little waitress at Mitchell's dining-rooms was
so much absorbed in thought during the day following the contest, that humorous customers, noting this, told her she was in love. To Miss Mitchell's requests for an opinion as to the number of g's in Reggie, she replied absently, and showed so little interest in the momentous question, that Miss Mitchell declared, with satire, that you got a lot of sympathy in this world, upon her conscience, and that, in future, she should discontinue wearing her heart upon her sleeve. Mord Em'ly had matters of greater import to consider. She thought of her mother, and blamed herself for not having done so before; she tried to make up her mind as to the best course now to be adopted. Two things were certain. She must see her mother without delay; for her own sake she must also prevent those who knew her from learning that her father was an ex-convict. She remembered how, down at the Industrial School in Surrey, the girls had made miserable the life of a small, sad-faced creature whose father was at Wormwood Scrubbs for burglary.
"If it gets known," said Mord Em'ly, sighing, "everybody'll give me the chuck."
At eight o'clock she hurried away. She ran as far as New Cross gates, and there, as she went up the steps of a tram, found herself followed by Mr. Wetherell—Wetherell, in a kind of restrained good temper, and even more anxious to talk than usual. He paid her fare, with an important manner, and declined to accept the coppers which she offered. Whispering to her behind his hand, so that the winds should not carry the news afar, he confided to her that he was on a soft business at last, and that he rather thought he was going to make things hum.
"There's money to be made if you've only got a 'ead on your shoulders; it's simply a question of being a bit sharper than other people. This job I've got in and now, for instance! Why, I don't seepose there's a comride amongst 'em except me and my friend that'd know how to manage it like we do, even if they'd got the chance. Not only that! I shall be the means of putting many a odd shilling in the pockets of my fellow-toilers—"
"Some of 'em don't seem to do more toiling than they can 'elp," remarked Mord Em'ly.
"I respect 'em all the more for it," declared Wetherell. "I'm a bit of a miker meself, and I don't 'esitite to acknowledge the fact. That's why, when I see the chance like there is now of picking up a tidy bit simply by my own powers of speech and my own ingenuity, I say, 'Done with you, sir, and I'm your man!' Can't say fairer than that, can I?"
"Sounds all right."
"I can't tell you no more at present," went on Mr. Wetherell mysteriously, "and I don't want what I've mentioned to go no farther. There's good bit of jealousy about amongst the comrides I mix with, and if they was to 'ear of it, there'd be no 'olding of 'em."
"I sha'n't speak."
"Not that they've got any right to interfere, mind you," argued Mr. Wetherell sternly, "and they'd better not try it on. I'm as good a reformer as any one of them. I nail my principles to the mast, I do, and I ain't going to be ordered off the field by nobody."
"Don't see why you should," she said absently.
"Anybody 'tempt to dictate to me what I ought to do and what I ought not to do, and they'll find themselves in a pretty 'ot corner, jolly quick. If I see my way, without sacrificing my principles, to earnin a 'undred pound, why shouldn't I do it? Aye?" Mr. Wetherell glared very fiercely at the lighted shops, and waited for a reply. "I say, why shouldn't I?"
"Oh, don't bother!" said Mord Em'ly impatiently. "I'm worried. 'Sides, it's got nothing to do with me."
"Oh, 'asn't it?" Mr. Wetherell smiled acutely. "Shows what you know about it. Seeposin' I kindly inform you that it'll make all the difference to you and your future? Seeposin', I say, that once I get the 'andling of this money, I prepose to take 'alf a 'ouse and settle down? Seeposin' I ain't very comfortable where I am, and seeposin' I want someone to look after me?"
"Talk sense!" said Mord Em'ly.
"I am a-talking sense" declared Mr. Wetherell, obstinately. "I put the case to you now, and I want your opinion. How does the idea strike you, aye?" He changed his tone. "Answer me, why don't you, when I ask you a civil question?"
"You're the best judge of your own affairs."
"Granted!" said Mr. Wetherell. "That I know. What I want to ascertain is your views on the question. Do you fall in with the idea?"
"D'you mean that you want me to marry you?"
"I don't think you quite grasp my meaning," said Mr. Wetherell, rather nervously. "You see, I belong to rather a—what you might term—advanced school of thought, and—"