weakly expressed a doubt, suggesting that this passenger had ascended with two or three other people since his last collection of fares. Here was a chance for young Mr. Parish, who could give conscientious evidence. Very hot in the face, he declared, affirmed, and perseverated that the young lady was telling the truth and his energy at length prevailed. Of course, this led to colloquy between the two. Polly Sparks, for she it was, behaved modestly but graciously. It was true she had exhibited short temper in her passage with the officials, but Christopher thought this a becoming spirit. In his eyes she was lovely and could do nothing amiss. When she alighted, he did so too, frowning upon the conductor by way of final rebuke. Their ways appeared to be the same, as if inadvertently they walked together along Kennington Road. And so pleasant was their conversation that Polly went some way past Mrs. Bubbs before saying that she must bid her new companion good-bye. Trembling at his audacity, Christopher humbly put the question whether he might not hope to see the young lady again. And Polly laughed and tittered and said she didn't know, but perhaps. Thereupon Mr. Parish nervously made an offering of his name and address, and Polly, tittering again, explained that they lived quite near each other and playfully made known the position of her dwelling. So were the proprieties complied with, and so began the enslavement of Christopher. He had since told all there was to tell about his family and circumstances. Polly in return throwing out a few vague hints as to her own private affairs. Christopher would have liked to invite her to his home but lacked courage. His mother, his brother, and Mrs. Theodore, what would they say? The rigor of their principles overawed him. He often thought of abandoning his home, but neither for that step had he the necessary spirit of independence. Miss Parks no longer seemed to him a virtue's compact. He sadly admitted in his wakeful hours that she had a temper. He often doubted whether she ever gave him a serious thought. But the fact remained that Polly did not send him about his business, and at times even seemed glad to see him, until that awful night when, by deplorable accident, he encountered her near Lincoln's inn. That surely was the end of everything. Christopher, after tottering home, he knew not how, wept upon his pillow. Of course he was jealous as well as profoundly hurt. Not without some secret reason had Polly met him so fiercely, brutally. He would try to think of her no more. She was clearly not destined to be his. For a full fortnight he shunned the whole region of London in which Polly might be met. He was obliged, of course, to pass each night in Kennington, but he kept himself within doors there. Then he could bear his misery no longer. Three lacrimose letters had elicited no response. He wrote once more, and thus. Dearest Miss Parks, if you do not wish to be the cause of my death, I hereby ask you to see me, if only for the very shortest space of time. If you refuse, I know I shall do something rash. Tonight and tomorrow night, at half past ten, I will be standing at the south end of Westminster Bridge. The river will be near me if you are not. Remember that. Yours for now an eternity, CJP. To this dread summons Polly at length yielded. She met Christopher, and they paced together on the embankment in front of St. Thomas's Hospital. It rained a little, and was so close that they both dripped with perspiration. Perhaps I was a bit short with you, Polly admitted after listening to her admirers' remonstrances, uttered in a choking voice. But I can't stand being spied after, and spied after I won't be. I have told you, Polly, at the very least sixty or seventy times, that I've never done such a thing, and wouldn't, and couldn't. It never came into my head. Well, then, we won't say no more about it. And don't put me out again, that's all. But there's something else, Polly. You know very well, Polly, what a lot I think of you, don't you know? Oh, I guess say, she replied, with careless indulgence. Then why won't you let me see you oftener, and at that kind of thing, you know? This was vague but perfectly intelligible to the hearer. She gave an impatient little laugh. Oh, don't be silly. Go on. But it isn't silly. You know what I mean. And you said, There you go, bringing up what I said. Don't worry me. If you can't talk quite and friendly, we'd better not see each other at all. I shouldn't wonder if that was best for both of us. Polly had never been less encouraging. She seemed preoccupied, and spoke in an idle, inattentive way. Her suggestion that they should part friends, though she returned upon it several times, did not sound as if it were made in earnest. And this was Christopher's one solace. Will you meet me regular, once a week? He pleaded. Just for a talk? No, it's too often. I know what that means, exclaimed the young man in the bitterness of his soul. There's somebody else. Yes, that's it. There's somebody else. Well, and what if there was, asked Polly, looking far away. I don't see as it would be any business of yours. Oh, just listen to that, cried Christopher. That's how a girl talks to you when she knows you're ready to jump into the river. It's my belief that girls haven't much feeling. The outrageous audacity of this avowal saved the speaker from Polly's indignation. She saw that he was terribly driven, and in spite of herself, once more softened towards him. For Polly had never disliked Mr. Parish. From the very first his ingenuous devotedness excited in her something, however elementary, of reciprocal feeling. She thought him comely to look upon, and had often reflected upon how pleasant it was to rule a man by her slightest look or word. To be sure Christopher's worldly position was nothing to boast of, but one knew him for the steady respectable young clerk who was more likely than not to advance by modest increments of salary. Miss Bargess would have perceived, had she been capable of intellectual perception, that Christopher answered fairly well to one of her ideals. Others there were, which tended to draw her from him. But she had never yet deliberately turned her back upon the young man. So now, instead of answering bitterness with wrath, she spoke more gently than of won't. Don't take on in that way, you'll only have a headache tomorrow. I can't promise to meet you regular, but you can write, and I'll let you know when I'm ready for a talk. There now, won't that do? Christopher had to make it do, and presently accepted the conditions with tolerable grace. Before they parted, Polly even assured him that, if ever there was anyone else, she would deal honestly with him and let him know. This being as much as to say that he might still hope, Christopher cast away his thoughts of self-destruction, and went home with an appetite for a late supper. Two months elapsed before anything of moment occurred in the relations thus established. Then, at one of their brief meetings, Polly delighted the young man by telling him that he might wait for her outside the theatre on a certain evening of the same week. Hitherto such a waiting had been forbidden. Don't I just, cried Mr. Parish, and you'll come and have some supper? I can't promise I may want to ask you to do something for me, just you be ready, that's all. He promised exultingly, and when the evening came took up his position a full hour before Polly could be expected to come forth. Now this was the first night of a new piece at Polly's theatre, and she, long watching in vain for the reappearance of the lady whose address she was to discover for Mr. Gammon, thought at a very possible thing that a person, who had been twice to see the old entertainment, might attend the first performance of the new. Her mysterious uncle had never again communicated with her, and Polly began to doubt what Mr. Gammon's knowledge really was. But she had given her confidence beyond recall, and though with many vicissitudes of feeling she still wished to keep Gammon, sole ally, in this strange affair. Once or twice indeed she had felt disposed to tell Christopher that there was someone else, but nothing Gammon had said fully justified this, and Polly, though an emotional young woman, had a good deal of prudence. One thing was certain. She very much desired to bring her old enemy to the point of a declaration. How she would receive it when it came she could not wholly determine. Her conjecture regarding the unknown lady was justified. Among the first who entered the stalls was a man whom Polly seemed to remember, and close behind him came first a younger lady, then the one for whom her eyes had searched night after night. In supplying them with programs Polly observed and listened with feverish attention. The elder woman had slightly grizzled hair. Her age could not be less than fifty, but she was in good health and spirits. With the intention of describing her to Gammon, Polly noticed that she had a somewhat masculine nose, high in the bridge. A quarter of an hour before the end of the piece, Polly, dressed for departure, came forth and discovered her faithful slave. Now listen to me, she said, checking his blandishments. I told you there might be something to do for me, and there is. Parish was all eagerness. There will be three people coming out from the stalls. A gentleman and two ladies. I'll show you them, see. They'll drive off in a carriage, see, and I want you to find out where they go. Nothing could have been more startling to Christopher in whose mind began a whirl of suspicions and fears. Why, what for, he asked involuntarily. Polly was short with him. All right, if you won't do it, say so, and I'll ask somebody else. I've no time to lose. He gasped and stammered. Yes, yes, of course he would do it. He had not dreamt of refusing. He would run after the carriage, however far. Don't be a silly. You'll have to take an answer and tell the driver to follow, see. Yes, oh yes, of course, he would do so. He trembled with excessive nervousness, and but for the sharp contemptuous directions given him by Miss Sparks must have hopelessly bungled the undertaking. Indeed, it was not easy to carry out in the confusion before a theatre when the audience is leaving, and bearing in mind the regulations concerning vehicles. Their scheme was based upon the certainty that the carriage must proceed at a very moderate pace for some two or three hundred yards. Within that limit, or a very little beyond it, at all events before his breath was exhausted, Christopher would certainly be able to hail a cab. Tell the cabbie they're friends of yours, said Polly, and you're going to the same house. You look quite respectable enough with your eye at. That's what I like about you. You always look respectable. But he will set me down right beside the people. Well, what if he does, Gooseberry? Can't you just pay him quietly? They'll think you're for next door. But it may be a big house by itself somewhere. Well, silly. They'll think it's a mistake. That's all. What's the matter in the dark? You do as I tell you, and when you've got to know the address, you can take your time about that, of course, come back along Shaftesbury Avenue, and give three knocks at the door, and I'll come down. It flashed through Christopher's mind that he would be terribly late in getting home, but there was no help for it. If he refused this undertaking, or failed to carry it out successfully, Polly would cast him off. The gloom of a desperate mood fell upon him. He had the feeling of a detective or of a criminal, he knew not which. The mystery of the affair was a hideous oppression. Even the initial step out of watching the trio of strangers into their brome was not without difficulty. The pavement began to be crowded. Clutching her slave by the arm, Polly managed to hold a position whence she could see the people who descended the front steps of the theatre. And at length her energy was rewarded. The ladies she could not have recognized, for they were muffled against the night air. But their male companion she spotted, that was the word in her mind, with certainty. There! See those three? That's them! She whispered excitedly, off you go! And off he went, as if life depended upon it. His eyes on the brome, his heart throbbing violently, moisture dropping from his forehead and making his collar limp. The carriage disengaged itself, the pace quickened. He began to run and collided with pedestrians who cursed him. Now, now or never, a cab. By good luck he plunged into a handsome wanting affair. The carriage, friends of mine, that carriage. Catch him up! asked the driver briskly. No, same house, follow. As he flung himself into the vehicle, he seriously feared he was on the point of breaking a blood vessel. Never had he been at such extremity of breath. But his eyes clung to the brome in dread, lest he should lose sight of it, or confuse it with another. The driver whipped his horse. Thank goodness, the carriage remained well in sight. But if there should come a block? A perilous point was Piccadilly Circus. Never it seemed to him had the streets of London roared with such a tumult of traffic. Right! the circus was passed. Now Piccadilly, with its blessed quietness. What a speed they kept! Hyde Park Corner. Knights Bridge. And what road was that? Christopher's geography failed him. He pretended to no familiarity with the West End. On sweat his handsome in what he felt to be a most impudent pursuit. Nay! for all he knew it might subject him to the suspicion of the police. The cabbie need not follow so close. Why the horses knows all but touch the brome now and then. How much farther? How was he to get back? He could not possibly reach home till one in the morning. The brome made a sharp curve. The handsome followed. Then came a sudden stop. End of chapter 14. Recording by Arnold Banner, Mount Airy, North Carolina. Chapter 15 of The Town Traveler by George Gissing. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 15. The Name of Gilder Sleeve. A square, imposing houses about a space of verdure. That was what Christopher perceived as he looked wildly round. Flung back the apron, jumped out. His position was awful. Voices of the persons alighting from the brome seemed to sound at his very ear. He had become one of the party. The man in the evening dress stared at him. But even in this dread moment, so bent was he on fulfilling his mission, that he at once cast an eye over the front of the house to fix it in his memory. There was a magnificent display of flowers at every window. The houses immediately right and left had no flowers at all. Then he fumbled for money. Coppers, a sixpence, a shelling, no other small change, and he durst not offer so little as 18 pence. However, heaven be thanked, the people had gone in, and the brome was moving away. In his purse he had half a sovereign. Got change, he inquired as boldly as possible. How much? returned the driver curtly. For he had noticed with curiosity that his fare exchanged no greeting with the carriage people, and that the door was shut. Change for half a sovereign, seven shillings would do. Inc. got it. See, four pence and apence, that's all. The man's eye began to alarm Christopher. He shook with indecision. He gulped down his bitterness. He handed the golden coin. All right, never mind the change. Thank you, sir. Good night. And Mr. Parrish was alone on the pavement. So grievously did he feel for the loss of that half sovereign that for some moments he could think of nothing else. His heart burned against Polly. What had she got to do with those people in the big house? How could he be sure that it did not imply some shameful secret? And he must go throwing away his hard-earned money? Gladly he would have spent it on a supper for Polly, but to pay ten shillings for a half-crown drive? A whole blessed half-sovereign. Another carriage drove up and stopped at the next house. Christopher remembered that he must discover the address, an easy matter enough. He found that the square was called Stanhope Gardens. He noted the number of the house with flowers. Then, weary, disgusted, he started on his eastward walk. On the buses, of course, there were none. The chance of a train at some underground station seemed too doubtful to think about. In any case, he had no more money to waste. On he plotted, heavily, angrily, Cromwell Road, Brompton Road, at last Piccadilly, and so into familiar districts, though he had never walked here so late at night. Of course there would be nasty questions tomorrow. Theodore would look grave, and Ada would be virtuously sour, and his mother. But perhaps they would not worry her by disclosing such things. Unaccustomed to express himself with violence, Christopher, at about half past twelve, found some relief in a timid phrase or two of swearing. When he reached Shaftesbury Avenue, he was dog-tired. The streets had now become very quiet. He felt a doubt as to the possibility of knocking at a house door, but Polly had said he was to do so. Be the hour what it might. The front of the house was dark, not a glimmer in any windows. Doubtfully he drew near and knocked thrice. Minutes passed, nearly five, in fact, then he knocked again. He would wait five minutes more, and then, but the door softly opened. That you? said Polly's voice. Yes it is. She opened the door wide, and he saw by the light from the street that she was dressed as usual. How late you are! Well, can't you speak? I'm dead beat, that's the truth, he replied, leaning against the door-post. Walked back all the way from South Kensington. Oh, it was there, was it? said Polly, without heed to his complaint. What's the address? I tell you what, Polly, broke from Christopher's dry lips. I think you might show a bit more feeling for a fellow when he's walked himself to death. You might have took a cab just for this once? A cab? Why, the other one cost me half a sovereign. Half a sovereign? echoed Polly in amazement to South Kensington. It did not occur to Mr. Parrish that such a detail might be left unmentioned. In these little matters there is a difference between class and class. Polly was not, of course, surprised at his letting her know what the mission had cost him, but the sum made her indignant. Well, he had you, that cabbie. Christopher related the circumstances, still leaning in exhaustion against the door-post, and Miss Sparks, who under no conceivable stress could have suffered herself to be so done out of a piece of gold, scarcely knew whether to despise or to pity him. After all, a compassionate feeling prevailed. Sure sign that there was something disinterested in her association with this young man. I'm very sorry, she said. I never thought it would cost you that much. I shouldn't care a bit, Christopher replied, if you treated me better now I've got here. Polly moved just a little nearer to him, ever so little, but the movement was appreciable. Unfortunately Christopher was too weary to notice it. What was the address, she asked, in an undertone, which had but Mr. Parrish understood fitly accompanied that little movement. He told her bluntly and Polly repeated the words. And now I suppose I may say good night, Christopher added, still with discontent. Well, thank you very much for getting me that address. But you won't tell me what you wanted for? I will some time. I can't just now. It's awful late, and we mustn't stand talking here. Again she came one step nearer. Now if Christopher Parrish had not lost half a sovereign, or if he had been less worn out, or if the mystery of the evening had not lain so heavy on his mind, assuredly he would have noticed this onward coming. For as a rule the young man was sensitive and perceptive enough, all things considered. Alas, he did not look into Polly's face, which in the dusk of the doorway had turned towards his. I'll be going then, he muttered, good night, jolly long walk before me still. I'm very sorry, I am really. Oh, never mind. When shall I see you again? The crucial moment was past. Polly drew a step back and held the door. All right, before long, good night, and thank you. Mr. Parrish plotted away down the avenue, saying to himself that he was blessed if he'd be made a fool of like this much longer. The next morning Polly wrote a line to Mr. Gammon, and two days later on Sunday they met in that little strip of garden on the embankment, which lies between Charing Cross Station and Waterloo Bridge. It was the first week of October. A cold wind rustled the yellowing plain trees, and open air seats offered no strong temptation. The two conversed as they walked along. Polly had not mentioned in her letter any special reason for wishing to see Mr. Gammon, nor did she hasten to make known her discovery. Why do you wear a hat like that on a Sunday, she began by asking tartly. Because it's comfortable, I suppose, answered Gammon, reflecting for the first time that it was not very respectful to come to this rendezvous in a boulder. Polly had never mentioned the matter before, though she had thought about it. You like the chimney-pot better? Why, of course I do, on a Sunday too, who wouldn't? I'll bear it in mind, my dear. My chimney-pot wants ironing. Have it done tomorrow, if I can find time. Polly scrutinized the costume of a girl walking with a soldier, and asked all at once, indifferently, Do you know anybody called Gilder Sleeve? Gilder Sleeve? Don't think so. No. Why? She searched his face to make sure that he did not simulate ignorance. Well, you wanted me to find out where that lady lived, you know. Her as was with Mr. C. at the theatre? And you've got it! cried Gammon, excitedly. Yes, she had got it, and by consulting a directory at a public house, she had discovered the name of the family residing at that address. Gilder Sleeve. The name conveyed nothing to Mr. Gammon. Nonetheless, he was delighted. Good for you, Polly, but how did you do it? She put on an air of mystery. Never mind how, there was the address, if he could make any use of it. Gammon smiled provokingly. Some friend of yours, eh? You're well off for friends, Polly. I ask no questions, my dear. No business of mine, much obliged to you all the same. If you're so particular about who it was, said Polly, with her air of peak and propriety. Well, it's a boy, so you needn't look at me like that. A boy, eh? Well, that's what I think him. He's a young clerk in the city, as I've known long enough, and I think him a boy. Of course you're always ready to believe harm of me, that's nothing new. And if the truth was known, you'd go talking to Mrs. Bub and then Cheesemans. I don't. I told you I shouldn't, and I don't. You do. It's a lie. You're one yourself, retorted Polly, with heat. Thereupon Mr. Gammon turned about and walked off. Polly could not believe that he would really go. Scorning to look back, she paced on for some minutes, but no familiar step approached her. When at length she looked round, Mr. Gammon was nowhere to be seen. This extraordinary behavior she attributed to jealousy, and so was not entirely displeased. But the idea of leaving her in the middle of the street, as one might say, did one ever, and just after he'd got what he wanted? All right, old fellow. Wait till you want to see me again, that's all. To have his word disbelieved was the one thing fatal to Gammon's temper. He strode off in a towering rage, determined to hold no more communication with Ms. Sparks, and blaming himself for having got into such an ambiguous position towards her. As if he had ever really cared one snap of the fingers for the red-headed spitfire, she, to tell him to his face that his word was not to be trusted. He had never stood that yet, from man or woman. At this rate he would presently have no female friends at all. Mrs. Clover he had not once seen since the evening at Mrs. Bub's, and every day that went by put a greater distance between them. He understood her unfriendliness. She thought this the best way of destroying any hopes he might still entertain with reference to many. Yes, that was the only possible explanation of her silence. It was too bad. Mrs. Clover might have put more faith in him. Now he would not visit her. He would not write. If she wished to see him again, let her acknowledge the wrong she had done him. As for the muddle about her husband, be hanged to it. He would think no more about the business. Ten to one this address that Polly had obtained would be quite useless. How could he go to strangers, named Gilder's sleeve, and coolly inquire of them whether they knew a man named Clover? Of course they would have him kicked into the street, and serve him right. Polly and her boy, a young city clerk, a, old enough to wear a chimney-pot he'd be bound, Polly was fond of chimney-pots. There he had done with her, and with Clover, and quaddling, and Gilder's sleeve, and all the rest of the puzzle. As he suddenly entered the house, Moggy ran to him up the kitchen stairs. There's been a gentleman for you, Mr. Gammon. Oh, who was it? Mr. Greenacre's driving a trap, and the horse wouldn't stand still, and he said he'd see you some other time. Greenacre, eh? All right. He sat for a quarter of an hour in his bedroom, unable to decide how he should spend the rest of the day. After all, perhaps he ought not to have abandoned Polly so abruptly. In her own way she had been doing him a kindness, and as for her temper? Well, she couldn't help it. He would go to Dulwich and see the bow-wows. End of Chapter 15. Recording by Arnold Banner, Mount Airy, North Carolina