To buy papers, and examine them at home was out of the question; but she was aware that there were news-rooms where for a penny she could see them all. Directed to such an institution by a speckled boy, conspicuous3 for his hat and ears, she found several dejected-looking women turning over a heap of periodicals at a table. The "dailies" were spread on stands against the walls, and at a smaller table under the window lay a number of slips, with pens and ink, for the convenience of customers wishing to make memoranda4 of the vacant situations. She went first to The Times, because it was on the stand nearest to her, and proceeded from one paper to another until she had made a tour of the lot.
The "Wanted" columns were of the customary order; the needy5 endeavouring to gull6 the necessitous with speqious phrases, and the well-established prepared to sweat them without any disguise at all. A drapery house had a vacancy7 for a young woman "to dress fancy windows, and able to trim hats, etc., when desired"—salary fifteen pounds. There was a person seeking a general servant willing to pay twenty pounds a year for the privilege of doing the work. This advertisement was headed "Home offered to a Lady," and a few seconds were required to grasp the stupendous impudence8 of it. A side-street stationer, in want of a sales-woman, advertised for an "Apprentice9 at a moderate premium"; and the usual percentage of City firms dangled10 the decaying bait of "An opportunity to learn the trade." Her knowledge of the glut11 of experienced actresses enabled her to smile at the bogus theatrical13 managers who had "immediate14 salaried engagements waiting for amateurs of good appearance"; but some of the "home employment" swindles took her in, and, discovering nothing better, she jotted15 these addresses down.
From the news-room she went to a dairy, and dined on a glass of milk and a bun. And after an inevitable16 outlay17 on stamps and stationery18, she returned to the lodging19 a shilling poorer than she had gone out.
Unacquainted with the wiles20 of the impostors she was answering, the thought of her applications sustained her somewhat; it seemed to her that out of the several openings one at least should be practicable. She did not fail to make the calculation that most novices21 make in such circumstances; she reduced the promised earnings22 by half, and believed that she was viewing the prospect23 in a sober light which, if mistaken at all, erred25 on the side of pessimism26.
The envelopes that she had enclosed came back to her late the following afternoon; and the circulars varied27 mainly in colour and in the prices of the materials that they offered for sale. In all particulars essential to prove them frauds to everybody excepting the piteous fools who must exist, to explain the advertisements' longevity28, they were the same.
With the extinction29 of the hope, the darkness of her outlook was intensified30, and henceforth she eschewed31 the offers of "liberal incomes" and confined her attention to the illiberal33 wages. Day after day she resorted to the news-room—one stray more whom the proprietor34 saw regularly—resolved not to relinquish35 her access to the papers while a coin remained to her to pay for admission. She wrote many letters, and spent her evenings vainly listening for the postman's knock. She attributed her repeated failures to there being no mention of references in her replies; they were so concise37 and nicely written that she felt sure they could not have failed from any other reason. Probably her nicely-written notes were never read: merely tossed with scores of others, all unopened, into the wastepaper basket, after a selection had been made from the top thirty. This is the fate of most of the nicely-written notes that go in reply to advertisements in the newspapers; only, the people who compose them and post them with little prayers, fortunately do not suspect it. If they suspected it, they would lose the twenty-four hours' comfort of hugging a false hope to their souls; and an oasis38 of hope may be a desirable thing at the cost of a postage-stamp.
One evening an answer did come, and an answer in connection with a really beautiful "Wanted." When it was handed to her, she hardly dared to hope that it related to that particular situation at all. The advertisement had run:
"Secretary required by a Literary Lady. Must be sociable39, and have no objection to travel on the Continent. Apply in own handwriting to C.B., care of Messrs. Furnival," etc.
The signature, however, was not "C.B.'s." The communication was from Messrs. Furnival. They wrote that they judged by Miss Brettan's application that she would suit their client; and that on receipt of a half-crown—their usual booking fee—they would forward the lady's address.
If she had had a half-crown to send, she might have sent it; as it was, instead of remitting40 to Messrs. Furnival's office, she called there.
It proved to be a very small and very dark back room on the ground-floor, and Messrs. Furnival were represented by a stout41 gentleman of shabby apparel and mellifluous42 manner. Mary began by saying that she was the applicant43 who had received his letter about "C.B.'s" advertisement; but as this announcement did not seem sufficiently44 definite to enable the stout gentleman to converse45 on the subject with fluency46 and freedom, she added that "C.B." was a literary lady who stood in need of a secretary.
On this he became very vivacious47 indeed. He told her that her chance of securing the post was an excellent one. No, it was not a certainty, as she appeared to have understood, but he did not think she had much occasion for misgiving48; her speed in shorthand was in excess of the rate for which their client had stipulated49.
She said: "Why, I especially stated that if she wanted someone who knew shorthand, I should be no use!"
He said: "So you did! I meant to say, your type-writing was your recommendation."
"Mr. Furnival," she exclaimed, "I wrote, 'I do not know shorthand, and I am not a typist'! You must be confusing me with someone else. Perhaps you have answered another application as well?"
Perhaps he had.
"You're my first experience of an applicant for a secretaryship who hasn't learnt shorthand or type-writing," he said in an injured tone. "Of course, if you don't know either, you'd be no good at all—not a bit."
"Then," she said, "why did you ask me to send you half a crown?"
Before he could spare time to enlighten her as to his reason for this line of action, they were interrupted by an urchin50 who deposited an armful of letters on the table. The gentleman seemed pleased to see them, and she came away wondering how many of the women who Messrs. Furnival "judged would suit their client" enclosed postal-orders to pay the "fee."
Quite ineffectually she visited some legitimate51 agencies, and once she walked to Battersea in time to learn that the berth52 that was the object of her journey had just been filled. Even when one walks to Battersea, and dines for twopence, however, the staying-powers of two-and-ninepence are very limited; and the dawning of the dreaded53 date for the bill found her capital exhausted54.
Among her scanty55 possessions, the only article that she could suggest converting into money was a silver watch that she wore attached to a guard. It had belonged to her as a girl; she had worn it as a nurse; it had travelled with her on tour during her life with Carew. What a pawnbroker56 would lend her on it she did not know, but she supposed a sovereign. Had she been better off, she would have supposed two sovereigns, for she was as ignorant of its value as of the method of pledging it; but being destitute57, a pound looked to her a very substantial amount. She made her way heavily into the street. She felt that her errand was printed on her face, and when she reached and paused beneath the sign of the three balls, all the passers-by seemed to be watching her.
The window offered a pretext58 for hesitation59. She stood inspecting the collection behind the glass; perhaps anyone who saw her go in might imagine it was with the intention of buying something! She was nerving herself to the necessary pitch when, giving a final glance over her shoulder, she saw a bystander looking at her steadily60. Her courage took flight, and she sauntered on, deciding to explore for a shop in a more secluded61 position.
Though she was ashamed of her retreat, the respite62 was a relief to her. It was not until she came to three more balls that she perceived that the longer she delayed, the worse she would feel. She went hurriedly in. There was a row of narrow doors extending down a passage, and, pulling one open, she found the tiny compartment63 occupied by a woman and a bundle. Starting back, she adventured the next partition, which proved to be vacant; and standing64 away from the counter, lest her profile should be detected by her neighbour in distress65, she waited for someone to come to her.
Nobody taking any notice, she rapped to attract attention. A young man lounged along, and she put the watch down.
"How much?" he said.
"A pound."
He caught it up and withdrew, conveying the impression that he thought very little of it. She thought very little of it herself directly it was in his hand. His hand was a masterpiece of expression, whereas his voice never wavered from two notes.
"Ten shillings," he said, reappearing.
"Ten shillings is very little," she murmured. "Surely it's worth more than that?"
"Going to take it?"
He slid the watch across to her.
"Thank you," she said; "yes."
A doubt whether it would be sufficient crept over her the instant she had agreed, and she wished she had declined the offer. To call him back, however, was beyond her; and when he returned it was with the ticket.
"Name and address?"
New to the requirements of a pawnbroker, she stammered66 the true one, convinced that the woman with the bundle would overhear and remember. Even then she was dismayed to find the transaction wasn't concluded; he asked her for a halfpenny, and, with the blood in her face, she signified that she had no change. At last though, she was free to depart, with a handful of silver and coppers67; and guiltily transferring the money to her purse when the shop was well behind, she reverted68 to routine.
It was striking five when she mounted to the attic69, and she saw that Mrs. Shuttleworth, with the punctuality peculiar70 to cheap landladies71 when the lodger72 is out, had already brought up the tray. On the plate was her bill; she snatched at it anxiously, and was relieved to find it ran thus:
s. d.
Bred 1 2
Butter.... 10
Milk 3 1/2
Tea 6
Oil 2
Shuger.... 2 1/2
To room til next Wensday 5 0
8 2
So far, then, she had been equal to emergencies, and another week's shelter was assured. The garret began to assume almost an air of comfort, refined by her terror of losing it. When she reflected that the week divided her from actual starvation, she cried that she must find something to do—she must! Then she realised that she could find it no more easily because it was a case of "must" than if it had been simply expedient73, and the futility74 of the feminine "must," when she was already doing all she could do, served to accentuate75 her helplessness. She prayed passionately76, without being able to feel much confidence in the efficacy of prayer, and told herself that she did not deserve that God should listen to her, because she was guilty, and sinful, and bad. She did not seek consolation77 in repeating that it was always darkest before dawn, nor strive to fortify78 herself with any other of the aphorisms79 belonging to the vocabulary of sorrow for other people. The position being her own, she looked it straight in the eyes, and admitted that the chances were in favour of her being very shortly without a bed to lie on.
Each night she came a few pence nearer to the end; each night now she sat staring from the window, imagining the sensations of wandering homeless. And at last the day broke—a sunless and chilly80 day—when she rose and went out possessed81 of one penny, without any means of adding to it. This penny might be reserved to diminish the hunger that would seize her presently, or she might give herself a final chance among the newspapers. Having breakfasted, she decided82 on the final chance.
As she turned the pages her hands trembled, and for a second the paragraphs swam together. The next instant, standing out clearly from the sea of print, she saw an advertisement like the smile of a friend:
"Useful Companion wanted to elderly lady; one with some experience of invalids84 preferred. Apply personally, between 3 and 5, 'Trebartha,' N. Finchley."
If it had been framed for her, it could hardly have suited her better. The wish for personal application was itself an advantage, for in conversation, she felt, the obstacle of having no references could be surmounted85 with far less trouble than by letter. A string of frank allusions86 to the difficulty, a dozen easy phrases, leapt into her mind, so that, in fancy, the interview was already in progress, and terminating with pleasant words in the haven87 of engagement.
She searched no further, and it was not till she was leaving that she remembered the miles that she would have to walk. To start so early, however, would be useless, so on second thoughts she determined88 to pass the morning where she was.
She was surprised to discover that she was not singular in this decision, and she wondered if all; the clients that stayed so long had anywhere else to go. Many of them never turned a leaf, but sat at the table dreamily eyeing a journal; as if they had forgotten that it was there. She; watched the people coming in, noting the unanimity89 with which they made for the advertisement-sheets first, and speculating as to the nature of the work they sought.
There was a woman garbed90 in black, downcast and precise; she was a governess, manifestly. Once, when she had been young, and insolent91 with the courage of youth, she would have mocked a portrait looking as she looked now; there was little enough mockery left in her this morning. She quitted the "dailies" unrewarded, and proceeded to the table, her thin-lipped mouth set a trifle harder than before. A girl with magenta92 feathers in her hat bounced in, tracing her way down the columns with a heavy fore-finger, and departing nonchalantly with a blotted93 list. This was a domestic servant, Mary understood. A shabby man of sinister94 expression covered an area of possibilities: a broken-down tutor perhaps, a professional man gone to the bad. He looked like Mephistopheles in the prompter's clothes, she thought, contemplating95 him with languid curiosity. The reflections flitted across the central idea while she sat nervously96 waiting for the hours to pass, and when she considered it was time at last, she asked the newsagent in which direction Finchley lay. She omitted to mention that she had to walk there, but she obtained sufficient information about a tram-route to guide her up to Hampstead Heath, where of course she could inquire again.
The sun gave no promise of shining, and a bleak97 wind, tossing the rubbish of the gutters98 into little whirlpools, made pedestrianism exceedingly unpleasant. She was dismayed to find on how long a journey she was bound; she arrived at the tram-terminus already tired, and then learnt that she was not half-way to Finchley. It was nothing but a name to her, and steadily trudging99 along a road that extended itself before her eternally she began to fear that she would never reach her goal at all. To add to the discomfort100, it was snowing slightly now, and she grew less sanguine101 with every hundred yards. The vision of the smiling lady, the buoyancy of her own glib102 sentences, faded from her, and the thought of the utter abjectness103 that would come of refusal made the salvation104 of acceptance appear much too wonderful to occur.
When she reached it, "Trebartha" proved to be a stunted105 villa106 in red brick. It was one of a row, each of the other stunted villas107 being similarly endowed with a name befitting, a domain108; and suspense109 catching110 discouragement from the most extraneous111 details, Mary's heart sank as the housemaid disclosed the badly-lighted passage.
She was ushered112 into the sitting-room113; and the woman who entered presently had been suggested by it. She seemed the natural complement114 of the haggard prints, of the four cumbersome115 chairs in a line against the wall, of the family Bible on the crochet116 tablecover. She wore silk, dark and short—plain, except for three narrow bands of velvet117 at the hem2. She wore a gold watch-chain hanging round her neck, garlanded over her portly bosom118. She said she was the invalid83 lady's married daughter, and her tone implied a consciousness of that higher merit which the woman whose father has left her comfortably off feels over the woman whose father hasn't.
"You've called about my mother's advertisement for a companion?" she said.
"Yes; I've had a long experience of nursing. I think I should be able to do all you require."
"Have you ever lived as companion?"
"No," said Mary, "I have never done that, but—but I think I'm companionable; I don't think I'm difficult to get on with."
"What was your—won't you sit down?—what was your last place?"
Mary moistened her lips.
"I am," she said, "rather awkwardly situated119. I may as well tell you at once that I am a stranger here, and—do you know—I find that's a great bar in the way of my getting employment? Not being known, I've, of course, no friends I can refer people to, and—well, people always seem to think the fact of being a stranger in a city is rather a discreditable thing. I have found that! They do." She looked for a gleam of response in the stolid120 countenance121, but it was as void of expression as the furniture. "As I say, I have had a lengthy122 experience of nursing; I—it sounds conceited—but I should be exceedingly useful. It's just the thing I am fitted for."
The married daughter asked: "You have been a nurse, you say? But not here?"
"Not here," said Mary, "no. Of course, that doesn't detract from——"
"Oh, quite so. We've had several young women here already to-day. Do I understand you to mean there is nobody at all you can give as a reference?"
"Yes, that unfortunately is so. I do hope you don't consider it an insuperable difficulty? You know you take servants without 'characters' sometimes when——"
"I never take a servant without a 'character.' I have never done such a thing in my life."
"I did not mean you personally," said Mary, with hasty deprecation; "I was speaking——"
"I'm most particular on the point; my mother is most particular, too."
"Generally speaking. I meant people do take servants without 'characters' occasionally when they are hard pushed."
"Our own servants are only too wishful to remain with us. My mother has had her present cook eight years, and the last one was only induced to leave because a young man—a young man in quite a fair way of business—made her an offer of marriage. She had been here even longer than eight years—twelve I think it was, or thirteen. It was believed at the time that what first attracted the young man's attention to her was the many years that my mother had retained her in our household. I'm sure there are no circumstances under which my mother 'd consent to receive a young person who could give no proof of her trustworthiness and good conduct."
"Do you mean that you can't engage me? It—it's a matter of life and death to me," exclaimed Mary; "pray let me see the lady!"
"Your manner," said the married daughter, "is strange. Quite authoritative123 for your position!" She rose. "You'll find it helpful to be less haughty124 when you speak, less opinionated; your manner is very much against you. Oh, my word! no violence, if you please, miss!"
"Violence?" gasped125 Mary; "I'm not violent. It was my last hope, that's all, and it's over. I wish you good-day."
So much had happened in a few minutes—inside and out—that the roads were whitening rapidly and the flutter of snow had developed into a steady fall. At first she was scarcely sensible of it; the anger in her heart kept the cold out, and carried her along in a semi-rush. Words broke from her breathlessly. She felt that she had fallen from a high estate; that the independence of her life with Carew had been a period of dignity and power; that erstwhile she could have awed126 the dull-witted philistine127 who had humbled128 her. "The hateful woman! Oh, the wretch129! To have to sue to a creature like that!" Well, she would starve now, she supposed, her excitement spending itself. She would die of starvation, like characters in fiction, or the people one read of in the newspapers; the newspapers called it "exposure," but it was the same thing; "exposure" sounded less offensive to the other people who read about it, that was all. The force of education is so strong that, much as she insisted on such a death, and close as she had approached to it, she was unable to realise its happening to her. She told herself that it must; the world was of a sudden horribly wide and empty; but for Mary Brettan actually to die like that had an air of exaggeration about it still. Pushing forward, she pondered on it, and the fact came close; the sensation of the world's widening about her grew stronger. She felt alone in the midst of illimitable space. There seemed nothing around her, nothing tangible130, nothing to catch at. O God! how tired she was! she couldn't go on much further.
The snow whirled against her in gusts131, clinging to her hair, and filling her eyes and nostrils132. Exhaustion133 was overpowering her. And still how many miles? Each of the benches that she passed was a fresh temptation; and at last she dropped on one, too tired to stand, wet and shivering, and shielding her face from the storm.
She dropped on it like any tramp or stray. Having held out to the uttermost, she did not know whether she would ever get up again—did not think about it, and did not care. Her limbs ached for relief, and she seized it on the high-road because relief on the high-road was the only kind attainable134.
And it was while she cowered135 there that another figure appeared in the twilight136, the figure of a tall old man carrying a black bag. He came smartly down a footpath137, gazing to right and left as for something that should be waiting for him. Not seeing it, he whistled, and Mary looked up. A trap was backed from the corner of the road. Then the man with the bag stared at her, and after an instant of hesitation, he spoke138.
"It's a dirty nicht," he said, "for ye tae be sittin' there. I'm thinking ye're no' weel?"
"Not very," she said.
He inspected her undecidedly.
"An' ye'll tak' your death o' cold if ye dinna get up, it's verra certain. Hoots139! ye're shakin' wi' it noo! Bide140 a wee, an' I'll put some warmth intae ye, young leddy."
Without any more ado, he deposited the bag at her side and opened it. And, astonishing to relate, the black bag was fitted with a number of little bottles, one of which he extracted, with a glass.
"Is it medicine?" she asked wonderingly.
"Medicine?" he echoed; "nae, it's nae medicine; it's 'Four Diamonds S.O.P.' I'm gi'en ye. It's a braw sample o' Pilcher's S.O.P., ma lassie; nothin' finer in the trade, on the honour o' Macpheerson! Noo ye drink that doon; it's speerit, an' it'll dae ye guid."
She took his advice, gulping141 the spirit while he watched her approvingly. Its strength diffused142 itself through her in ripples143 of heat, raising her courage, and yet, oddly enough, making her want to cry.
Mr. Macpherson contemplated145 the little bottle solemnly, shaking his head at it with something that sounded like a sigh.
"An' whaur may ye be goin'?" he queried146, replacing the cork147.
"I am going to town," she answered. "I was walking home, only the storm——"
"Tae toon? Will ye no' ha'e a lift along o' me an' the lad? I'll drive ye intae toon."
"Have you to go there?" she asked, over-joyed.
"There'd be th' de'il tae pay if I stayed awa'. Ay, I ha'e tae gang there, and as fast as the mare148 can trot149. Will ye let me help ye in?"
"Yes," she said; "thank you very much."
He hoisted150 her up. And she and her strange companion, accompanied by an urchin who never uttered a word, made a brisk start.
"I am so much obliged to you," she murmured, rejoicing; "you don't know!"
"There's nae call for ony obleegation; it's verra welcome ye are. I'm thinkin' the sample did ye a lot o' guid, eh?"
"It did indeed; it has made me feel a different woman."
"Eh, but it's a gran' speerit!" said the old gentleman with reviving ardour. "There's nae need to speak for it, an' that's a fact; your ain tongue sings its perfection to ye as ye sup it doon. Ye may get ither houses to serve ye cheaper, I'm no' denyin' that; but tae them that can place the rale article there's nae house like Pilcher's. And Pilcher's best canna be beaten in the trade. I ha'e nae interest tae lie tae ye, ye ken24; nor could I tak' ye in wi' the wines and speerits had I the mind. There's the advantage wi' the wines and speerits; ye canna deceive! Ye ha'e the sample, an' ye ha'e the figure—will I book the order or will I no'?"
"It's your business then, Mr.——?"
"Will ye no' tak' my card?" he said, producing a large one; "there, put it awa'. Should ye ever be in need, ma lassie, a line to Macpheerson, care o' the firm——"
"How kind of you!" she exclaimed.
"No' a bit," he said; "ye never can tell what may happen, and whether it's for yoursel' ye need it, or a recommendation, ye'll ken ye're buying at the wholesale151 price."
She glanced at him with surprise, and looked away again. And they drove for several minutes in silence.
"Maybe ye ken some family whaur I'd be likely tae book an order noo?" remarked Mr. Macpherson incidentally. "Sherry? dae ye no' ken o' a family requirin' sherry? I can dae them sherry at a figure that'll tak' th' breath frae them. Ye canna suspect the profit—th' weecked ineequitous profit—that sherry's retailed152 at; wi' three quotations153 tae the brand often eno', an' a made-up wine at that! Noo, I could supply your frien's wi' 'Crossbones'—the finest in the trade, on the honour of Macpheerson—if ye happen tae ha'e ony who——"
"I don't," she said, "happen to have any."
"There's the family whaur ye're workin', we'll say; a large family maybe, wi' a cellar. For a large family tae be supplied at the wholesale figure——"
"I am sorry, but I don't work."
"Ye don't work, an' ye ha'e no frien's?" He peered at her curiously154. "Then, ma dear young leddy, ye'll no' think me impertinent if I ax ye how th' de'il ye live?"
The wild idea shot into her brain that perhaps he might be able to put her into the way of something—somewhere—somehow!
"I'm a stranger in London," she answered, "looking for employment—quite alone."
"Eh," said Mr. Macpherson, "that's bad, that's verra bad!"
He whipped up the horse, and after the momentary155 comment lapsed156 into reverie. She called herself a fool for her pains, and stared dumbly across the melancholy157 fields.
"Whauraboots are ye stayin'?" he demanded, after they had passed the Swiss Cottage.
She told him. "Please don't let me take you out of your way," she added.
"Ye're no' verra far frae ma ain house," he declared. "Ye had best come in an' warm before ye gang on hame. Ye are in nae hurry, I suppose?"
"No, but——"
"Oh, the mistress will nae mind it. Ye just come in wi' me!"
Their conversation progressed by fits and starts till his domicile was reached. Leaving the trap to the care of the boy, who might have been a mute for any indication he had given to the contrary, Mr. Macpherson led her into a parlour, where a kettle steamed invitingly158 on the hob.
He was greeted by a little woman, evidently the wife referred to; and a rosy159 offspring, addressed as Charlotte, brought her progenitor160 a pair of slippers161. His introduction of Mary to his family circle was brief.
"'Tis a young leddy," he said, "I gave a lift to. But I dinna ken your name?"
"My name is Brettan," she replied. Then, turning to the woman: "Your husband was kind enough to save me from walking home from Finchley, and now he has made me come in with him."
"It was a braw nicht for a walk," opined Macpherson.
"I'm sure I'm glad to see you, miss," responded the woman in cheery Cockney. "Come to the fire and dry yourself a bit, do!"
The initial awkwardness was very slight, for Mary's experiences in bohemia were serviceable here. The people were well-intentioned, too, and, meeting with no embarrassment162 to hamper163 their heartiness164, they grew speedily at ease. It reminded the guest of some of her arrivals on tour; of one in particular, when the previous week's company had not left and she and Tony had traversed half Oldham in search of rooms, finally sitting down with their preserver to bread-and-cheese in her kitchen! It was loathsome165 how Tony kept recurring166 to her, and always in episodes when he had been jolly and affectionate!
"Your husband tells me he is in the wine business," she observed at the tea-table.
"He is, miss; and never you marry a man who travels in that line," returned the woman, "or the best part of your life you won't know for rights if you're married or not!"
"He's away a good deal, you mean?"
"Away? He's just home about two months in the year—a fortnight at the time, that's what he is! All the rest of it traipsing about from place to place like a wandering gipsy. Charlotte says time and again, 'Ma, have I got a pa, or 'aven't I?'—don't yer, Charlotte?"
"Pa's awful!" said Charlotte, with her mouth full of bread-and-marmalade. "Never mind, pa, you can't help it!"
"Eh, it's a sad pursuit!" rejoined her father gloomily. In the glow of his own fireside Mary perceived with surprise that his enthusiasm for "his wines and speerits" had vanished. "Awa' frae your wife an' bairn, pandering167 tae th' veecious courses that ruin the immortal168 soul! Every heart kens169 its ain bitterness, young leddy; and Providence170 in its mysteerious wisdom never meant me for the wine-and-speerit trade."
"Oh lor," said Charlotte, "ma's done it!"
"It was na your mither," said Mr. Macpherson; "it's ma ain conscience, as well ye ken! Dae I no' see the travellers themselves succumb171 tae th' cussed sippin' and tastin' frae mornin' till nicht? There was Burbage, I mind weel, and there was Broun; guid men both—no better men on th' road! Whaur's Burbage noo—whaur's Broun?"
"Fly away, Peter, fly away, Paul!" interpolated Charlotte.
"Gone!" continued Mr. Macpherson, responding to his own inquiry172 with morbid173 unction. "Deed! The Lord be praised, I ha'e the guid sense tae withstand th' infeernal tipplin' masel'. Mony's the time, when I'm talkin' tae a mon in the way o' business, ye ken, I turn the damned glass upside down when he is na lookin'. But there's the folk I sell tae, an' the ithers; what o' them? It's ma trade to praise the evil—tae tak' it into the world, spreadin' it broadcast for the destruction o' monkind. Eh, ma responsibeelity is awfu' tae contemplate144."
"I'm sure, James, you mean first class," said the little woman weakly. "Come, light your pipe comfortable, now, and don't worrit, there's a good man!"
The traveller waved the pipe aside.
"There's a still sma' voice," he said, "ye canna silence wi' 'bacca; ye canna silence it wi' herbs nor wi' fine linen174. It's wi' me noo, axin' queestions. It says: 'Macpheerson, how dae ye justeefy thy wilfu' conduct? Why dae ye gloreefy the profeets o' th' airth above thy speeritual salvation, mon? Dae ye no ken that orphans175 are goin' dinnerless through thy eloquence176, an' widows are prodigal177 wi' curses on a' thy samples an' thy ways?' I canna answer. There are nichts when the voice will na let me sleep, ye're weel aware; there are nichts——"
"There are nights when you're most trying, James, I know."
"Woman, it's the warnin' voice that comes tae a sinner in his transgreession! Are there no' viseetations eno' about me, an' dae I no' turn ma een frae them; hardenin' ma heart, and pursuin' ma praise o' Pilcher's wi' a siller tongue? There was a mon are day at the Peacock—a mon in ma ain inseedious line—an' he swilled178 his bottle o' sherry, an' he called for his whusky-an'-watter, and he got up on his feet speechify in', after the commercial dinner. 'The Queen, gentlemen!' he cries, liftin' his glass; an' wi' that he dropped deed, wi' the name o' the royal leddy on his lips! He was a large red mon—he would ha' made twa o' me."
He seemed to regard the circumference179 of the deceased as additionally ominous180. His arms were extended in representation of it, and he waved them aloft as if to intimate that Charlotte might detect Nemesis181 in the vicinity preparing for a swoop182.
"You take the thing too seriously," said Mary. "Nine people out of ten have to be what they can, you know; it is only the tenth who can be what he likes."
The little woman inquired what her own calling was.
"I am very sorry to say I haven't any," she answered. "I'm doing nothing."
There was a moment's constraint183.
"Unfortunately I know nobody here," she went on; "it's very hard to get anything when there's no one to speak for you."
"It must be! But, lor! you must bear up. It's a long lane that has no turning, as they say."
"Only there is no telling where the turning may lead; a lane is better than a bog12."
"Wouldn't she do for Pattenden's?" suggested the woman musingly184.
"For whom?" exclaimed Mary. "Do you think I can get something? Who are they?"
"James?"
"Pattenden's?" he repeated. "An' what; would she dae at Pattenden's?"
"Why, be agent, to be sure—same as you were!"
Mary glanced from one to the other with; anxiety.
"Weel, noo, that isn't at a' a bad idea," said Mr. Macpherson meditatively185; "dae ye fancy ye could sell books, young leddy, on commeession—a hauf-sovereign, say, for every order ye took? I'm thinkin' a young woman micht dae a verra fair trade at it."
"Oh yes," she replied; "I'm sure I could. Half a sovereign each one? Where do I go? Will they take me?"
"I dinna anteecipate ye'll fin32' much deefficulty aboot them takin' ye: they dinna risk onythin' by that! I'll gi'e ye the address. They are publishers, and ye just ax for their Mr. Collins when ye go there; tell him ye're wishful tae represent them wi' ane o' their publeecations. If ye like I'll write your name on ane o' ma ain cards; an' ye can send it in tae him."
"Oh, do!" she said.
"Ye must na imagine it's a fortune ye'll be makin'," he observed; "it's different tae ma ain position wi' the wines an' speerits, ye ken: wi' Pilcher's it's a fixed186 salary, an' Pilcher's pay ma expenses."
"Pilcher's pay our expenses!" affirmed Charlotte the thoughtful.
"They dae," acquiesced187 the traveller; "there's a sicht o' saving oot o' sax-and-twenty shillin's a day tae an economical parent. But wi' Pattenden's it's precarious188; are week guid, an' anither week bad."
"I am not afraid," said Mary boldly; "whatever I do, it is better than nothing! I'll go there to-morrow, the first thing. Very many thanks; and to you too, Mrs. Macpherson, for thinking of it."
"I'm sure I'm glad I did; there's no saying but what you may be doing first-rate after a bit. It's a beginning for you, any way."
"That it is! But why can't the publishers pay a salary, the same as your husband's firm?"
"Ah! they don't; anyhow, not at the beginning. Besides, James has been with Pilcher's ten years now; he wasn't earning so much when he started with them."
"'Spect one reason is because such a heap more people buy spirits than books!" said Charlotte. "Pa!"
"Eh, ma lassie?"
"The lady's going to be an agent——"
"Weel?"
"Then, pa," said Charlotte, "won't we all drink to the lady's luck in a sample?"
"Ye veecious midget," ejaculated her father wrathfully, "are ye no' ashamed tae mak' sic a proposeetion? Ye'll no' drink a sample, will ye, young leddy?"
"I will not indeed!" answered Mary.
"No' but what ye're welcome."
"Thanks," she said; "I will not, really."
"Eh, but ye will, then," he exclaimed; "a sma' sample, ye an' Mrs. Macpheerson! Whaur's ma bag?"
In spite of her protestations he drew a bottle out, and the hostess produced a couple of glasses from the cupboard.
"Port!" he said. "The de'il's liquors a' o' them; but, if there's a disteenction, maybe a wee drappie o' the 'Four Grape Balance' deserves mon's condemnation189 least." His conflicting emotions delayed the toast for some time. "The de'il's liquors!" he groaned190 again, fingering the bottle irresolutely191. "Eh, but it's the 'Four Grape Balance,'" he murmured with reluctant admiration192, eyeing the sample against the light. "There! Ye may baith o' ye drink it doon! But masel', I wouldna touch a drap. An' as for ye, ye wee Cockney bairn, if I catch ye tastin' onything stronger a than tea in a' your days, or knowin' the flavour o' the perneecious stuff it's your affleected father's duty tae lure36 the unsuspeecious minds wi'—temptin' the frail193 tae their eternal ruin, an' servin' the de'il when his sicht is on the Lord—I'll leather ye!"
Charlotte giggled194 nervously—Figaro-wise, that she might not be obliged to weep; and Mrs. Macpherson, raising the glass to her lips, said "Luck!"
"Luck!" they all echoed.
And Mary, conscious that the career would be no heroic one, was also conscious she was not a heroine. "I am," she said to herself, "just a real unhappy woman, in very desperate straits. So let me do whatever turns up, and be profoundly grateful that anything can be done at all."
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1
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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4
memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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7
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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8
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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10
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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11
glut
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| n.存货过多，供过于求；v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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12
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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13
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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15
jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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16
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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17
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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18
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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19
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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20
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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21
novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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22
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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24
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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27
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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longevity
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| n.长命；长寿 | |
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29
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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30
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
eschewed
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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33
illiberal
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| adj.气量狭小的，吝啬的 | |
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34
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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35
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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36
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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37
concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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38
oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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39
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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40
remitting
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| v.免除（债务），宽恕( remit的现在分词 )；使某事缓和；寄回，传送 | |
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42
mellifluous
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| adj.（音乐等）柔美流畅的 | |
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43
applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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44
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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45
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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46
fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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47
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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48
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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49
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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50
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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51
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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52
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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53
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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54
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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55
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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56
pawnbroker
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| n.典当商，当铺老板 | |
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57
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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58
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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59
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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60
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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61
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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62
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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63
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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64
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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65
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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66
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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68
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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69
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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70
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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71
landladies
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| n.女房东，女店主，女地主( landlady的名词复数 ) | |
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72
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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73
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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74
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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75
accentuate
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| v.着重，强调 | |
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76
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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77
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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78
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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79
aphorisms
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| 格言，警句( aphorism的名词复数 ) | |
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80
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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81
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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82
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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83
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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84
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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85
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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86
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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87
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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88
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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89
unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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90
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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92
magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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93
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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94
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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95
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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96
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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97
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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98
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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99
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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100
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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101
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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102
glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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103
abjectness
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| 凄惨； 绝望； 卑鄙； 卑劣 | |
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104
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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105
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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106
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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107
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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108
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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109
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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110
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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111
extraneous
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| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
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112
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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114
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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115
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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116
crochet
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| n.钩针织物；v.用钩针编制 | |
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117
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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118
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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119
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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120
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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121
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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122
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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123
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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124
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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125
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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126
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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128
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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129
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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130
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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131
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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132
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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133
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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134
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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135
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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136
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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137
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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138
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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139
hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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140
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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141
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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142
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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143
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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144
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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145
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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146
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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147
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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148
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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149
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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150
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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152
retailed
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| vt.零售（retail的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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153
quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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154
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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155
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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156
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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157
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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158
invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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159
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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160
progenitor
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| n.祖先，先驱 | |
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161
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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162
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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163
hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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164
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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165
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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166
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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167
pandering
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| v.迎合（他人的低级趣味或淫欲）( pander的现在分词 )；纵容某人；迁就某事物 | |
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168
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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169
kens
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| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
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170
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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171
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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172
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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173
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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174
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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175
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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176
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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177
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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178
swilled
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| v.冲洗( swill的过去式和过去分词 )；猛喝；大口喝；（使）液体流动 | |
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179
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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180
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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181
nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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182
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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183
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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184
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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185
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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186
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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187
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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188
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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189
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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190
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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191
irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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192
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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193
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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194
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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