Liza of Lambeth | Page 4

now,' and promptly tried to
take one.
'Git aht!' said Liza, pushing him away, not too gently.
'Yus, give us a kiss,' cried another, running up to her.
'I'll smack yer in the fice!' said Liza, elegantly, as she dodged him.
'Ketch 'old on 'er, Bill,' cried out a third, 'an' we'll all kiss her.'
'Na, you won't!' shrieked Liza, beginning to run.
'Come on,' they cried, 'we'll ketch 'er.'
She dodged in and out, between their legs, under their arms, and then,
getting clear of the little crowd, caught up her skirts so that they might
not hinder her, and took to her heels along the street. A score of men set
in chase, whistling, shouting, yelling; the people at the doors looked up
to see the fun, and cried out to her as she dashed past; she ran like the
wind. Suddenly a man from the side darted into the middle of the road,
stood straight in her way, and before she knew where she was, she had
jumped shrieking into his arms, and he, lifting her up to him, had

imprinted two sounding kisses on her cheeks.
'Oh, you ----!' she said. Her expression was quite unprintable; nor can it
be euphemized.
There was a shout of laughter from the bystanders, and the young men
in chase of her, and Liza, looking up, saw a big, bearded man whom
she had never seen before. She blushed to the very roots of her hair,
quickly extricated herself from his arms, and, amid the jeers and
laughter of everyone, slid into the door of the nearest house and was
lost to view.

2
Liza and her mother were having supper. Mrs. Kemp was an elderly
woman, short, and rather stout, with a red face, and grey hair brushed
tight back over her forehead. She had been a widow for many years,
and since her husband's death had lived with Liza in the ground-floor
front room in which they were now sitting. Her husband had been a
soldier, and from a grateful country she received a pension large
enough to keep her from starvation, and by charring and doing such
odd jobs as she could get she earned a little extra to supply herself with
liquor. Liza was able to make her own living by working at a factory.
Mrs. Kemp was rather sulky this evening.
'Wot was yer doin' this afternoon, Liza?' she asked.
'I was in the street.'
'You're always in the street when I want yer.'
'I didn't know as 'ow yer wanted me, mother,' answered Liza.
'Well, yer might 'ave come ter see! I might 'ave been dead, for all you
knew.'

Liza said nothing.
'My rheumatics was thet bad to-dy, thet I didn't know wot ter do with
myself. The doctor said I was to be rubbed with that stuff 'e give me,
but yer won't never do nothin' for me.'
'Well, mother,' said Liza, 'your rheumatics was all right yesterday.'
'I know wot you was doin'; you was showin' off thet new dress of yours.
Pretty waste of money thet is, instead of givin' it me ter sive up. An' for
the matter of thet, I wanted a new dress far worse than you did. But, of
course, I don't matter.'
Liza did not answer, and Mrs. Kemp, having nothing more to say,
continued her supper in silence.
It was Liza who spoke next.
'There's some new people moved in the street. 'Ave you seen 'em?' she
asked.
'No, wot are they?'
'I dunno; I've seen a chap, a big chap with a beard. I think 'e lives up at
the other end.'
She felt herself blushing a little.
'No one any good you be sure,' said Mrs. Kemp. 'I can't swaller these
new people as are comin' in; the street ain't wot it was when I fust
come.'
When they had done, Mrs. Kemp got up, and having finished her
half-pint of beer, said to her daughter:
'Put the things awy, Liza. I'm just goin' round to see Mrs. Clayton; she's
just 'ad twins, and she 'ad nine before these come. It's a pity the Lord
don't see fit ter tike some on 'em--thet's wot I say.'

After which pious remark Mrs. Kemp went out of the house and turned
into another a few doors up.
Liza did not clear the supper things away as she was told, but opened
the window and drew her chair to it. She leant on the sill, looking out
into the street. The sun had set, and it was twilight, the sky was
growing dark, bringing to view the twinkling stars; there was no breeze,
but it was pleasantly and restfully cool. The good folk still sat at their
doorsteps, talking as before on the same inexhaustible subjects, but