Esther Waters | Page 8

and quite half the number of

faces that looked up as she took her place next to Margaret Gale, were
unknown to her. There were the four ugly little boys whom she had
seen on the race horses, but she did not recognize them at first, and
nearly opposite, sitting next to the lady's-maid, was a small,
sandy-haired man about forty: he was beginning to show signs of
stoutness, and two little round whiskers grew out of his pallid cheeks.
Mr. Randal sat at the end of the table helping the pudding. He
addressed the sandy-haired man as Mr. Swindles; but Esther learnt
afterwards his real name was Ward, and that he was Mr. Barfield's head
groom. She learnt, too, that "the Demon" was not the real name of the
little carroty-haired boy, and she looked at him in amazement when he
whispered in her ear that he would dearly love a real go-in at that
pudding, but that it was so fattening that he didn't ever dare to venture
on more than a couple of sniffs. Seeing that the girl did not understand,
he added, by way of explanation, "You know that I must keep under the
six stone, and at times it becomes awful 'ard."
Esther thought him a nice little fellow, and tried to persuade him to
forego his resolution not to touch pudding, until Mr. Swindles told her
to desist. The attention of the whole table being thus drawn towards the
boy, Esther was still further surprised at the admiration he seemed so
easily to command and the important position he seemed to occupy,
notwithstanding his diminutive stature, whereas the bigger boys were
treated with very little consideration. The long-nosed lad, with weak
eyes and sloping shoulders, who sat on the other side of the table on Mr.
Swindles' left, was everybody's laughing-stock, especially Mr.
Swindles', who did not cease to poke fun at him. Mr. Swindles was now
telling poor Jim's misadventures with the Gaffer.
"But why do you call him Mr. Leopold when his name is Mr. Randal?"
Esther ventured to inquire of the Demon.
"On account of Leopold Rothschild," said the Demon; "he's pretty near
as rich, if the truth was known--won a pile over the City and Sub. Pity
you weren't there; might have had a bit on."
"I have never seen the City," Esther replied innocently.
"Never seen the City and Sub!... I was up, had a lot in hand, so I came
away from my 'orses the moment I got into the dip. The Tinman nearly
caught me on the post--came with a terrific rush; he is just hawful, that
Tinman is. I did catch it from the Gaffer--he did give it me."

The plates of all the boys except the Demon's were now filled with
beefsteak pudding, potatoes, and greens, likewise Esther's. Mr. Leopold,
Mr. Swindles, the housemaid, and the cook dined off the leg of mutton,
a small slice of which was sent to the Demon. "That for a dinner!" and
as he took up his knife and fork and cut a small piece of his one slice,
he said, "I suppose you never had to reduce yourself three pounds; girls
never have. I do run to flesh so, you wouldn't believe it. If I don't walk
to Portslade and back every second day, I go up three or four pounds.
Then there's nothing for it but the physic, and that's what settles me.
Can you take physic?"
"I took three Beecham's pills once."
"Oh, that's nothing. Can you take castor-oil?"
Esther looked in amazement at the little boy at her side. Swindles had
overheard the question and burst into a roar of laughter. Everyone
wanted to know what the joke was, and, feeling they were poking fun at
her, Esther refused to answer.
The first helpings of pudding or mutton had taken the edge off their
appetites, and before sending their plates for more they leaned over the
table listening and laughing open-mouthed. It was a bare room, lit with
one window, against which Mrs. Latch's austere figure appeared in
dark-grey silhouette. The window looked on one of the little back
courts and tiled ways which had been built at the back of the house; and
the shadowed northern light softened the listening faces with grey tints.
"You know," said Mr. Swindles, glancing at Jim as if to assure himself
that the boy was there and unable to escape from the hooks of his
sarcasm, "how fast the Gaffer talks, and how he hates to be asked to
repeat his words. Knowing this, Jim always says, 'Yes, sir; yes, sir.'
'Now do you quite understand?' says the Gaffer. 'Yes, sir; yes, sir,'
replies Jim, not having understood one word of what was said; but
relying on us to put