Aarons Rod | Page 9

out. There was
a wild grumbling, but a deep satisfaction in the fight, the struggle. The
same fight and the same satisfaction in the fight was witnessed

whenever a tram-car stopped, or when it heaved its way into sight.
Then the struggle to mount on board became desperate and savage, but
stimulating. Souls surcharged with hostility found now some outlet for
their feelings.
As he came near the little market-place he bethought himself of the
Christmas-tree candles. He did not intend to trouble himself. And yet,
when he glanced in passing into the sweet-shop window, and saw it
bare as a board, the very fact that he probably could not buy the things
made him hesitate, and try.
"Have you got any Christmas-tree candles?" he asked as he entered the
shop.
"How many do you want?"
"A dozen."
"Can't let you have a dozen. You can have two boxes--four in a box--
eight. Six-pence a box."
"Got any holders?"
"Holders? Don't ask. Haven't seen one this year."
"Got any toffee--?"
"Cough-drops--two-pence an ounce--nothing else left."
"Give me four ounces."
He watched her weighing them in the little brass scales.
"You've not got much of a Christmas show," he said.
"Don't talk about Christmas, as far as sweets is concerned. They ought
to have allowed us six times the quantity--there's plenty of sugar, why
didn't they? We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got. We
mean to, anyhow."

"Ay," he said.
"Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas. They ought to have
made things more plentiful."
"Yes," he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.
CHAPTER II
ROYAL OAK
The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the
market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two
miserable stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud
sound of voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the
public-houses.
But he was going to a pub out of town. He descended the dark hill. A
street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light. In the bottoms,
under the trees, it was very dark. But a lamp glimmered in front of the
"Royal Oak." This was a low white house sunk three steps below the
highway. It was darkened, but sounded crowded.
Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage. Old Bob,
carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered--then went on into
the public bar on the left. The bar itself was a sort of little window-sill
on the right: the pub was a small one. In this window- opening stood
the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband. Behind the bar was a
tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.
"Oh, it's you," she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer. None
entered her bar-parlour unless invited.
"Come in," said the landlady. There was a peculiar intonation in her
complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little
irritably.
He went across into her bar-parlour. It would not hold more than eight

or ten people, all told--just the benches along the walls, the fire
between--and two little round tables.
"I began to think you weren't coming," said the landlady, bringing him
a whiskey.
She was a large, stout, high-coloured woman, with a fine profile,
probably Jewish. She had chestnut-coloured eyes, quick, intelligent.
Her movements were large and slow, her voice laconic.
"I'm not so late, am I?" asked Aaron.
"Yes, you are late, I should think." She Looked up at the little clock.
"Close on nine."
"I did some shopping," said Aaron, with a quick smile.
"Did you indeed? That's news, I'm sure. May we ask what you
bought?"
This he did not like. But he had to answer.
"Christmas-tree candles, and toffee."
"For the little children? Well you've done well for once! I must say I
recommend you. I didn't think you had so much in you."
She sat herself down in her seat at the end of the bench, and took up her
knitting. Aaron sat next to her. He poured water into his glass, and
drank.
It's warm in here," he said, when he had swallowed the liquor.
"Yes, it is. You won't want to keep that thick good overcoat on,"
replied the landlady.
"No," he said, "I think I'll take it off."
She watched him as he hung up his overcoat. He wore black clothes, as

usual. As he reached up to the pegs, she could see the muscles of his
shoulders, and the form of his legs. Her reddish-brown eyes seemed to
burn, and her nose, that had a subtle, beautiful Hebraic curve, seemed
to arch itself. She made a little place for him by herself, as he returned.
She carried her head thrown back, with dauntless self- sufficiency.