Mrs Partridge's wanderings had ended with the marriage of Pinkey.Only once had she contrived to move,and the result had frightened her,for William had mumbled about his lost time in his sleep.And she had lived in Botany Street for two years,a stone's throw from the new shop in Pitt Street.She remembered that Chook had helped to move her furniture in at their first meeting,and,not liking to be out-done in generosity,resolved to slip round after tea and lend a hand.She knew,if any woman did,the trouble of moving furniture and setting it straight.She prepared for her labours by putting on her black silk blouse and her best skirt,and as William was anchored by the fireside with the newspaper,she decided to wear her new hat with the ostrich feathers,twenty years too young for her face,which she had worn for three months on the quiet out of regard for William's feelings,for it had cost the best part of his week's wages,squeezed out in shillings and sixpences,the price of imaginary pounds of tea,butter,and groceries.
She found Chook with his mouth full of nails,hanging pictures at five shillings the pair;Pinkey,dishevelled,sweating in beads,covered with dust,her sleeves tucked up to the elbows,ordering Chook to raise or lower the picture half an inch to increase the effect.It was some time before Mrs Partridge could find a comfortable chair where she ran no risk of soiling her best clothes,but when she did she smiled graciously on them,noting with intense satisfaction Pinkey's stare of amazement at the black hat,twenty years too young for her face.
"I thought I'd come round and give you a hand,"she explained.
"Thanks,Missis,"said Chook,thankful for even a little assistance.
Pinkey stared again at the hat,and Mrs Partridge felt a momentary dissatisfaction with life in possessing such a hat without the right to wear it in public.In half an hour Chook and Pinkey had altered the position of everything in the room under the direction of Mrs Partridge,who sat in her chair like a spectator at the play.At last they sat down exhausted and Mrs Partridge,who felt as fresh as paint,gave them her opinion on matrimony and the cares of housekeeping.But Pinkey,unable to sit in idleness among this beautiful furniture,got to work with her duster.
"Ah,"said Mrs Partridge,"it's natural to take a pride in the bit of furniture you start with,but when you've been through the mill like I'ave,you'll think more of your own comfort.There was yer Aunt Maria wore 'er fingers to the bone polishing 'er furniture on the time-payment plan,an'then lost it all through the death of 'er 'usband,an'the furniture man thanked 'er kindly fer keepin'it in such beautiful order when 'e took it away.An'Mrs Ross starved 'erself to buy chairs an'sofas,which she needed,in my opinion,being too weak to walk about;an'then 'er 'usband dropped a match,an'they 'ad the best fire ever seen in the street,an''ave lived in lodgings ever since.""That's all right,"said Chook uneasily,"but this ain't time-payment furniture,an'I ain't goin'ter sling matches about like some people sling advice.""That's very true,"said Mrs Partridge,warming up to her subject,"but there's no knowin''ow careless yer may git when yer stomach's undermined with bad cookin'.""Wot rot ye're talkin'!"cried Chook."Mother taught her to cook a fair treat these two years.She niver got anythin'to practise on in your 'ouse.""That's true,"said Mrs Partridge,placidly."I was never one to poison meself with me own cooking.When I was a girl I used ter buy a penn'orth of everythin',peas-pudden,saveloys,pies,brawn,trotters,Fritz,an'German sausage.Give me the 'am shop,an'then I know who ter blame,if anythin'goes wrong with me stomach."Chook gave his opinion of cookshops.
"Ah well,"said Mrs Partridge,"what the eye doesn't see the 'eart doesn't grieve over,as the sayin'is!An'that reminds me.Elizabeth suffers from 'er 'eart,an'that means a doctor's bill which I could never understand the prices they charge,knowin'plenty as got better before the doctor could cure 'em an'so takin'the bread out of 'is mouth,as the sayin'is.Though I make it my business to be very smooth with them as might put somethin'nasty in the medsin an'so carry you off,an'none the wiser,as the sayin'is.""'Ere,this ain't a funeral,"cried Chook,in disgust.
"An'thankful you ought ter be that it ain't,"cried Mrs Partridge,"after what I read in the paper only last week about people bein'buried alive oftener than dead,an'fair gave me the creeps thinkin'I could see the people scratchin'their way out of the coffin,an'sittin'on a tombstone with nuthin'but a sheet round 'em.It would cure anybody of wantin'ter die.I've told William to stick pins in me when my time comes.""Anybody could tell w'en you're dead,"said Chook.
"Why,'ow?"cried Mrs Partridge,eagerly.
"Yer'll stop gassin'about yerself,"cried Chook,roughly.
Mrs Partridge started to smile,and then stopped.It dawned slowly on her mind that she was insulted,and she rose to her feet.
"Thank's fer yer nasty remark,"she cried."That's all the thanks I get fer comin'to give a 'elpin''and.But I know when I'm not wanted.""Yer don't,"said Pinkey,"or yer'd 'ave gone 'ours ago."Mrs Partridge turned to go,the picture of offended dignity,when her eyes fell on an apparition in the doorway,and she quailed.It was William,left safely by the fireside for the night,and now glowering,not at her as she swiftly divined,but at the hat with the drooping feathers,twenty years too young for her face.For the first time in her life she lost her nerve,but with wonderful presence of mind,she smiled in her agony.
"Why,there you are,William,"she cried."Yer gave me quite a start.
I was just tryin'on Elizabeth's new 'at,to see if it suited me."As she spoke,she tore out the hatpins with feverish dexterity,and thrust the hat into Pinkey's astonished hand.
"Take it,yer little fool,"she whispered,savagely.
