Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky by Patrick Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page A

she added, and looked at her wrist-watch. ‘What’s the time? I ought to be off.’
    ‘Only ten to ten.’
    All at once she sat up stiffly.
    ‘Oh lord – I don’t half feel bad,’ she said. ‘Really.’
    ‘I guess you ought to be in bed,’ he said, not quite knowing what to say.
    ‘You bet.’ She drew her lips into a little sneer, not at him, but with him, against existence.
    ‘What about another Gin and Pep?’
    She nodded. ‘Yes. That first one did me good, didn’t it?’ She was clearly in pain.
    ‘Yes. Go on. I’ll get you one.’
    ‘Right you are. A Gin and Pep.’
    She smiled again, conveying her appreciation, and he returned to the bar.
    Here the noise was tremendous, and Ella was off her head with work. ‘Well, what do you want, Bob?’ she asked, as she poured out drinks for somebody else.
    ‘I want a Gin and Peppermint, please, Ella.’
    ‘I’m surprised at you , Bob,’ she said, as she served him.
    ‘Heard that somewhere before. What’s the worry?’
    Ella glanced at him reproachfully, and explained herself. ‘Talking to those Pros titutes,’ said Ella. . . .
    Her violent stress upon the first syllable of this word implied a differentiation between a large class of almost venial Titutes, and another branch of the same class, designated as Pros, and beyond the pale.
    ‘What’s wrong with ’em?’ asked Bob.
    ‘What’s wrong with ’em!’ said Ella. ‘The creatures .’
    ‘Ladies must live,’ hazarded Bob, a little insecurely.
    ‘Don’t you tell me ,’ said Ella, and left him.
    Her illness and isolation glowed all the stronger for Ella’s derision, as he placed the drink upon her table and she fumbled in her bag and produced a two shilling piece. He gave her the change, and she tried to pass him another sixpence.
    ‘No,’ he said, smiling, and slipping it back. ‘I guess that’s the sort of thing you’re wanting.’
    ‘No. Go on. Don’t be silly.’
    A sudden intimation that people near by were watching them, and that he, a self-respecting waiter in a decent house could not stand there arguing about change with a woman of the streets, compelled him to accept it. He picked it up quickly.
    ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I only wish I could do something, that’s all.’
    Her reply was another weary smile.
    He stood there, with his tray balanced on the table, looking around as though to see if anyone needed serving. . . .
    ‘And it’s only a question of eight and sixpence too,’ she said. . . .
    ‘What? –’ He spotted a customer. ‘I must go and work.’
    He left her for five minutes.
    He returned with a soul expanded.
    ‘That’s not much,’ he said.
    ‘Too much for me, at any rate.’
    ‘Why not let me give it to you.’
    ‘What? You? Likely! I bet you’ve got a lot to throw away.’
    ‘No. Go on. You can pay it back, if you like.’
    ‘Don’t be silly.’
    ‘No. Go on. It’s not silly.’
    ‘Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t think of it, an’ that’s flat.’
    ‘But what’s wrong, if you pay me back?’
    There was a pause. She looked into the distance. ‘I’d certainly do that,’ she said. . . .
    ‘Well come on. I’ll give it you. An’ then you can go to bed.’
    She still looked into the distance. ‘Come on,’ he said. . . . She was very pretty. It was almost as though he were making love to her. . . .
    ‘Well – if I pay it back to-morrow. . . .’
    ‘Just when you like.’
    ‘All right then.’ She met his eyes. ‘And you know how grateful I am, don’t you?’
    ‘No cause for that.’
    ‘Well, there is, an’ that’s a fact.’
    ‘Tell you what though. Don’t want ’em to see me giving it you in here. You finish that drink and then go out an’ wait outside. An’ then I’ll slip out an’ give it you. That’s the best way, isn’t it?’
    ‘That’ll do fine. Shall I go now?’ She sat up again.
    ‘No. Wait a bit. I’ve got to serve some people. I’ll spot you as you go out, and then I’ll follow. Don’t mind if I keep you