"You mean those with the buckles and straps?They'll go like hot cakes!""They ought to,"said Jonah,dryly."Post free brings them a shade below cost price.""A shade below cost?"said Clara in surprise."I thought you bought them at seven and six?""So I do,"replied Jonah,"but add twelve per cent for working expenses,an'where's the profit?Packard's manager puts them in the window at eight an'six,an'wonders why they don't sell.His girls come straight from the factory and buy them off me.They're the sort I want--waitresses,dressmakers,shop-hands,bits of girls that go without their meals to doll themselves up.They want the cheapest they can get,an'they're always buying."And at once they plunged into a discussion on the business of the Silver Shoe.Clara always listened with fascination to the details of buying and selling.Novelettes left her cold,but the devices to attract customers,the lines that were sold at a loss for advertisement,the history of the famous Silver Shoe that Jonah sold in thousands at a halfpenny a pair profit,astonished her like a fairy-tale that happened to be real.
One day,while shopping at Jordan's mammoth cash store,her ear had caught the repeated clink of metal,and turning her head,she stood on the stairs,thunderstruck.She saw a square room lit with electric bulbs in broad daylight.It was the terminus of a multitude of shining brass tubes leading from counters the length of a street away,and,with an incessant popping,the tubes dropped a cascade of gold and silver before the cashiers,silent and absorbed in this river of coin.She felt that she was looking at the heart of this huge machine for drawing money from the pockets of the multitude.The "Silver Shoe",that poured a stream of golden coins into the pockets of the hunchback,fascinated her in a like manner.
They had talked for half an hour,intent on figures which Jonah dotted on the back of an envelope,when they were surprised by a sudden change in the light.The sun was low in the sky,dipping to the horizon,where its motion seemed more rapid,as if it had gathered speed in the descent.The sudden heat had thrown a haze over the sky,and the city with its spires and towers was transformed.The buildings floated in a liquid veil with the unreality of things seen in a dream.The rays of the sun,filtered through bars of crystal cloud,fell not crimson nor amber nor gold,but with the mystic radiance of liquid pearls,touching the familiar scene with Eastern magic.In the silvery light a dome reared its head that might have belonged to an Eastern mosque with a muezzin calling the faithful to prayers.Minarets glistered,remote and ethereal,and tall spires lifted themselves like arrows in flight.On the left lay low hills softly outlined against the pearly sky;hills of fairyland that might dissolve and disappear with the falling night;hills on the borderland of fantasy and old romance.
And as they watched,surprised out of themselves by this magic play of light,the sun's rim dipped below the skyline,a level lake of blood,and the fantastic city melted like a dream.The pearly haze was withdrawn like a net of gossamer,and the magic city had vanished at a touch.
The familiar towers and spires of Sydney reappeared,silhouetted against the amber rim of night;the hills,robbed of their pearly glamour,huddled beneath a belt of leaden cloud;the harbour waters lay fiat and grey like a sheet of polished metal;light clouds were pacing in from the sea.
They stared across the water,silent and thoughtful,touched for a moment with the glamour of a dream.The sound of a cornet,prolonged into a wail,reached them from the deck of a Manly steamer.At intervals the full strength of the band,cheerful and vulgar,was carried by a gust of wind to their ears.
"Oh,I would like to hear some music!"cried Clara."Something slow and solemn,a dirge for the dying day."Jonah turned and looked at her curiously,surprised by the gush of emotion in her voice.He started to speak,and hesitated.Then the words came with a rush.
"I could give yer a tune meself,but I suppose yer'd poke borak.""Give me a tune?I never knew you could sing,"said Clara,in surprise.
"Sing!"said Jonah,in scorn."I can beat any singin'w'en I'm in good nick.""Whatever do you mean?"said Clara.She was surprised to see that the habitual shrewd look had gone out of his eyes.He looked half ashamed and defiant.
"Yer remember w'en I first met yer in the shop I mentioned that I could do a bit with the mouth-organ?""The mouth-organ?"said Clara,smiling."I thought only boys amused themselves with that.""No fear!"cried Jonah."I 'eard a bloke at the 'Tiv.'play a fair treat.
That's 'ow I come to git this instrument,"and he tapped something in his breast pocket."Kramer's 'ad to send 'ome for it,an'I only got it this afternoon.I've bin dyin'to 'ave a go at it,but I always wait till Igit the place to meself.It wouldn't do for the 'ands to see the boss playin'the mouth-organ."He took the instrument out of his pocket,and handed it to Clara with the pride of a fiddler showing his Strad.Clara looked carelessly at the flat row of tubes cased in nickel-silver.
"Exhibition concert organ with forty reeds,"said Jonah.Again Clara looked at the instrument with a slightly disdainful air,as an organist would look at a penny whistle.
"Well,play something,"she said with a smile.
