Wheels Within Wheels

Akaroa Mail and Banks Peninsula Advertiser, Volume LXIII, Issue 6521, 28 March 1939, Page 4

Wheels Within Wheels

FRANK HOWEL EVANS, AUTHOR OF 'TjTVE YEARS," "T HE CINEMA GIRL," ETC,

CHAPTER VIII (continued) ONE OF THE WORKERS Gladys left, burning with anger at this unrighteous system. The girls must have parents or relatives to look after them. But what did the girls do who were without parents or relatives ? Did they starve, or what? "Yes, I can tell you it's 'ard for a gel," said Meg, when she and Gladys met at one o'clock. "It's bad enough for me, and I can 'old me own, but for a pretty little thing like you, and a lady, too, it's much 'arder. But I've been thinkin' about you, and I spoke to Mr Parlow about it, and I've got an idea that somethin' may come of it I don't know as you'd like it, Gladys. It's rough, common sort of work. Still, we've all got to do somethin' Mr Parlow, 'e's doin' so well 'e's goin' to open a branch shop about two mile away; 'e's puttin' in a manager and, weli, 'e might want someone to do the same sort of job as I'm doin'" "Like it? Of course I should like it! It's work, and that's all I want. And please don't keep on talking about my being a lady, Meg. I'm just a working woman, that's all." "All right, then I'll talk to 'irn. I've been round to the 'orspital and my Ted's goin' on fine, and I'm goin' to see 'im in three days—ain't that lovely? They say as 'e won't be strong enough to stand it afore then. Now look 'ere, 'ave you got any money left?" "Oh yes, I've still got a few shil- j lings." "Very well, then, you go out and get a good blow on the top of a 'bus. I'm goin' to take an evening off. Old Parlow can do without me for once —it's generally slack about the middle of the week when folks ain't got much money—and we'll go and see old Ma Giles." "Oh, she's going to-morrow," said Mrs Mailing, when the two girls called that night. "Some of her relations from the north of London have been here—they said they'd had a telegram from a solicitor and they're going to take her away with them in the morning. Pooor old thing, she doesn't seem to get any better. The doctor says she ought to be put in a nursing home and taken the greatest care of Nice-spoken people her relations were, and they told me that if money would cure her they weren't poor, and that she had quite a nice little bit put by herself. Will you come and see her?" It was pitiful to see the still vacant, wondering look in Mrs Giles's eyes, but when Meg and Gladys stooped and kissed her good-bye there seemed to come just a little gleam of intelligence over her face, and she looked at them curiously, one after the other. "I seem to know you, but there's something here, something here," she said, touching her forehead. "Another time, perhaps, another time." "Poor old Ma! It's a good job there's plenty of money," said Meg. "And it's a good job that there's 'orspitals, too, for my Ted 'e's bein' looked after proper, so the doctors tell me. Now, d'you know where we're goin' tonight? We're goin' down to Surbiton to see 'is aunt, and I'm goin' to tell 'er all about it and take 'er the bit of paper with 'is name in it." Mrs Jennyson, Ted's aunt, was the wife of a publican who was prospering in a fair way in a small licensed house, and Meg and Gladys were received in the little parlour at the back of the bar. "Now, don't you say anything to me about Ted, you, Meg," said Mrs Jenny on, a stout, red-faced, rather ereaking lady, who appeared to breathe with difficulty. "I've been crying my eyes out about him. I've read it all in the paper, and they've actually got another bit about him in the 'evening' saying that he's on the way to recovery And you should hear my husband my Jim, talk about him! When he's well and comes out, if there's anything he wants he shall have it. And I'll tell you what the best thing for you to do, Meg, would be to marry him as soon as he can walk, and then take him away to the sea to get well. You shall have that money I promised you, and some more besides. Proud! I should think I'm proud of him! And so are you, too, aren't you?" "Well. I don't know wot's goin' to 'appen to me," said Meg, when she and Gladys were returning home. "It seems as if the luck was too good to last. And 'ere, I was grumblin' and complainin' because my man 'ad been brave. Only three days more and I'll see 'im! Oh, by the way, Gladys, I've been so full of myself, I didn't tell you, did I? Old Parlow 'ud like to see you to-morrow. 'E'll take you on at the new shop like a bird, 'e ses." And the next morning Gladys was

engaged by Mr Parlow to assist at his new branch. She was to be there at ten every morning to help in the preparations for the mid-day work, leaving again at three—in fact, her hours were to be exactly the same as Meg's. "And I'll give you twelve shillings a week to start with, miss," said Parlow, "and after a while if things go well I'll make it a bit more. I shall be there myself for the first two or three days to see how things go, and the chap as I bought this place from '11 come here for me. We open at the beginning of next week." Gladys found that her money would just hold out until she started work. She and Meg had decided to stop on at the little hotel where for permanent lodgers in a double-bedded room six shillings a week would be accepted. Meg had drawn money out of the post-office savings bank to buy hair brushes and other necessaries which had been destroyed in the fire, and Gladys borrowed enough money from her to buy two strong, coarse white aprons. "The smell will make you a bit sick at first my dear," said Meg, "but you'll get used to it after a time. Some of the fellows may be rough— it's a bit rougher neighbour'ood there than 'ere—but if they see you won't stand no nonsense they won't do you no 'arm. Not such a bad lot, the workin' man ain't, if you take 'im right. And to think that to-morrow I shall see my Ted, my Ted!" And when Gladys met Meg the next day, returning from seeing Ted, it ' seemed as if heaven shone in the girl's eyes; they were bright, and there was a soft light in them, a mother-light it seemed to Gladys, and she spoke of her visit in a sort of awed whisper. "I never thought I loved 'im so much, Gladys, till I see 'im there with the bandages on 'is 'ead and round 'is poor 'ands and wrists. I just sat by 'is bed and put my arms round Mm gently and cried like a kid, I did. Ashamed of myself I was, too. An' there 'e was, just as much of a chump as ever, I told 'im. ' 'Oo's been makin' all that fuss in the papers?' 'e ses. 'You ain't been tellin' nobody notin' about me, 'ave you, Meg? They say I'm goin' to be recommended for some sort of a medal for savin' life in a fire. It wasn't me, it was the fireman.' Just like my Ted,, just like !my Ted! And then when I told 'im about 'is aunt, well, 'e cried too, then, we both cried together, and then the nurse came, and she laughed at us. And 'e's comin' out in a fortnight and —oh, life's just too fine for anything ain't it? I never thought it could be like this?" Gladys cried a little in sympathy with Meg, and before she went to sleep she also cried a little for herself. For the bright sunshine of happiness which was surrounding Meg reminded her of the love that had been offered to her, Lord Guardene's love, the love that she could not accept. And then between her and her sleep there came again that strong, dark face, the face of the young man she had only seen once, but of whom she often thought, and in the darkness she felt her cheeks grow hot, and resolutely she tried to dismiss his image j from her mind. And then again she thought of Lord Guardene. She had not answered his letter. What would he think of her? He would be justified in accusing her at any rate of discourtesy, for a man's proposal to a woman is an honour that must always be acknowledged; and yet, somehow, the time hud slipped by and she had not written. Her memory travelled once more over the sheets of paper on which he had poured out his love to her—for, even if a woman doesn't love a man, she will never forget a word of the letter m which ha has told her of his secret. That letter had been written from Pichon. Doubtless he expected an answer there. By now he would certainly have left the hotel at that place. Perhaps, not hearing from her, he would have come over to England, would have called at Kirton Square. Gladys thought of all that, and made up her mind that on the next day she would go to the Free Library, look up a fashionable directory, find out his address, and write to him. She would write him a grateful letter of thanks, but—of refusal. And again Gladys cried a little, for a man loved her and she was going to hurt him. (To be Continued)