Liza of Lambeth | Page 6

and had
still before her the sensation of a first appearance in it. With a sigh she
put on her ordinary everyday working dress, and proceeded to get the
breakfast ready, for her mother had been out late the previous night,
celebrating the new arrivals in the street, and had the 'rheumatics' this
morning.
'Oo, my 'ead!' she was saying, as she pressed her hands on each side of
her forehead. 'I've got the neuralgy again, wot shall I do? I dunno 'ow it
is, but it always comes on Sunday mornings. Oo, an' my rheumatics,
they give me sich a doin' in the night!'
'You'd better go to the 'orspital mother.'
'Not I!' answered the worthy lady, with great decision. 'You 'as a dozen
young chaps messin' you abaht, and lookin' at yer, and then they tells
yer ter leave off beer and spirrits. Well, wot I says, I says I can't do
withaht my glass of beer.' She thumped her pillow to emphasize the
statement.
'Wot with the work I 'ave ter do, lookin' after you and the cookin' and
gettin' everythin' ready and doin' all the 'ouse-work, and goin' aht
charring besides--well, I says, if I don't 'ave a drop of beer, I says, ter
pull me together, I should be under the turf in no time.'
She munched her bread-and-butter and drank her tea.
'When you've done breakfast, Liza,' she said, 'you can give the grate a
cleanin', an' my boots'd do with a bit of polishin'. Mrs. Tike, in the next
'ouse, 'll give yer some blackin'.'
She remained silent for a bit, then said:
'I don't think I shall get up ter-day. Liza. My rheumatics is bad. You
can put the room straight and cook the dinner.'
'Arright, mother, you stay where you are, an' I'll do everythin' for yer.'

'Well, it's only wot yer ought to do, considerin' all the trouble you've
been ter me when you was young, and considerin' thet when you was
born the doctor thought I never should get through it. Wot 'ave you
done with your week's money, Liza?'
'Oh, I've put it awy,' answered Liza quietly.
'Where?' asked her mother.
'Where it'll be safe.'
'Where's that?'
Liza was driven into a corner.
'Why d'you want ter know?' she asked.
'Why shouldn't I know; d'you think I want ter steal it from yer?'
'Na, not thet.'
'Well, why won't you tell me?'
'Oh, a thing's sifer when only one person knows where it is.'
This was a very discreet remark, but it set Mrs. Kemp in a whirlwind of
passion. She raised herself and sat up in the bed, flourishing her
clenched fist at her daughter.
'I know wot yer mean, you ---- you!' Her language was emphatic, her
epithets picturesque, but too forcible for reproduction. 'You think I'd
steal it,' she went on. 'I know yer! D'yer think I'd go an' tike yer dirty
money?'
'Well, mother,' said Liza, 'when I've told yer before, the money's
perspired like.'
'Wot d'yer mean?'

'It got less.'
'Well, I can't 'elp thet, can I? Anyone can come in 'ere and tike the
money.'
'If it's 'idden awy, they can't, can they, mother?' said Liza.
Mrs. Kemp shook her fist.
'You dirty slut, you,' she said, 'yer think I tike yer money! Why, you
ought ter give it me every week instead of savin' it up and spendin' it on
all sorts of muck, while I 'ave ter grind my very bones down to keep
yer.'
'Yer know, mother, if I didn't 'ave a little bit saved up, we should be
rather short when you're dahn in yer luck.'
Mrs. Kemp's money always ran out on Tuesday, and Liza had to keep
things going till the following Saturday.
'Oh, don't talk ter me!' proceeded Mrs. Kemp. 'When I was a girl I give
all my money ter my mother. She never 'ad ter ask me for nothin'. On
Saturday when I come 'ome with my wiges, I give it 'er every farthin'.
That's wot a daughter ought ter do. I can say this for myself, I be'aved
by my mother like a gal should. None of your prodigal sons for me!
She didn't 'ave ter ask me for three 'apence ter get a drop of beer.'
Liza was wise in her generation; she held her tongue, and put on her
hat.
'Now, you're goin' aht, and leavin' me; I dunno wot you get up to in the
street with all those men. No good, I'll be bound. An' 'ere am I left
alone, an' I might die for all you care.'
In her sorrow at herself the old lady began to cry, and Liza slipped out
of the room and into the street.
Leaning against the wall of the opposite house was Tom;