Fan | Page 2

the thin lips were almost white, but the eyes were of the purest grey, shaded by long dark lashes; while her hair, hanging uneven and disordered to her shoulders, was of a pure golden brown.
"Mother, he's coming!" said the girl.
"Let him come!" returned the other, without looking up or stirring.
Slowly the approaching footsteps came nearer, stumbling up the dark, narrow staircase; then the door was pushed open and a man entered--a broad-chested, broad-faced rough-looking man with stubbly whiskers, wearing the dress and rusty boots of a labourer.
He drew a chair to the table and sat down in silence. Presently he turned to his wife.
"Well, what have you got to say?" he asked, in a somewhat unsteady voice.
"Nothing," she returned. "What have you got?"
"I've got tired of walking about for a job, and I want something to eat and drink, and that's what _I've_ got."
"Then you'd better go where you can get it," said she. "You can't find work, but you can find drink, and you ain't sober now."
For only answer he began whistling and drumming noisily on the table. Suddenly he paused and looked at her.
"Ain't you done that charing job, then?" he asked with a grin.
"Yes; and what's more, I got a florin and gave it to Mrs. Clark," she replied.
"You blarsted fool! what did you do that for?"
"Because I'm not going to have my few sticks taken for rent and be turned into the street with my girl. That's what I did it for; and if you won't work you'll starve, so don't you come to me for anything."
Again he drummed noisily on the table, and hummed or tried to hum a tune. Presently he spoke again:
"What's Fan been a-doing, then?"
"You know fast enough; tramping about the streets to sell a box of matches. A nice thing!"
"How much did she get?"
To this question no answer was returned.
"What did she get, I arsk you?" he repeated, getting up and putting his hand heavily on her shoulder.
"Enough for bread," she replied, shaking his hand off.
"How much?" But as she refused to answer, he turned to the girl and repeated in a threatening tone, "How much?"
She sat trembling, her eyes cast down, but silent.
"I'll learn you to answer when you're spoken to, you damn barstard!" he said, approaching her with raised hand.
"Don't you hit her, you brute!" exclaimed his wife, springing in sudden anger to her feet.
"Oh, father, don't hit me--oh, please don't--I'll tell--I'll tell! I got eighteenpence," cried the girl, shrinking back terrified.
He turned and went back to his seat, grinning at his success in getting at the truth. Presently he asked his wife if she had spent eighteenpence in bread.
"No, I didn't. I got a haddock for morning, and two ounces of tea, and a loaf, and a bundle of wood," she returned sullenly.
After an interval of a couple of minutes he got up, went to the cupboard, and opened it.
"There's the haddy right enough," he said. "No great things--cost you thrippence, I s'pose. Tea tuppence-ha'penny, and that's fivepence- ha'penny, and a ha'penny for wood, and tuppence-ha'penny for a loaf makes eightpence-ha'penny. There's more'n ninepence over, Margy, and all I want is a pint of beer and a screw. Threepence--come now."
"I've nothing to give you," she returned doggedly.
"Then what did you do with it? How much gin did you drink--eh?"
"As much as I could get," she answered defiantly.
He looked at her, whistled and drummed, then got up and went out.
"Mother, he's gone," whispered Fan.
"No such luck. He's only going to ask Mrs. Clark if I gave her the florin. He won't be long you'll see."
Very soon he did return and sat down again. "A pint and a screw, that's all I want," he said, as if speaking to himself, and there was no answer. Then he got up, put his hand on her shoulder, and almost shook her out of her chair. "Don't you hear?" he shouted.
"Let me alone, you drunken brute; I've got nothing, I tell you," she returned, and after watching his face a few moments settled down again.
"All right, old woman, I'll leave you," he said, dropping his hands. But suddenly changing his mind, he swung round and dealt her a heavy blow.
She sprang up with a scream of anger and pain, and taking no notice of Fan's piteous cries and pleadings, rushed at him; they struggled together for some moments, but the man was the strongest; very soon he flung her violently from him, and reeling away to some distance, and unable to recover her balance, she finally fell heavily on to the floor.
"Oh, mother, mother, he has killed you," sobbed Fan, throwing herself down beside the fallen woman and trying to raise her head.
"That I will, and you too," remarked the man, going back to his seat.
The woman, recovering from the shock, struggled to