The Girls of St. Olave's Part 2

"Yes! much you care!" she scolded, "but I tell you, Jim Adams, I won't do it! You can write and tell your precious sister she can make other arrangements. You are married now and you can't do just as you like; you've got a wife, and I won't do it! There! you've waked the baby, shouting at me about your sister; but I won't have anybody else's child, so there!"

The l.u.s.ty crying from the adjoining room continuing, she went in, banging the door behind her, and Jim was left alone, staring doggedly out at the tall houses opposite.

Should he write to his dying sister at Whitecliff and tell her to make other arrangements? What other arrangements could she make? Could she bring back her young sailor husband from his grave in the Red Sea?

Could she stay the progress of the cough, the outward sign of the fatal sickness which was bringing her to an early death? Could she send the child, her treasured little boy, to any other relative? Jim knew she could not. Nellie and he had been alone in the world since they were children. If he did not take little Harry, the boy must go into the workhouse.

Should he tell Nellie that she must make that arrangement? He was an easy-going chap, this Jim Adams, too easy-going. He stood six feet one in his socks and was big and broad in proportion, a veritable giant in looks, but his strength was mere physical strength, and he knew it. He was not strong in himself. This was the very first time, since he had known and courted Jane Green, that he had resisted her will for twenty-four hours, and even now he was contemplating the possibility of giving way.

Jane could make herself very disagreeable indeed if she were thwarted.

He had had nothing but storming since yesterday morning when Nellie's letter had come, and he had had two half-cooked suppers and a miserable cold breakfast. He did like a good supper, and if this was what it was going to be if he had Harry----

The sound of a gay voice singing on the pathway below, startled him.

There were always noises in the street, but this song caught his attention.

"_They had not been married a month or more When underneath her thumb went Jim, It can't be right for the likes of her To put upon the likes of him.

It's a great big shame, and if she belonged to me I'd let her know who's who; Putting on a fellow six foot three And her only four foot two!_"

Jim smiled grimly to himself; it was so absolutely true. Then his wrath rose. What business had Jack Turner to be singing that ditty under _his_ window? He supposed all the neighbours laughed behind his back at the way his small wife ruled him. If they only had a taste of her nagging tongue they would not, perhaps, laugh so much. He would let them see he was not under Jane's thumb!

He turned at the opening of the bedroom door, prepared to have his say, and there was Jane with their big bouncing baby in her arms.

"Here!" she said crossly, "you just get this kid off to sleep, I'm going for the supper beer. I've minded him all day, and I'm tired of him. I believe he wakes up in the evening just to spite me!"

Jim took his baby and his eyes softened as he cuddled the little fellow in his arms. He thought of Nellie's beseeching letter, and he thought of himself as dead and of Jane as dead, and this baby left to face a cold, unloving world. Would not Nellie have taken him? Would she not have been a mother to him?

Oh! he knew she would. Nellie had been as a mother to himself ever since they were children together.

Not for what the neighbours would say, nor for triumphing over Jane, but for love's sake, he would take Nellie's child and be a father to him.

That was settled finally, but Jane had gone for the beer and there was no one to listen to his determination.

As he sat there rocking his baby, there was one sentence in Nellie's letter that came back to his mind and disturbed it.

"Dear Jim, you'll teach my little Harry about our Saviour, won't you?

I've done my best, but children forget so quickly! Tell him that Jesus Christ is our best Friend."

Our best Friend! A stab of pain shot through Jim's heart. Nellie's best Friend, perhaps, but not his, not _our_ best Friend, little sister Nellie!

The baby dropped asleep, but Jane had not returned. She was no doubt enjoying herself at the Green Dragon.

He rose and with the lamp in his disengaged hand, went into the bedroom and laid the baby down, and covered him up warm.

He would make a cup of tea for himself, as Jane had not brought the beer. He wished Jane would give up beer, she might be getting a bit too fond of it, and he would give it up himself if she would.

He rather enjoyed making his tea and a couple of pieces of toast, and setting it out neatly. His supper had left him unsatisfied in every way.

As he poured out his first cup of tea there was a tap at the door, and on his calling out, "Come in," a young fellow, so like Jane as to be instantly recognised as her brother, entered.

"Hullo!" said he.

"Hullo, Tom! What's brought you over to-night? Will you have a cup of tea?"

"That I will!" said Tom. "Where's Jane?"

"Gone for the beer," said Jim shortly.

"You'd be a deal better off and a deal happier, both of you, if you didn't take any of that stuff," said Tom. "It makes Jane quarrelsome, I'm certain of it."

"I'd give it up if she would," said Jim valiantly. Then he added in a shamefaced sort of way, "you see, when I do give it up for a bit, she has it, and the smell and everything--well, I want it again!"

Tom nodded, gulped down his tea and set down his cup.

"You asked what brought me over," he said. "Pattie has given me up!"

"What!" demanded Jim incredulously, "given you up! Why?"

Tom's face worked. He was a simple-hearted fellow, and he loved foolish little worldly-minded Pattie very dearly.

"I believe," he said unsteadily, "I believe it's money what's done it.

She was always so fond of me, was Pattie, and I thought she loved me with all her heart, as I did her. But one of her young ladies has got engaged to a gentleman as is pretty well off, and I s'pose--in fact, Pattie allowed it was so--they got talking, as girls will, and it's turned Pattie's head. 'She don't want to marry poor'--them's just her words--and so she's----"

"Chucked you," said Jim grimly.

Tom sighed deeply. "I told her as my wage, though not big, was reg'lar, winter and summer, and that was better than a big wage in the summer and being out of work in the winter; and I don't drink--nor smoke--and them two things makes a hole in any fellow's wages; but there--talking ain't no good--argufying don't bring love. I suppose she don't care for me and that's all about it." He reached out his cup for more tea and gulped it down; it seemed to help him to gulp down his feelings.

"I feel a bit done," he said after a minute's silence. "I'll be better to-morrow. I never thought as how my love-making would end like this."

Jim got up and gave him a hearty thump on his back.

"Don't you be downhearted," he said, "you keep on steady and wait a bit. You'll be seeing her looking downhearted soon, you mark my word, and then you can step up and say, 'Is't me you want, my girl?' You're a right down good fellow, Tom, and she don't know yet what she's giving up."

Tom looked a little more cheerful. "You can tell Jane," he said, rising to go.

"That's her on the stairs," answered Jim. "I'm going off to bed, so you can stay and tell her yourself. She's out of sorts with me."

So Jane, with her jug of supper beer, found only her brother waiting for her.

She greeted him effusively, and insisted on spreading the table afresh with meat and bread and cheese, talking incessantly and laughing loud and long as she did so, and Tom, knowing what it meant, wished he had gone before her return.

But being there and having come on purpose, in a moment's lull in her stream of talk, he told her about Pattie.

Her anger against Pattie was unbounded. She hugged Tom and called him "poor dear," till he pushed her away, and then she said she would pay the girl out. She would make her repent having used an honest fellow like that! She was going into Old Keston on Monday for a day's charring, and she knew well enough where Pattie lived. The garden of the house where she worked ran down to Pattie's garden, and she would give Pattie a bit of her mind.

"Then I hope you won't see her," said Tom. "I don't want any words.

Words won't make her care for me, and that's all I wanted."

He turned to the door, but Jane intercepted him with the jug of supper beer.

"Have a gla.s.s, Tom, my lad! It'll comfort you and make you forget your troubles. There's a deal of comfort in a gla.s.s when you're low-spirited."