To-day the silver lettering was covered with narrow posters announcing that Jonah's red-letter sale was to begin to-morrow.And as she stared at this huge machine for coining money,she remembered,with a sudden disdain,her home with its atmosphere of decay and genteel poverty.She was conscious of some change in herself.The slight sense of physical repugnance to the hunchback had vanished since his declaration.He and his shop stood for power and success.What else mattered?
Her spirits drooped suddenly as she remembered the obstacle that lay between her and the pride of openly sharing the triumphs of the Silver Shoe as she already shared its secrets.She thought with dismay of the furtive meetings drawn out for years without hope of relief unless the impossible happened.A watched pot never boils,and Ada was a young woman.
She crossed the street and entered the shop,her eye scouting for Jonah as she walked to the foot of the stairs,for since the appointment of a manager,Jonah had found time to slip up to the room after the lesson to ask her to play for him,on the plea that the piano was spoiling for want of use.And he waited impatiently for these stolen moments,with a secret desire to see her beneath his roof in a domestic setting that gave him a keener sense of intimacy than the swish of waters and wide spaces of sea and sky.But to-day she looked in vain,and Miss Giltinan,seeing the swift look of inquiry,stepped up to her.
"Mr Jones was called away suddenly over some arrangements for our sale that opens to-morrow.He left word with me that he'd be back as soon as possible,"she said.
Clara thanked her,and flushed slightly.It seemed as if Jonah were excusing himself in public for missing an appointment.As she went up the stairs one shopman winked at the other and came across with a pair of hobnailed boots in his hand.
"This'll never do,"he whispered,"the boss missin'his lesson.He'll get behind in his practice.""Wotcher givin'us?"replied the other."The boss don't take lessons;it's the kid."
"Of course he don't,"said the other with a leer."He learns a lot here by lookin'on,an'she tells him the rest at Mosman in the pale moonlight.
If I won a sweep,I'd take a few lessons meself an'cut him out."He became aware that Miss Giltinan was standing behind him,and raised his voice.
"I was tellin'Harris that the price of these bluchers ought to be marked down;they're beginning to sweat,"he explained,turning to Miss Giltinan and showing her some small spots like treacle on the uppers.
"Mr Jones doesn't pay you good money to talk behind his back;and if you take the trouble to look at the tag,you'll see those boots have already been marked down,"she replied indignantly.
The shopman slinked away without a word.Miss Giltinan was annoyed.
It was not the first time that she had heard these scandalous rumours,for the shop was alive with whispers,some professing to know every detail of the meetings between Jonah and the music-teacher,naming to a minute the boat they caught on their return from Mosman.Jonah had contrived to avoid the faces that were familiar to him,but he had forgotten that he must be seen and recognized by people unknown to him.Miss Giltinan's clear and candid mind rejected these rumours for lying inventions,incapable of belief that her idol,Jonah,would carry on with any woman.
They talked about him going upstairs to hear the piano.What was more natural when he couldn't play it himself?And she dismissed the matter from her mind and went about her business.
Clara gave Ray his lesson,listening between whiles for a rapid step from below,but none came.She decided to go,and picked up her gloves.But as she passed the bedroom door on the landing,a voice that she recognized for Ada's called out "Is that you,Miss Grimes?""Yes,"said Clara,and paused.
The voice sounded faint and thin,like that of a sick woman.
"'Ow is it y'ain't playin'anythin'to-day?"she continued.
"Mr Jones is out,"replied Clara,annoyed by this conversation through the crack of a door,and anxious to get away.
"Oh,is 'e?"said Ada,with an increase of energy in her voice."I wish yer'd come in fer a minit,if ye're not in a 'urry."Clara pushed the door open,and went in.It was her first sight of the bedroom,and she recoiled in dismay.The place was like a pigsty.Ada was lying on the bed,still tossed and disordered from last night,in a dirty dressing-gown.A basin of soapy water stood on the washstand,and the carpeted floor was littered with clothes,a pile of penny novelettes,and a collection of odds and ends on their way to the rag-bag.In spite of the huge bedroom suite with its streaked and speckled mirrors,the room seemed half furnished.
For a moment Clara was puzzled,and then her quick,feminine eye noted a complete absence of the common knick-knacks and trifles that indicate the refinement or vulgarity of the owner.She remembered that Jonah had told her that Ada pawned everything she could lay hands on since he stopped her allowance.But she was more surprised at the change in Ada herself.
Months ago Ada had begun to avoid her,ashamed of her slovenly looks,and now Clara scarcely recognized her.Her eyes were sunken,her cheeks had fallen in,and a bluish pallor gave her the look of one recovering from a long illness.The room had not been aired,and the accumulated odours of the night turned Clara sick.She was thinking of some excuse to get away when Ada began to speak with a curious whine,quite unlike her old manner.
"I'm ashamed ter ask yer in,Miss Grimes,the room's in such a state;but I've been very ill,with no one ter talk to fer days past.Not that I'm ter blame.I 'ope it's niver your lot to 'ave a 'usband with thousan's in the bank,an'too mean ter keep a servant.'Ere am I from mornin'ter night,slavin'an'drudgin',an'me with a leg that bad I can 'ardly stand on it.I'll just show yer wot state I'm in.It's breakin'out all over.
