Two days passed, and it was Friday morning. Liza had got up early and
strolled off to her work in good time, but she did not meet her
faithful Sally on the way, nor find her at the factory when she
herself arrived. The bell rang and all the girls trooped in, but still
Sally did not come. Liza could not make it out, and was thinking she
would be shut out, when just as the man who gave out the tokens for
the day's work was pulling down the shutter in front of his window, Sally arrived, breathless and perspiring.
'Whew! Go' lumme, I am 'ot!' she said, wiping her face with her apron.
'I thought you wasn't comin',' said Liza.
'Well, I only just did it; I overslep' myself. I was aht lite last
night.'
'Were yer?'
'Me an' 'Arry went ter see the ply. Oh, Liza, it's simply spiffin'! I've never see sich a good ply in my life. Lor'! Why, it mikes yer blood run cold: they 'ang a man on the stige; oh, it mide me creep all over!'
And then she began telling Liza all about it the blood and thunder, the shooting, the railway train, the murder, the bomb, the hero, the funny man jumbling everything up in her excitement, repeating little scraps of dialogue all wrong gesticulating, getting excited and red in the face at the recollection. Liza listened rather crossly, feeling bored at the detail into which Sally was going: the piece really didn't much interest her.
'One 'ud think yer'd never been to a theatre in your life before,' she
said.
'I never seen anything so good, I can tell yer. You tike my tip, and
git Tom ter tike yer.'
'I don't want ter go; an' if I did I'd py for myself an' go alone.'
'Cheese it! That ain't 'alf so good. Me an' 'Arry, we set together, 'im with 'is arm round my wiste and me oldin' 'is 'and. It was jam, I can tell yer!'
'Well, I don't want anyone sprawlin' me abaht, thet ain't my mark!'
'But I do like 'Arry; you dunno the little ways 'e 'as; an' we're
goin' ter be married in three weeks now. 'Arry said, well, 'e says, "I'll git a licence." "Na," says I, "'ave the banns read aht in church: it seems more reg'lar like to 'ave banns; so they're goin' ter be read aht next Sunday. You'll come with me 'an 'ear them, won't yer, Liza?"'
'Yus, I don't mind.'
On the way home Sally insisted on stopping in front of the poster and
explaining to Liza all about the scene represented.
'Oh, you give me the sick with your "Fital Card", you do! I'm goin'
'ome.' And she left Sally in the midst of her explanation.
'I dunno wot's up with Liza,' remarked Sally to a mutual friend. 'She's always got the needle, some'ow.'
'Oh, she's barmy,' answered the friend.
'Well, I do think she's a bit dotty sometimes I do really,' rejoined
Sally.
Liza walked homewards, thinking of the play; at length she tossed her
head impatiently.
'I don't want ter see the blasted thing; an' if I see that there Jim
I'll tell 'im so; swop me bob, I will.'
She did see him; he was leaning with his back against the wall of his
house, smoking. Liza knew he had seen her, and as she walked by
pretended not to have noticed him. To her disgust, he let her pass, and she was thinking he hadn't seen her after all, when she heard him call her name.
'Liza!'
She turned round and started with surprise very well imitated. 'I
didn't see you was there!' she said.
'Why did yer pretend not ter notice me, as yer went past eh, Liza?'
'Why, I didn't see yer.'
'Garn! But you ain't shirty with me?'
'Wot 'ave I got to be shirty abaht?'
He tried to take her hand, but she drew it away quickly. She was
getting used to the movement. They went on talking, but Jim did not
mention the theatre; Liza was surprised, and wondered whether he had
forgotten.
'Er Sally went to the ply last night,' she said, at last.
'Oh!' he said, and that was all.
She got impatient.
'Well, I'm off!' she said.
'Na, don't go yet; I want ter talk ter yer,' he replied.
'Wot abaht? anythin' in partickler?' She would drag it out of him if
she possibly could.
'Not thet I knows on,' he said, smiling.
'Good night!' she said, abruptly, turning away from him.
'Well, I'm damned if 'e ain't forgotten!' she said to herself, sulkily, as she marched home.
The following evening about six o'clock, it suddenly struck her that
it was the last night of the 'New and Sensational Drama'.