The rest of the
morning I coach fellows for the Matric. In the afternoon I swot for
myself. You see how I spend my evenings. Brown's been very decent to
me. I get part of my tips and two meals--one for myself and one to take
home." He showed her the parcel that he carried. "Cold chicken and rice
mould," he said carelessly. "We couldn't afford that."
He did not tell her that there had been times when, to keep their
compact, they had gone without altogether, when Christine had fainted
over her typewriter and he had watched her from out of a horrible,
quivering mist--too sick with hunger to help, or even to care much. He
did not want Francey to be sorry for him.
"And the tips?" she asked, with grave concern. "I hope we played the
game. But poor old Howard is always so hard up----"
"Oh, good enough. Usually I get more than the others, and they hate me
for it. I'm quicker and I've got clean hands. People like that."
"I saw your hands first," Francey said, "and I knew at once that you were
something different."
It was too dark for her to see his face. Yet he turned away hastily. He
spoke as though he did not care at all.
"Brown's a smart fellow. He knows what's coming, and what people are
worth to him. We've got an agreement that when I'm Sir Robert I'm to
boost the old place and do his operations free. I think he'll be rather
sick if he doesn't need any."
It was half a joke, but if she had laughed--laughed in the wrong way--the
chances were that he would have turned on his heel and left her without
so much as a good-night.
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